Daydreaming

[supernal]

It didn’t take him very long to find his way into the opium dens. His conversation with that infernal captain of the guard, Baleron, had been terse enough that Fifteen had managed to catch the tail-end of the girl that had approached him before she disappeared down the hall. He called out to her, softly of course, and she froze when his velvety voice was crushed against the back of her neck.

Seconds later he was beside her; minutes later, they were entering one of the opium dens after a moment of navigating dizzying hallways.

Fifteen had always been partial to the environment that opium often forced onto a situation. Everything was so relaxed, the room itself seemed to breathe, and just the sight of the smoke as it swirled around legs and arms and necks nearly brought him to that euphoric state.

With the native girl all but hanging off his arm, and the thought of his beloved wife’s admonition looming in the back of his mind to keep his urges in check, Fifteen strolled into the opium den to become one of the nameless, faceless mass. Soon enough, thankfully, he lost himself in the cloud of smoke and in the bliss and in the plush cushions lining the walls.

Soon enough, he did not mind the girl’s head resting on his chest.

[Nayt]

((This occurs later on in the party. Everyone but Carlos--and anyone that Carlos brings into it, if he does--should disregard it until I lead into it in the main thread.))

The party had been such a success so far! So many new faces--people that were all so happy to meet her. The joy she felt was intoxicating by this point; she felt the same happiness as someone who traversed by the opium dens, a wave of euphoria that felt like it would never end.

As the celebration had gone on and all the gifts had been presented, Eroina had inevitably found herself wondering about a certain few members of the party--Baleron, the man who had given her the beautiful dream stone, and a few others. These were individuals she had said something about--or the individuals had requested--meeting later, either to have further discussions, or in one particular scenario, go up to her room with him--alone. That idea still made her fell a little nervous, and she hadn't necessarily decided if she really wanted to or not . . .

Eroina's mental debates aside, once all of the guests had naturally began to socialize amongst themselves, leaving Eroina the opportunity to bounce in and out of social groups at will, the re-birthday girl decided that she was going to check around for any of the individuals she particularly wanted to talk with--though, it was not like she was against stopping to talk with any guest in particular. They were all interesting!

The first place Eroina decided to check were the opium dens. These areas were altogether extremely popular, and with good reason. There weren't many other countries in the world that advocated the use of opium in such a way. She skipped down the hall, her fingers laced together behind her back, as she hummed a happy tune. In the first room she checked, she found none of those whom she sought, but! There was another--someone she wasn't purposefully searching for, but Fifteen was there, intimately close with a citizen of Persistencia. Eroina stood in the doorway, her head cocked to the side curiously. She figured that saying hello would have been a good idea, considering how delicious the gift was that he had given her!

"Hello~!" Eroina cheerily greeted Fifteen.

If only because she had not been within the room for any length of time, she was the most energetic of the bunch. She wasn't planning on leaving yet, though; having seen a familiar face, though he was not any of the individuals for whom she searched, Eroina was perfectly content to stop by and say hello--and maybe even spend some time here with him, if it was fine. He looked busy, though, with a girl awfully close to him and all. If she was interrupting or anything, Eroina would have had no qualms with respectfully bowing out and leaving him be.

[supernal]

He looked up when he heard the introduction of a new voice, whose energy was dissonant against the fog of calm that had descended onto the shoulders of all the other participants. It took a bit of a conscious effort to swim through the haze clogging up his mind and force his eyes to break a path through the smoke, but he managed to do it.

“Ah. Eroina. How darling to see you in the den. For some reason, I didn’t think this would be the kind of…activity that attracts a girl like you. Please, take some time to join me. I’ve been told that my most thoughtful and provocative language comes in the midst of the mist of opium. Would you fancy be my audience?”

Fifteen unceremoniously nudged the native girl off of his person, ass he felt that her body warmth had gone from slightly comforting to downright disconcerting, and cleared a space on the sofa for Eroina to sit right next to him.

“Come girl. Let us make time insubstantial in this place, for I feel that his hold has grown far too strong in my life as of late. And let Fate avert her eyes as well, for now with words as our tools, we will forge our own destiny. Let us look to the sky and see more than the stars girl.”

