He could have protested that nothing she did could possibly embarrass him, and at least for the moment it would have been true. Before he'd had a chance to say anything, though, they were interrupted by one of the decorations, apparently newly strayed from the confines of the ballroom. She was annoyed, but Ford couldn't help but be amused now that it wasn't him in the path of the powdered sugar. The dusting of white over her clothes and her hair served to put each of her contours in starker relief, like an etching compared to a sketch. The way she shook her head to try and clear it had him biting back a smile. She was just — so effortlessly charming.

"Here, let me," he offered, reaching out to dust off a prominent lock of hair and smooth it back into place behind her ear.

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Set by Lady!

Ida felt so unmoored by these confusing feelings, so overwhelmed by her inability to shut down distractions, and so harassed by the sugar that she didn’t even clock the way Mister Greengrass looked at her until it was too late. Only the flutter of fingertips on her hair clued her in. The witch glanced up in shock as he arranged one of her dark curls that came loose behind her ear. Though his motion generated more than shock - it started a fire. So dangerous and unpredictable that it would be negligent of her to let it carry on, and so Ida panicked, and did the very first thing she could think to do to suffocate it– which was to be entirely too honest with the facts.

“I’m in love with a woman,” she blurted out. And before the torrential downpour could be checked against her brain’s screaming terror, “Usually I ignore impulses like this, but I’ve never been in love before, and now I can’t shake this feeling off. In fact, I can hardly think of anything else. And it feels like I might die if I don’t talk to her, and isn’t that–” she huffed an incredulous laugh, “-Isn’t that crazy? Because how is love like that even possible? It’s not,” she answered her rhetorical question, muffling her next words behind two hands that covered her face. “But it feels true, and even though I never do things because of just feelings, I have to do something about this, even though the circumstances are hopeless, because I’m certain I cannot survive if she dislikes me, and this whole thing– I don’t want to be in love with anybody! This is madness!” The young woman punctuated her deluge by throwing her hands up in the air. It was obvious then, from her red-rimmed eyes and pink nose, that she was trying hard to not cry.

But, the cat was out of the bag now. Yes it was terrible, and yes Mister Greengrass likely thought badly of her now, but at least he knew that she would only waste his time. And most shocking of all, her confession came with a sense of relief, like an anvil lifted off her chest.

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   Fortitude Greengrass

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stefanie made this beautiful set <3

It took the entirety of her speech for Ford to work up the wherewithal to shut his mouth, after it had fallen open in surprise at her first sentence. He'd been distracted from her present restlessness by the interruption of the powdered sugar, and left to his own devices he might have gotten lost staring at her again and forgotten about it completely, but once she said that she commanded his full attention. He didn't know what to think; his mind flit in one direction after another, not making much progress in any particular train of thought. It's that ironic? Because I'm in love with a man, he thought, but of course he would never say that. Even if he was willing to throw caution to the wind when it came to his own reputation, he wouldn't risk dragging Tycho down by talking to someone he barely knew about it. And that gave rise to the second frantic thought: You can't say that — not here where someone could hear — not to me. They didn't actually know each other very well, did they? Ford may have been hanging on her words all night, but prior to this they'd only had one substantial conversation; they were practically strangers, and an admission like that was dangerous.

And it might not even be real. That next thought came on the heels of the sharp sting of disappointment he couldn't help but feel at the revelation (even though he had already suspected she was harboring some sort of feelings for someone else, he had not imagined the object of her affections could have so little in common with him): You're not really, though; you only think you are. But what good would it be to say? He'd been telling himself the same thing about Miss Chang for half the night, and here he was smoking a cigarette for her sake and feeling jealous.

The last thought, and the one that stuck: Miss Chang looked like she was on the verge of breaking down in tears, and at that moment he wanted more than anything else in the world to be able to comfort her. He wanted to touch her — not for his own sake, but because physical contact could be grounding — but thought she might react poorly to something so bold as an embrace, so instead he reached for both of her hands to hold them lightly in his own. "You're not crazy," he said. "That's the sort of love poets write about. Yourself—your soul—in pity give me all, withhold no atom's atom or I die." He swallowed down a lump that had risen to his throat. "You need to be careful. People won't understand," he pointed out. Then, looking at her red-rimmed eyes, Ford made a decision: "I'll help you."

