Lancelot nods once, takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly as he closes the last of the distance. Did he touch the box before? He can't remember, but it seems a logical way to be better in contact with whatever is going on. He hesitantly places some fingers on the outside of it, trying not to focus on the head so much as the general feel of magic. After a second he closes his eyes, trying to better block it out so he can think. Fae magic, there's fae magic on it. Seelie magic. Yet not all of it feels that way and... there it is again.

Something, an angry twisting sort of feeling. Was she angry? Was someone angry at her? Both make sense. He feels a shiver run down his spine as it nags at him, as the anger and panic begin to claw at him. Around him, some of the things already scattered on Faolan's desk begin to twitch again.