He patted the area beside him and held the opium…hose (<_<) out to her.

“Unless, of course, you’re afraid to see?”

[Nayt]

"Hmm? Here?" Eroina looked around.

The opium dens were magnificent places, really. In her short life, Eroina had already been around them two or three times. There was nothing wrong with them, really; they made her feel good, just like they did with everyone else. Eroina was actually a bit confused; she didn't know why Fifteen would have thought she wouldn't sit in the opium dens from time to time. Didn't everyone do this kind of stuff?

"I've come here a couple of times," she continued, thinking aloud--but made no mention of any particular experiences within these sorts of rooms.

They were all generally pleasant experiences, really. Good times were had, no complaints were issued. Eroina hadn't experienced it in full or anything, though; she usually didn't like to stay in one place for any length of time. There were so many other places she could go and people she could meet--but, of course, opium did put her into an awkward state between lethargy and energetic, causing her to want to loaf and run a marathon simultaneously. In both cases, she tried the latter, inevitably resulting in the loss of a couple of toes. Excessive physical activity was just something she couldn't do. Becoming lethargic may have been the better choice.

Eroina walked casually to the couch, having no qualms sitting close to Fifteen. She didn't need opium to become affectionate. She sat beside of him, an inch between their hips, and folded her hands upon her lap properly, all whilst she listened to his statements.

A rant, perhaps. Truthfully, Eroina hadn't the slightest clue what she was talking about, but it was funny. Most of the people affected by the drug were, when she wasn't personally affected. When the tables were turned, she didn't necessarily find things "silly" anymore.

"You're silly," she giggled, joking with him.

The girl gently took the hose from him and shut her eyes, inhaling deep from the all revered hookah. Smoke enter her mouth and ran down her windpipe, filling her lungs with a sweet burn. It only took a single hit for the effects to kick in, but she was a bit new to it. Eroina had to cough a few times after withdrawing the hose from her lips. While still coughing, she handed it back towards Fifteen. The first hit was always the strongest; after that, she started to cough less and less, until it was just like breathing air. She'd get to that, though--eventually. Probably after a few passes.

[supernal]

“I’m silly?”

By the way his face pulled back over his cheek and jawbones, one would think he were offended; nothing but an intricate ruse, I assure you, for soon enough his features softened and he offered the girl nothing but the most charismatic and disarming of the smiles in his repertoire.

“Come come dear, let us look to the past. There are only two types of people among us in this world. Those that are silly and those that feign not to be. In my time treading this earth, I’ve come to find that those that feign austerity are the silliest of all. What kind of a man, or woman as it were, would force a smile away when a situation calls for it? Why!”

There was a substantial pause in his speech as Eroina handed back the hose and Fifteen was more than happy to oblige the hookah. When next he spoke, his words were painted in smoke, and helped to perfectly illustrate his ideas.

“Only the mad! Only the mad m’lady, only the mad.” He gave a final exhale, squeezing the last bits of that mystical brume from his lungs as he waved his right hand around avidly, making spirals in the heavy air.

“I’d much rather be silly. Would you be silly with me?”

[Nayt]

People who feigned seriousness as a mask of how silly they really were--that got her thinking. Had she met anyone like that before? Certainly not! Not from Persistencia, of course. Even her creators had their silly sides which they did not attempt to conceal. After all, they had created her! It would take one superfluous mind to gather together a team and put so much effort into creating a being such as she and putting such a great amount of detail into her to make her seem perfectly normal around others--to make her look like she just had some skin discolorations and tattoos on her body. Her very existence here was the result of silliness!

"Of course I would!" exclaimed a cheery, smiling Eroina--that she'd have loved to be silly along with Fifteen. Truth be told, she had presumed their mutual silliness beforehand!

She had personally been called silly on several occasions, which was perfectly fine, considering her attitude and origins. She didn't pretend to be serious . . . ever. She was enthusiastic, kind, optimistic about everything, and shy when approached in ways that made her feel self conscious--the perfect example of someone who could outright be called "silly" at any time, without ever being wrong.

