"You should have seen me, Jack," Sophia declared, slipping off her ghostly veil and casting it aside on a velvet chaise to the corner. "I counted at least twenty rotations in act one's turn sequence. New British stages run much wider than the French ones, so I hardly need to worry about taking smaller steps." 

The brunette had slipped off her pointe shoes, and now firmly cracked every joint in her toes with practiced, musical finesse. Switching to flat slippers felt almost unnatural, but her ankles were desperate for it. "Oh, and you could hear a pin drop when I died," she continued, taking a seat to close her eyes and relive the moment in crystalline detail. These shows were taxing - no, all-consuming - and it often took her several hours to simmer down to reality from the post-performance afterglow. Her heart would be racing this way the rest of the night, but sharing her blow-by-blow analysis helped. "My goodness... not a soul moved, even after the curtains closed for intermission." 

The dancer's eyes slowly flickered open, gaze set on the man she spoke to. One who was not really a man at all, but the memory of one, gazing adoringly back at her from their wedding day. "Demetri makes a fine Albrecht, but darling, you really should have been here for our pas de deux," her voice barely came forward in its bitter whisper. Sophia had moved from her seat to take the picture frame on her vanity, and gently set it back into its velvet home in her top drawer. "You know how much I enjoy dancing with you until sunrise." 

Several minutes passed before Sophia ventured out into the melee of the foyer, emotion wrung out of her like a wet rag and a shawl wrapped around her costumed shoulders for warmth, looking bright as a bumblebee. Faking it or not, the woman usually enjoyed all the attention from balletomanes. It helped that she had a bit of privilege due to the prestige her name granted the dance company. Unlike most in her troupe, Sophia could dictate the type and amount of attention she wanted, lest anything harm the prima's delicate sensibilities (at least until she's done with this season).

Tonight Sophia reported more out duty, however. Given her extraordinary influence over many of the men sponsoring this charade, she offered safety for girls who may feel pressured to submit to some of these embarrassing advances otherwise. Like the sweaty red one gabbing like a pig to little Daphine. Goodness, money could feed and clothe, but it really couldn't hold a candle to the gorgeous French boys who could be at Daphine's doorstep within the hour.

One moment still smirking at the thought, the next Sophia's blood ran ice cold. The whiff of an indelible scent, cologne only a single soul had... Sophia nearly whipped her head towards its source, shock written clearly over her face. Only... it was a complete stranger greeting her there, very decidedly not Jacob. Of course. How could he be? Perhaps this performance depleted her more than she realized.

Discretely squeezing the cold from her hands, Sophia swiftly arranged her expression back to something like serene complacency. "Then you would have thought correctly," she put simply, lips curling with amusement. He had the boldness of an Italian man, she'll credit him that, but his hero complex was decidedly British.

"But I simply had to join the party! It is an honor to share my gratitude with patrons of the ballet. How did you enjoy our production of Sleeping Beauty?" A cheap trick indeed, though she couldn't even feign interest in those who just now arrived for pretty views. An effective way to know how quickly she ought to beckon one of the stagehands to personally escort this man on a tour of the back-alley rubbish bin.

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