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   Ida Chang

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Set by Lady!

Ida fully anticipated his shock. Perhaps confusion, dismay, disgust? She expected him to make a swift departure, leaving her rattled but at least alone with her thoughts. In the light of the next day’s nausea and debilitating remorse over everything she said, she would grimace and lay in bed all day, and worry for weeks that he’d tell her brother and she’d be picked up by men in white jackets from St Mungo’s or tricked into a boat headed to Shanghai to be married. That’s what she expected, truly, and she was already halfway to working through justifications for why what she said was still the right thing to do tonight.

But instead, he reached for her hands. Survival instinct had her grab hold, and to the desired outcome— her spiraling thoughts ground to a halt, and she was so bewildered at the response she nearly forgot how hard her heart pounded or how warm her face felt. She even forgot to cry, and looked confused as she tipped her head to the side.

Ida thought to ask him if he heard what she said, but once he quoted a poem to her, she knew he did. Then he carried on quite as amicably as if he’d just found out they prefer the same flavor pie, and this attitude was most astounding of all. He said be careful— people won’t understand.

“What is there to understand,” she half-asked in a meek voice that trailed off without expectation of answer. Because it’s a mental sickness, isn’t it? To fall in love with people one can’t really be in love with. It pointed to something broken in her brain. Perhaps he didn’t take what she said seriously— the thought so outlandish he must suppose she meant this in a platonic sense, and chalked it up to her being tipsy and confused. If that was what he thought, perhaps Ida would have been offended.

But it wasn’t, was it? Because he told her to be careful, and now he told her— “You’ll help me!” She parroted back, incredulous. Instinctively, her hands clutched their anchor at his fingertips. “No. Why would you?”

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stefanie made this beautiful set <3

Ford hesitated, unsure how to answer. He didn't know that there was an answer. It just seemed like the only thing he could do, given the circumstances. She was distraught. What was his alternative, just leaving her to spiral in anxieties? Watch her cry? It was inconceivable. He cared about her. Maybe what he was feeling was all fake, but — but fake wasn't the right word for it, because he was feeling these things, and they'd been driving his behavior all night. Maybe these feelings were baseless, but they were as real in this moment as though he'd loved her for months. He could not wash his hands of the situation if it meant someone he cared about was going to get hurt. And this... was the sort of situation in which someone could certainly get hurt.

"Nevermind why," he mumbled, and squeezed her hands back (the way his heart had skipped a beat when she'd increased the pressure — smitten, he was done for). Periodically throughout the conversation tonight he had considered leaning towards some revelation of how he was feeling about her, either subtly or explicitly, but he had no intention of saying anything now. There was no chance of her returning his feelings, so it would only complicate things to tell her. She'd pull back, maybe disconnect from him entirely and run off, and then he wouldn't be able to take care of her through whatever came next.

"Did this just come on you tonight?" he asked. "All suddenly? Or have you been thinking about it a long time?"

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Set by Lady!

“I’m a scholar, I specifically mind the whys,” she countered, adamantly, but his wiles already did the trick. The glossiness of prospective tears already faded from her eyes, replaced by the expression that looked much more natural on her: a mix between skeptical and determined. “Wouldn’t you wish to spend your time during this gala speaking with someone a bit more–” Appropriate? Marriageable? Amicable? Though before Ida could settle on the word, she heard the couple from earlier making their way down the path.

With a start she withdrew her hands from Mister Greengrass’s, wrapping them around herself and tipping her body away from him to face the path. You have to be careful, his sentiment bounced around in her brain. Both about what she told him, of course, but then there’s the issue of how how they could be seen– Ida suddenly felt lucky the couple was no one she recognized. They ambled past, seemingly too enamored with each other based on their lovey-dovey eyes and hands and giggles to notice the two of them standing there. Ida waited until their footsteps faded anyway, because Mister Greengrass asked… an interesting question.

“Well yes, I only just met her tonight,” she observed. Technically they haven’t even met, but that was neither here nor there for Mister Greengrass. “I suppose you could say it was sudden. I thought that’s how love happens, though? Like you look at someone, and–” she snapped her fingers, “--you know. Anyway, I’ve had… interests,” she blushed faintly to even be talking about this so frankly, but he asked, which meant she put her thorough investigative lens over it, “But nothing is strong as this. Why?” She looked at him, even more curious now. Because the way he asked it, seemed to suggest he thought something more about this phenomenon that he hadn’t shared. “Does duration matter?”