Eroina coughed a few more times. She hadn't hit the hookah again--she wasn't going to unless Fifteen passed the hose back to her. The entirety of the room was intoxicating; it could induce fits of coughing for her if she were just sitting in it, while at the same time providing her a quick contact high. It was no worry of hers, but this alone was proof that she had a functional respiratory system--or, at the very least, her creators put detail into her lungs so that they at least seemed to function like any normal person's. Without a circulatory system, this made it an excessive detail, but it still might have had some sort of purpose.

"I'm wondering, though--" Eroina began, but coughed--interrupting herself, but she picked right back up from where she left off, "--why do people pretend to be serious when they know they really aren't?"

[supernal]

While Eroina lost herself in the muddled, endless, unfathomable abyss that was any measure of deep though, Fifteen turned his eyes to the room. Even in such a state he liked to be a master of his surroundings; he liked to know how many people were surrounding him, the placements of their arms and legs and bodies, and were their eyes were turned towards.

By the time that Eroina had broken out of her reverie, Fifteen had focused his attention solely on the composite girl and slipped the hose into her hands. He did not simply hand it off, feeling that it was too impersonal for a situation such as this, and instead grabbed her hand, pressed his fingers against hers, and as one wrapped both of their fingers around the hose before leaving only her hand grasping it.

When his hands were free, and he was allowed to lean forward so his thoughts could trickle down his back, Fifteen’s face grew increasingly more…concerned; his eyes narrowed, his brow furrowed, and his jaw was set into a hard line. It was as if to think on this hurt him.

“Lies. Smoke and mirrors Eroina, and I mean black, dirty, choking smoke. Not this delicious cloud around us now. I’m talking about the greasy smoke that comes from fire, from burning.”

He took a deep breath, held in the puff of smoke, and exhaled slowly; he let the white fumes vent through his teeth.

“Greed Eroina. Anger too. All of the things that make horrible men horrible. But I fear that we’re stepping into a realm unbefitting the atmosphere. Ask me that question again another time, when I’m sober, on an occasion not so joyous as this.”

He flashed a smile at the girl, at her untouched innocence, and slid back into place.

“What’s your favorite color, and why?”

[Nayt]

Were it not for the quick effects of the opium, Eroina would have felt self conscious when Fifteen so personally handed her the hookah's hose, placing it in her hands and guiding her fingers around it with his hands in such a close way. It was times like that when her heart would have beat just a little quicker--if she had one. Nonetheless, despite her hiccup of nervousness, Eroina accepted this and once more brought the hose to her lips, inhaling sweet smoke into her mouth and flooding her lungs with its riches.

Just as before, when she pulled it away, she started to cough. It wasn't as bad as last time, but was still discomforting while it happened. Whilst she experienced her fit of coughing, Fifteen had a question for her, and when a satisfactory amount of toxins had been forced out of her lungs, she was able to consider it.

"My favorite color . . .?"

The last hit made her feel a little weak, though. Rather than sitting straight up with a tiny bit of distance between herself and Fifteen, she leaned against him, resting her head upon his shoulder and leaning her weight into him without weary or concern. It was etiquette to pass the drug back and forth, so rather than take a second hit, the already well off girl held it up, where Fifteen could take it from her if he wished.

Asking Eroina about her favorite color was like asking a parent to pick a favorite child. Eroina thought similar, and wound up staring off with a hard expression upon her face--eyes squinted, brow furrowed, her lips neutral with a flat line between them. The girl was in a state of deep thought, and she felt that there was good reason: she loved all sorts of colors! It took her a moment of thought to conclude that there were certain families of colors that she preferred over others.

"Cool colors. Like blues and purples and greens. I really love cool colors. But I don't know what my favorite of them all would be--I love them all, you know?" Eroina explained before going silent again, deciding to pick based off of the most frequent color she wore: "Ummm, if I had to say, though . . . ummm . . . b-blue! Sky blue--baby blue . . . you know? The same color as this dress," Eroina tugged on the side of her sun dress as she made mention of it, "It's a whole lot like the color of the sky when there are only a few super small clouds but you can still see them and pick out the white among the blue-- it's my favorite kind of sky . . ."

