(Kyle)
“Apologies, my good lady,” I say, “For my feelings are overcome by a dark shadow, even in the midst of the merriment of tonight’s ball.”
“Why, sir, do you feel this way?” She asks.
We’re dancing in her room –trying to dance, at least. She’s more of a pro at it than I am.
“I am not particularly fond of balls –nor am I fond of any royal thing,” there’s a short pause before I continue, “Perhaps I shouldn’t speak ill of the people here… for certainly I still do not know the maiden before me, with whom I speak.”
“I am merely a shadow in the night,” she responds, “A wilting flower, too stubborn to fall from grace. It is not necessary that you know my name –perhaps another time.”
We turn to change direction as we dance on.
“Another time? You and I? Do you trul