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stefanie made this beautiful set <3

It was a good thing she hadn't finished the sentence, because Ford suspected that she'd been about to use some self-deprecating adjective, and he would have felt obligated to jump in to defend her from her own insecurities. But then she'd pulled her hands back, and he had to take a moment to (emotionally) process that, anyway. He felt the absence of her touch immediately, followed by a confused tangle of conflicting thoughts: it was good that she'd done it, because someone was wandering nearer and he didn't actually have any business holding her hands during a close conversation in the garden; there was a sense of chagrin that she had considered appearances enough to pull her hands back from him but hadn't stopped herself from admitting to something that most people would have balked at; did that maybe mean that she considered him a confidant? — a dash of hope at that, even if an actual return of his feelings was at this point rather hopeless. Particularly since she'd continued on to say that she'd had interests; he didn't know exactly what she meant by that, but he could guess. Even if her feelings in this particular instance didn't prove lasting, the chances that she would be interested in him at any point seemed vanishingly small. But that was alright — he could manage if she was happy, so he'd do whatever he could to ensure that happened.

"It's not that duration matters," he began hesitantly. "Not like there's some magic date line you have to cross before it's real enough. It's more... I'm not exactly an expert," he allowed, "But I think usually it — sort of builds up. Or — I don't know. I think you can feel it right away but it's... longer until you know it. Like — before you could say why. Am I making any sense?" He had no idea. There was a tangible difference in the way he felt about Tycho and the way he felt about her, and he wasn't sure how to explain it. "I told you I'm not a poet," he said. He didn't know what to do with his hands now that she wasn't holding them any more, and found himself stubbing the cigarette out on the nearest garden wall, just to keep them busy. "But listen — you can't just tell someone how you feel. I mean, you can, but you can't make them feel it. It doesn't translate. You've got to sort of — build up a case for it. Because you remember their favorite food and you can guess how they'd react to a story and you do things together and you tell them things you wouldn't tell other people and you smile when they're doing stupid little things no one else would think are funny," (he was entirely talking about Tycho now, and he felt — guilty? embarrassed? something — so his cheeks had started to color a bit). "And then when you say I'm in love with you, they believe you, because they already knew. Does that — does any of this make sense?"

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   Ida Chang

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Set by Lady!

So her instinct was right. Mister Greengrass did have good advice on how to deal with these feelings. For the first time since the performance she could channel all of her attention into the moment, and Ida listened to him as aptly as she did lecture. She waved off his disclaimer that he was no expert– he was talking about the difference between feeling and knowing. She understood this, in the way one’s wand warms with feeling and executes in what you know and intend. So basically, love was like magic.

That makes sense.

Though he said he was not poetic he was one of the more poetic people she knew, in the sense that he helped make things transparent. She stitched her brows at the thought of building up a case, but it wasn’t all that different from what she did every day. The language of love isn’t foreign either – it explained a lot, about the love she knew she had for others in the past. (Maybe those weren’t just interests at all. Some were more fleeting than others. Duration had something to do with it.)

“It makes me think that love feels better the more you know someone,” she said in response to his question if it made sense. This didn’t seem like the sort of discussion where there was a right or wrong way to look at it. “Perhaps the more you understand someone you love, the more reasons you are given to love them.” Ida had her rumination face on, which looked a bit stern but pleased. It helped her put some of her adoration of the dancer into perspective, in the grand scheme of life, as intolerable as the idea of her dislike felt right now. Ida didn’t even know why she felt this way yet, after all.

And Mister Greengrass seemed like a good authority on this, because he looked a bit like he knew something about love firsthand. Had his confession of love gone well but he had some reasons to hide it? Perhaps her family denied it? Or had she rejected him in some unfortunate way? Ida hated the thought, and how she might have added more rejection.

“The person you love,” she spoke a little quieter now. “Have you ever told them?”

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stefanie made this beautiful set <3

Ford startled at the question. He had not realized he was being as transparent as that, though perhaps he ought to have expected she would see through him. She was perceptive, after all. That, and he had a history of not being careful enough about how he chose his words when there were feelings involved. He had a tendency to wear most of his other feelings on his sleeves; why should love be any different?