[supernal]

For a moment Fifteen suffered a bit of an internal crisis. When Eroina held the hookah hose towards him, his first instinct was, of course, to press his lips to the aperture and replace all of the oxygen in his lungs with this cotton-candy smoke. On second though, however, he realized that he had been in the room, smoking, for quite some time before Eroina had even arrived, and did not want to be selfish. So he pressed his hand against hers and pushed the hose her way, clearly indicating that he held no qualms if she decided to hit once again.

“Those are all very nice colors Eroina, very nice. Here, let me try to do something. I hope that your recent introduction into this world hasn’t already made you too old for my tricks.”

Lazily Fifteen brought his left hand, the one furthest away from Eroina, and touched it to the gentle inside of his lip in a manner reminiscent to the way in which painters dipped their brushes in blobs of paint. He closed one eye, lending focus to the other, and reached out; the moistened fingertip dotted thrice across the air, leaving in its place swirling orbs of smoke. Orbs of smoke that, as time progressed, began to change; their shape and size remained precisely the same, but their hue altered drastically. Orbs of blue, purple, and green (respectively) hovered solemnly in the air, shining as if the sun struck them with reverence.

“Don’t get too impressed, however, this is just a magician’s folly. I find that the power of the arcane is wont to make its users old in mind, if not in body. It’s good to get back to your roots every once in a while, right?”

That same finger, crooked and bent, motioned at no one and nowhere in particular; in response strands of smoke began to inch their way towards the two. He canted his head one way, more out of idle thought and concentration but that nonetheless made it so that his head rested softly against Eroina’s own, as he motioned for the smoke to join the spheres of color. The smoke, too proud to taint itself with such lavish shades of purple and green, coddled only the blue. Coddled so intensely that they fused and, without warning, sped towards Eroina.

The chroma spread across her dress like water, and now it truly was like her favorite sky; a crisp, clear blue with only a few super small clouds that you can still see and pick out the white among the blue. What’s more, the clouds on her dress were fluid – they moved.

“There. What do you think? If you don’t like it, I can make your dress the way it was.”

[Nayt]

When he passed the hose back to her, Eroina tilted her head back a bit, allowing herself to look up to Fifteen questioningly. Usually, this sort of thing was just etiquette when there were people all together smoking the same thing. Hogging the drug generally merited some of the others to get irate with someone--it happened once with Eroina, just a day ago. She had felt badly about it and left, in fact. But it seemed all right for now, as Fifteen wasn't so much ignoring her passing of the hookah hose as he was pushing it back towards her, allowing her the moment to take another hit or two.

And so, she did.

Eroina shut her eyes and listened to Fifteen talk as she placed the tip of the hose to her lips, the object held in both of her hands. After her second hit, she had held it in a much less modest manner--slightly more adult, remarkably sultry, but the girl was clearly too out of it to be considered seriously suggestive. She passively puffed on it, slowly sucking in air for a brief moment, letting out a couple of coughs when her lungs rebelled against the idea, took a breath, and passively withdrew smoke from the hookah once again.

After that second hit--technically her third in a row--the room started to spin just a bit. She took too deep of a breath too quickly, and was subsequently overwhelmed. As a result, everything became stupendously amazing. Simultaneously, all of her limbs felt so heavy that she needed Fifteen to remain propped up. Without him, she'd have fallen over and been unable to get it. The hookah hose felt like a load of bricks, too--far too heavy for her to lift on her own, but she kept it up. A third hit was coming, too: she had it to her lips again, but delayed the process when she saw colors in the air. Controlled spheres of color, vibrant and mobile, hanging without strings, guided without rhyme or reason, with focus upon her most preferred colors--and color.

"Wo~w~~" Eroina cooed, the hose still barely pressed against the right corner of her lips, ready to be inhaled from at any time, but given a moment of rest for the sake of wide eyed watched.

She couldn't move even if she wanted to, and she had smoked enough that nothing retained fright factor. Everything was amazing, everything was beautiful, everything was perfect. And that was only the base feeling. The more she smoked, the greater the feeling was going to become . . .

