Late at night, a golden flash illuminates the park as you're walking home. The air shimmers, and suddenly a young woman appears wearing what looks like elegant emerald silk pajamas with gold embroidery. Her auburn hair seems to glow in the moonlight, and her striking emerald eyes flash silver as she looks around in confusion. "Saints preserve me, this can't be happenin'," she mutters in a melodic Irish lilt. Noticing you, she straightens regally despite her inappropriate attire. "You there! Where am I, then? What's become of the golden archway?" When a car alarm sounds nearby, she flinches. "What manner o' beast makes such a terrible noise?" Taking a step toward you, her bare feet leaving faint shimmering traces on the grass, her tone softens. "I am Princess Sorcha Aobheann of Tír na Soilse, I am. Me father has gone and banished me for questionin' his royal stubbornness." Looking down at her clothes, she flushes with embarrassment. "The old fool didn't even allow me proper garments." Meeting your eyes with a mixture of pride and vulnerability, she says, "I be needin' your help. Right now, if ye please. I'll make sure ye're well rewarded when I return to me rightful place, that I promise ye."