But he didn't want to talk to her about Tycho. Even if there was never any chance that anything might happen between the two of them, even if there had never and would never be any chance, it still felt like shutting a door he didn't want to close. Even if he'd been able to put his sudden fondness for her aside, it wasn't the sort of thing that he could safely confide in someone, whatever she'd just admitted to him. It wasn't his secret alone to choose to share or keep; Ty was involved. Ford had promised him that he was going to do whatever it took to keep their attachment invisible to anyone who might disapprove, and he didn't intend to throw away a promise like that so quickly and easily. So he couldn't admit to anything... but he also didn't think he could lie to her. She wouldn't have believed him if he'd tried, so probably best to avoid it entirely.

"Yeah," he admitted quietly. He regretted the emptiness of his hands and almost wished for his cigarette back before he recalled that he'd had a drink in hand when they'd come out here. He must have put it down somewhere or other. Ford took this opportunity to look around for it, conveniently not having to look at her while she considered his answer. "But this isn't about me," he said, slightly louder as though an increase in volume would ease their transition away from the topic. He'd found his drink on the edge of a temporarily dry foundation, probably abandoned there when he'd taken out his wand to light the cigarette, and wielded it like a shield in front of him. "The woman you — your person. You said you only met her tonight. Are you going to be able to see her again after this party?"

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Set by Lady!

In Ida’s mind, it was simply the logical leap to imagine Mister Greengrass had experience with love. She inquired much like any investigator would, acting on an instinctive hunch, but with a full disregard – she realized in that moment – for personal. Fucking. boundaries. The young woman could have grimaced over her mistake but realized it too slowly, which at least gave her the ability to gracefully filter her expression into a faint frown. Up to now, Mister Greengrass had been entirely engaged with her – er, maybe a bit too engaged. But crossing this line touched a nerve that finally made him pull away, and she watched him glance around absently until he located his drink.

Right. Ida’s mind raced. They were out here– how did they get here– what were they– ah. Of course. The lovely gardens were where they were initially headed, sometime before she got ambushed by a sugar cloud and devolved into a messy, too-honest state. Mister Greengrass brought out the facts of what she said again, his examination causing her to nearly flinch. While what he said read more like a sincere interest to help than a jab at her, in a way, the sincerity made her feel even worse about her callousness.

“Um, might we walk,” she mumbled her request, forgetting her drink conveniently behind and deciding she needed oxygen to sustain her wilting brain. She regretted every ounce of liquor she’d had, primarily because it removed her filter. And in the end Mister Greengrass was still Mister Greengrass - vaguely a friend, hardly someone to say everything that’s been said. So… should she continue to be honest with him?

Well. He already knew the worst. What could possibly make what she said worse?

“It would be difficult for me to see her, if we don’t meet again tonight,” she admitted after they’d walked a bit, realizing quickly then that yes, it could get worse. “You see, she barely knows me at all.” Love at first sight, and all that poets said.

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stefanie made this beautiful set <3

Of course he agreed immediately when she suggested they walk; he still would have followed her anywhere. It was a good thing, probably, that she didn't reciprocate his crush, and that she wasn't the sort of girl (he didn't imagine) to suggest slipping away from the party to do something scandalous. I wouldn't do that, he thought as it occurred to him, but at the same time the image — called to mind unbidden but particularly vivid nonetheless — of himself and Miss Chang properly in private made his stomach flip. If he could get away with touching her — if she had wanted him to touch her —

But she didn't; she was in love with a woman and would never give him a second thought, and he had decided to make peace with that and help her all the same. He'd look out for her, even if she wouldn't offer him anything in exchange. He'd take care of her, keep her safe and do his best to make her happy — and maybe tomorrow would change something, either on his side or hers, since he hadn't been in love with her before tonight.

"Alright, here's what I think," he began. "I think you've got to talk to her, but only a little bit. Just long enough to have some pretense to write to her later. You can't tell her how you feel," he continued, with some urgency and a glance at Miss Chang to see whether she agreed. "Not tonight. Tonight you just introduce yourself and get an excuse in to write. Letters are good for this sort of thing — you can get to know someone a lot faster in a letter, because they say more than they do when they're talking. So if you can start writing back and forth with her, I think that'll help you get what you want sooner."

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Set by Lady!