Eroina watched in amazement as the colors moved and the smoke gathered 'round the blue and the blue gathered 'round her and the smoke touched her dress but not her and without sensation cloaked her dress and became the image of a living sky with gentle puffs of scattered clouds swaying two steps forward and one step back like eternal line dancers until they fazed out with the final expulsion of the moisture of their lives. And then they died. Like everything died. Like everyone died. Like she died. But she came back and so the clouds came back just like her with renewed moisture of their renewed lives and continued to go on that way until forever met a limit.

She was just like a cloud.

She felt just like a cloud.

"It's so coooo~~~l!" exclaimed a vivaciously cheery, but surprisingly lethargic Eroina.

[supernal]

Fifteen could not help but smile at Eroina’s reaction. This was mere trickery, when mused down to its basest form, a mere play of colors and adhesion that may have insulted any man of even slightly notable magical prowess, but was just glorious enough to bring a spark of wonder to the eyes of a child. Children, true children who were free of the chains so wont to drag down the rest of the populous, were getting rarer and rarer. Eroina was lucky in that sense. She was made anew and kept alive on an island that seemed, for the most part, untouched by the baleful sin that so blighted other ends of the world.

It’d break Fifteen’s heart when her eyes finally opened, but for now she could be left alone to bathe in wonder.

His eyes were watery. Not that they were teary in any sense of the word, mind you, but that the iris of his eyes, the very color of his soul, seemed much too fluid; when he looked one way or the other too quickly, it seemed that his pupil stayed in place while the rest of his eye moved to take the world in. The smoke in the room was heavier than he could have ever hoped for, and every breath he took in burned the fringes of his lungs a bit. Naturally, given the drug’s natural tendencies, he was still brimming with jubilation, but found that the confines of the room were too…well, too confining. It could never server as a proper vent for his joy.

“Here here.” He moved his fingers to the hose and watched her reaction carefully, prudent enough not to remove the hose from a hungry opium-user, but if she would let him he would pry the hose from her fingers and move it aside. He’d take her hand in his and led her out of the room.

“Show me where we can see the stars.”

[Nayt]

Before Fifteen took it from her, Eroina took one final hit from the delectable source of intoxication. She coughed only once, before finally relinquishing the hookah's hose. Initially, she had expected that Fifteen wanted a hit from it, as well, but as it turned out, he had been in here long enough that he was in his perfect state of intoxication. Eroina, on the other hand, was far beyond a "perfect" state. Lucidity had ceased three hits ago. This was, after all, one of the few times she had been in one of these rooms since her rebirth, which was actually quite a lot of times taking a visit to opium rooms, all things considered. Nonetheless, she still was yet to build up tolerance.

"The stars . . .?"

The sky--the sky, the beautiful sky. Was it night yet? Were the stars glimmering down and bathing the earth with their speckled light? Could she dance under the night sky bath in the light of the moon? How long had it been since this wondrous party began?

Eroina found difficulty standing. Fifteen lead her off of the couch, and she almost immediately fell to the floor. Were it not for Fifteen holding her hand, she would have. A savior--he had been a guardian from imminent peril, and without thought, she wrapped her other arm about his forearm, and while she shakily pulled herself back up, Eroina hugged onto his arm and squeezed his hand a bit. She was noticeably more affectionate towards him, which was much, considering her willingness to embrace a person she met only once. It was a step above that, however, for Eroina would have been nuzzling his arm, had she not lost some control of her central--

--nervous . . . system -- brain, spine, back, ribs--legs--arms-- eyes -- clouded -- fogged up, mystified -- trapped in a euphoric daze of an endlessly beautiful daydream of an innocent mind come together with the central system of an experienced mind of an experienced body of a living man -- central nervous system, corrupt at the core, a mesh of synapses that could flare and flare but never see in the dark. Lights could pierce the dark but not the fog but the fog blended with the dark and so her mind became the dark but the lights of the sky pierced the dark and the fog--because they were stars--they had no brains--because they were stars--they had no brains and they were beautiful.

Would I be beautiful without a brain or would I just be a corpse? A beautiful corpse a walking pile of flesh a thin sickly mass of muscle and skin and stitches and shaped like a young girl because she was nothing more than a chimera of science and science had no beauty over nature and the stars were nature and the stars were beautiful because they had no brains and they were not corpses--

"Stars are--outside--outside the palace . . ." Eroina replied whimsically, a soft, small, but joyous giggle seeming to accompany every word, "Would you-- dance with me-- under the stars?"

