Seneca was well aware why the party had been hosted and she didn't love it. While usually the kind of person to enjoy the spotlight, she liked it less so when she had to interact with a bunch of men, with the intention of charming them enough so one of them would ask for her hand in marriage. The idea of marriage brought shivers down her spine -- she didn't want to lose the name Lestrange, become property of some man, bear his children. Children! How much she disliked being in their company and how little she wanted any of her own. It almost felt strange, she often questioned if there was something wrong with her, being a woman who didn't want her womb to be put to any use. The idea of her having children felt as strange as her brothers becoming with child!

She was prowling around, enjoying a gap in her dancing card, when someone grabbed her by the hand. Her initially instinct was to flinch and want to shake her hand away, but the other... woman's grip was firm.

A woman, grabbing her hand.

Well, she supposed, it wasn't the most unusual sight for women to be seen dancing together, but those pairings were usually reserved for the children, or the spinstered.*

"The gentlemen usually insist I write their names down in my dancing card," Seneca teased the other woman. "But I like your approach better. I've always thought that us women are far more direct in getting what we want, when we set ourselves upon a goal."

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