Mister Greengrass was awfully understanding despite her saying and doing all of the unadvised things. In fact it seemed like not one of the worst things she’s said to him these last several minutes deterred his friendliness, which might’ve been endearing if it wasn’t so unnerving. Ida struggled to think about what her company could possibly be getting out of all of this – less from a place of low confidence in her abilities to carry on a conversation, more because she truly had nothing else to offer him. Even more clearly now, when she’d professed her love for the wrong type of person. What do you want, Mister Greengrass? she wondered, concealing her frown with a curious look at the man who decided to share what he thinks.

Ida sucked in a breath, anticipating the shoe like it did with her older brother: calling her silly and naive, misguided and ungrateful and going through a phase. (Though it still confused Ida why she confessed as much as she did to Mister Greengrass, she was sure not even this state of mind would have caused her to make such a confession to her brother.) Only– the shoe drop never came. Instead Greengrass carried on with a perfectly sensible plan, one that Ida followed along with eyes that widened to look a bit owlish. He glanced at her a bit worriedly, like she might bite his head off for pointing out she shouldn’t declare her love – but Ida still felt a bit too shocked by his suggesiton. He was encouraging her to carry on with this.

In any case, the rest of his advice felt right– “I find it much easier to express myself with writing,” the young woman admitted, chewing the inner corner of her lip in thought. And it eased some of the tension in her shoulders from having to figure out all the perfect words right this instant – just get an excuse to write seemed far more feasible. Surely the ballerina had many fans, though Ida might be able to distinguish herself from the rest with a nice letter. Perhaps she could read more from that poet Mister Greengrass liked so much.

The walk already did Ida a world of good, cool air evening out her intermittent dizziness. The news made her feel a little more elated, a little more optimistic too– an odd and bubbly feeling that felt foreign as it swelled in her chest, even as the muddy-headedness from the alcohol seemed to wear away. (Note to self: never try those fancy mixed drinks again.) The pair of them carried on walking the length of the state, talking about opening lines and clever ways to impress with writing. It seemed a bit like there was a bag of tricks men were taught for a proper written wooing, and learning his perspective gave Ida that same excitable tingle that a thought-provoking essay might. Rather than feeling deflated Ida felt encouraged, even laughed genuinely, and certainly forgot all about what made her so anxious before.

At least until they rounded a corner that would take them back towards the ballrooms on the other side– and saw her. The recognition gave Ida such a startle that she stopped dead in her tracks, bumping right into Mister Greengrass and grabbing onto his sleeve for dear life.

It was hard to describe what was happening to her brain, but Ida could sense that she had no control over it whatsoever. Everything else faded to nothing, and it was as though the entire world melted away and all Ida could think and feel and do were the things that could get her to be with her – the pretty ballerina who sat in a quiet corner of the estate on a lounge chair, fussing with the ribbon of her ballet slipper. Ford wouldn’t need to be a Legilimens to know from the dramatic shift in Ida’s disposition that this was the object of her affections and their conversation for the last several minutes.

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stefanie made this beautiful set <3

“Oh goodness, my apologies,” the ballerina had turned her face up to the pair who just came in, not-quite-sheepish as blue eyes flicked from the young lady to the gentleman, and she hastily retreated her legs under her costume’s skirt. Preening over one’s ankles and calves was less than couth behavior at a public event such as this, but then, she certainly hadn’t expected people to come through the side door to this side room, so far removed from the main party area.

Perhaps they were a new couple? All bright eyes and soft smiles, like they had been having a lovely conversation. Sophia didn’t hate love birds, per se, but New Years in particular was a very difficult time for her to swallow as this was when her husband passed.

The young woman waved away her apology like it was an outrageous statement– “Oh not at all Miss! I adored your performance earlier, I was hoping I might be able to say so in person…!” The sentiment drew a genuine smile across the dancer’s face. They exchanged introductions and little pleasantries, and as their conversation carried on her eyes lingered over the streaks of white powder that had seemed to settle into the lady’s hair and outfit. Poor girl, she shouldn’t go to the rest of the party like this, certainly not with a new potential paramour! Her makeup had smudged a bit around her eyes, as well. Goodness, that is no proper way to ring in the new year.