--and she wanted to dance under the stars and sing and laugh and thought nothing of how she could not move her legs because the numb felt good. It felt like--it felt like--itfeltlike . . . waving through the tranquil night on a breeze as a cloud in the sky under the moon and under the stars that were beautiful with no brains and no corpses. Because she felt like a cloud and a cloud should be outside.

There was a good chance that Eroina had smoked a bit too much opium for her body weight. In fact, smoking it alone was too much. She should have just sat in the room, and attained a high very similar to the others', but she wound up taking more hits from the hookah than she should have. Six more hits than she should have. Eroina could still walk, she was just shaky, and though she'd get better at it over a short period of time, she'd never once stop holding onto Fifteen's hand and--with her other arm--forearm, in case she were to ever nearly fall again.

[supernal]

Unfortunately, Fifteen was very much alike the kind of men that he had described prior. He could never let Eroina know that of course, could never let her be privy to such intimate information as that Fifteen had lost all of his wonder in the world and break her romanticized image of him, but it was true nonetheless. Even under the heavy-handed influence of such a potent drug, even under the ubiquitous shroud of happiness that seemed to cover every inch of his conscious mind, Fifteen could not lose that attribute that made him who he was; he could never relinquish his focus. And so though he would have liked to simply stand there, to wobble to and fro as he thought of the stars in a cosmic fashion, he could not shake from his mind the goal that he needed to get outside of the palace just to see the sparkling motes of silver light.

Eroina yearned for mysticism; he hungered for something real.

He had only recently, and very slowly, become aware of Eroina’s proximity. He had responded in kind, of course, for when Eroina wrapped her arms around his own, he took her embrace as lovingly as he was capable and even brought his other hand to pat in a reaffirming manner against the back of her hand, to ensure that this was acceptable. He walked slow and favored strength on the side supporting her, but all of this was done subconsciously; he only became consciously aware of her body heat when they were already outside of the palace and, by that time, he felt no need to separate.

When they finally left the intoxicating grasp of that palace, Fifteen’s heart fell and wallowed in the caustic depths of his stomach; it was no later than two in the afternoon, and the stars were still in hiding. His frown was a deep line scratched onto the foundation of his face, and his grip upon her hand grew a little bit tighter.

“Dance under the stars...” His voice was wistful, melancholic, full of sobriety. He sounded almost sad that the opportunity to do as such was leaving him. “Yes, we can dance under the stars. Not for long though, and I’m afraid that our scope will be very limited. But…”

This trick was a bit more complex. It involved localizing a powerful area spell, otherwise it would drain him of all of his power, disturb Persistencia’s delicate ecosystem, and likely arouse the ire of the natives. It also demanded that an intricate illusionary weave be drawn into its center, lest he get too much darkness and not enough light. All in all, it required that Fifteen slave a healthy portion of his euphoric cognizance to the creation of the spell, but to Eroina it would seem as if all he did was wave his hand.

A cut a swath of pure, midnight black across the evening sky.

Those two were thus enveloped in a rich darkness, a darkness with stars, that surrounded only them and a distance around them. Fifteen, after thoroughly testing Eroina’s stability and only if sure that she could stand without him, would take a step back and offer his hand once again.

“May I have this dance?”

[Nayt]

By then, her high had worn off-- slightly-- mildly-- a minuscule drop in conscious-- but only so much that she mistook the light of the afternoon sky for a glint in her eyes, as they had only been out for but a moment before Fifteen changed all that--an illusion, an allusion to the night sky, a delusion to the naked eye--

Blissful, permeating paradise. It was not by the light of the sun that Eroina had been blinded so, but the moon! The moon so naked without a trace of cloud or cover or blanket or corpse. The moon so vibrant and large, so tenacious in its beauty because it was nature-- the pinnacle of nature-- the height of being-- the luminous orb she so wanted to dance under at such a grandiose party on such a grandiose day grandiose night beautiful night lovely stars glittering the sky like tulips in a field. No concept of time. Afternoon or night or morning or day-- it was night all the same, because she saw night and she was easily fooled but ignored time even under circumstances of sobriety--

Time was inconsequential, but it was beautiful all the same.

