A very distant part of Ida’s mind registered that things weren’t really transpiring as they ordinarily would. These jittery nerves weren’t here before, for example. And it was a rather odd reaction after watching a dance, objectively speaking. Her impulse to flee was odd, as was the impulse to introduce herself to a stranger in such a forthright manner – one of the reasons she didn’t know what to say to the ballerina was because she never said… things, to people, starting in cold like this! But then, Ida couldn’t think of any other time art had moved her quite like this (whatever this is; her grasp of it grew fuzzier by the second, like a fading dream upon waking). Further evidence, then, of the divine perfection of that ballerina’s very existence. And people do insane things all the time in the name of love, don’t they?

— Wait, but was she in love? Ida missed the point where she thought it was even real. Is this Cupid’s love at first sight?

Let’s get some air. Yes - air is good. A dull ache in her chest indicated that she was forgetting to breathe. She also realized, feeling a bit foolish now, that it probably felt so warm because her face was flushed. Fingers that felt ice cold when she pressed them to her cheekbones verified this. Ida cupped her face in this way for a moment, struggling to take a deep breath, as the dance left her utterly overwhelmed. If this is what love is, is it meant to feel so excruciating? Like she has two brains and two hearts at once, worse than being an Animagus, because one half could only obsess over their love while the other half was left to suffer through the present moment without them.

A beat too late, Ida realized she was sitting that way and leveling Mister Greengrass a profound frown. She finally dropped her hands and tried to school her features into something vaguely appropriate for the present moment. But even as she grasped his hand to stand, hesitation was written all over her face. She didn’t really need his hand for this, but perhaps it was a good mechanism to anchor her in the present. There was nothing to be done about the ballerina now, anyway. Ida wouldn’t want to make a fool of herself in front of her!

“Okay, let’s go,” she agreed meekly to his suggestion of another drink and the garden. Her mind instantly went to the relief only a cigarette could provide. “Let’s not take too long. I want to get back here early enough to sit right by the front…” She’ll take some liquid courage, have herself a cigarette, and think through her strategy. Then she’ll find out more about the ballerina, and have something intelligible to say when they finally meet after the next show. Then she’ll certainly feel better.

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