Sophia took a heavy swig of her wine to help swallow her sigh; this was exactly the situation she’d been dreading. The disintegration of their serene bubble, willful ignorance of the reality of what they were doing. An affair. His wife’s supposed ignorance (but a woman can always intuit, can’t she?), their social circles running just barely close enough... The ballerina worried her lip a bit over how this could all spell the beginning of the end. A reality she vehemently did. not. want. Not yet.

Twisting at her hips to the corner of the room, Sophia splayed her hands, “Music.” The little gramophone she had set up roared to life, a french ballroom song. Something to help fill the silence as they ruminated. In the end, Sophia felt better for being honest with him – the sort of thing that could only blow up otherwise, given the right circumstances. It also showed to him her levelheadness, when it came to all this. The woman turned back to looking at Ozymandias, assuredly avoiding her gaze. She crossed her legs, skirt shifting to reveal her top dangling foot which bounced a bit anxiously.

“I suppose it does,” she finally broke the silence. “But it doesn’t have to be a thing.” The woman tilted her head imploring him to look at her; she was wholly prepared to negotiate.

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