She could walk and she could run, dance, swim, and play, shaky. Hesitant. Wobbly. Anchored to the ground by a series of toothpicks, fractals of wood that could break at the slightest hint of pressure, balance that could tumble at the smallest tip. It was Eroina's desire to dance and dance she would: so gently she set her hand in Fifteen's and accepted his request for their dance under the pure and perfect and brainless and perfect and beautiful moonlight.

"I would love that," said a cheerful, giggly Eroina, elegant in her own right, her skin bathed in the moon-- normal-- a color normal for under the light of the moon and normal for human appearance and normal for living people. Stitches faded and blended and discolored and faded faded faded into the night and she looked like a child-- a perfect, innocent young girl, afflicted only with abuse by some authority who cut her cheek from lip to ear and left her alone but she seemed so perfect and happy and the pain was gone and the extent of her terrible scars were only on the outside.

Eroina stepped forward, placing her other hand up, up, upon Fifteen's shoulder. Tri-toned eyes of triple color of random color of meaningless color that changed every day without symmetry stared up at the constant eyes of her partner and a tilted head and an inquisitive expression inquired so silently where he'd place his hand upon her-- her waist, her shoulder, the side of her chest, her hip-- and how he'd prefer their dance, for Eroina had no preference of dance but dance itself-- under the swath of moonlight under the glint of stars outside like a cloud, corpseless and brainless, like all clouds should be.

He could set his hands upon her hips and hold her close and sway with her, and she would be happy. He could set distance between them and his hand on her waist and they could sway in circles, and she would be happy. They could share an embrace under the stars like lovers like friends like siblings like father like daughter like cousins like acquaintances, and she would be happy.

Eroina's high was beginning to fade-- she could walk, she could talk, she could think, and she could dance however Fifteen wanted her to dance, but it was a strong high, a tremendous high that would take more than a single battering ram of reality to bring her down, but even then, affection would not be lost memories would not be lost regrets would not be had. She was happy. Fifteen made Eroina happy. Opium had amplified the effect, but he wished to dance with her under the moon and treated her with color and clouds and treated her with the kindness that any gentleman treated a lady he thought deserving--and it had her elated.

She was on a high 'fore she entered the opium dens. High as a cloud, like a cloud-- high on life after death.

[supernal]

He slipped his hand into hers, cupping her palm with the soft and practiced grasp of an experience dancer; he held his right arm, and her left, expertly out to the side while his left hand came to rest delicately at her hips. His position of their bodies was masterful, flowing so fluidly from his arms and his legs that one could argue that the form of dance was second-nature to a mind like Fifteen’s. Naturally, it was. Years of routine hammered into his brain, repeated well over the two-thousand time mark necessary to ingrain specific movements into one’s muscle memory. A noble of Fifteen’s stature could dance in their sleep; Fifteen himself could dance underwater.

He was surprised at the effect that moonlight had on the girl. It made her look…well, to be perfectly frank, it made her look more human. The eccentric green melted away, leaving her flesh touched with a hue absolutely acceptable for flesh and no more; the stitches that marked her a composite being faded as well, leaving her as a whole being. The only thing that remained of her past was a rather egregious scar that marred an otherwise perfect canvas, but contrasted with that daring sparkle in her eyes, it was a negligible error. Invisible, really.

With a nod of his head to signify the start of their saltation, he began to guide them. They moved in a wide but tightly controlled circle, never once did he allow the two of them to move outside of the ambit of his tempered arcane might, never once allowing his illusion to be shattered, never once allowing the ethereal, emotional magic of the ‘night’ to leave them.

For a while, he kept her at the proper arm’s length, so that at a distance they looked almost like robots in their precision and parallel movements, but in time the frigidity of his learned stance was slipping from its foundation, and it soon became the vulgar informal. The distance between them drew shorter and shorter and shorter, until it came to a point where his chest pressed against her own and the hand on Eroina’s hip moved to lay against the small of her back.

Fifteen, though not a prodigiously tall man, loomed over the girl by at least a head, and looked beyond her.

“You look quite striking in the moonlight, you know.”