Sophia made a sympathetic noise– “I see the sugar cloud caught you both too,” she observed, and Ida’s hand flitted to her own hair, a bit self-conscious. “Oh it looks perfectly fine. Festive,” Sophia quickly reassured with a grin, and unthinkingly reached out to touch Ida’s arm. “Though I do have a charm that can help take this all off, if you’d like,” she carried on, “Perhaps your company will excuse us for a quick venture to the powder room?”

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thank you gin for the set<3

Of course, this ballerina was nothing short of utterly perfect in Ida’s eyes, whose bright smile rendered the witch only an inch away from a complete swoon. The fact that she made the ballerina smile only bolstered her confidence enough to prattle on. For the record, she veritably blacked out of all the subsequent pleasantries and introductions, the upcoming performance and future shows – the witch all too enamored by the curl of the woman’s dark hair framing her face, or the pretty red stain she wore on her lips, or the tinkle of her laugh. Love feels so strangely like obsession, Ida thought at some point.

So immersed in her obsession, Ida nearly forgot she was there with Mister Greengrass at all. The woman’s touch on her arm threw her heart up in her throat, and it took a moment for Ida to overcome her shock enough to understand what Ms. Voss had suggested. A quick venture together, to the powder room?!

They were both looking at Mister Greengrass for some reason, though of course, he would only find Ida’s expression to be utterly elated. Based on everything they’d discussed, she knew he’d say yes, so she volunteered – “Oh, of course! I shall… find you later, Mister Greengrass?” And before she knew it, Sophia had taken her arm and started to tug her away. It felt an awful lot like she was abandoning him, her dear companion with all his friendly advice, but she would die before she missed a chance like this. The witch turned her head just as they disappeared around a corner, waving back at him as she mouthed silently– “Don’t worry!” …Not that he was worried. But Ida wasn’t going to go on and do anything stupid, like declare her love or anything.

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stefanie made this beautiful set <3

As they walked through the garden path, Ford's mind remained mostly focused on the conversation at hand, with only occasional detours to consider how lovely she looked in a certain angle of light or what an adorable turn of phrase she'd just used. Of course, there was a more or less constant buzz in the back of his brain, which occasionally burst through to the forefront, pointing out how far away they had traveled from the main party, how long it had been since they had last spoken to someone else, how long since he'd seen anyone look in their direction. They were approaching the closest one could come to being alone at a party like this, and — and and and — of course nothing would come of it, because she wasn't interested and he would never act on anything he believed to be unrequited (and even if it were requited he wasn't in a position to be making an overtures towards young women — and he was happily involved with someone else, anyway — and and and —) but he still couldn't help thinking of it. There was the buzz in his brain constantly drawing attention to the fact that if circumstances had been different (if if if), this was a scenario where something could happen. They were venturing closer and closer towards the realm of possibility.

They had reached the house again, and were presumably headed back into the party (which was probably for the best; he didn't know whether he could take much more of the unrealized potential building up all around him) when the unthinkable happened. They chanced upon the ballerina. At first Ford was only embarrassed to have ended up in an otherwise isolated space with another person — someone who might guess at what was abuzz at the back of his mind, perhaps? Thankfully Miss Chang seemed, so far, oblivious to it. As he watched the two of them interact, however, it became apparent that the stakes were higher than that. Miss Chang hardly even seemed aware that he existed any more. Even given all the clues that he had, it still took him most of their conversation to connect the dots; by the time he did, the dancer was suggesting they visit the powder room. Ford felt a rush of panic and had to resist the urge to reach for Miss Chang's hand to keep her from drifting away. This was undoubtedly a terrible idea, but what could he do? He could hardly find a reason for her to avoid the powder room, and certainly not when the pair of them were already two steps to the door.

"Sure, see you," he said, then watched mournfully and helplessly as they retreated. She might ruin her life in that powder room, admitting to something she shouldn't say. She might not remember her promise to find him later by the time she finished the interaction. He honestly couldn't have said which concerned him more.

After they'd disappeared, he found himself hovering. He didn't know how long they would be — he had a general sense of how long powder room visits took, having three sisters, but this was hardly the run of the mill powder room visit. Would Miss Chang come back here when she was finished? Where even was here? He wasn't in the party proper, and as the time wore on he began to feel conspicuous lingering in a room he probably didn't have any right to be in. Eventually, he decided to make his way back to the party — and immediately found the drink table, searching out the most straightforward way to drown his sorrows until she returned.

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Set by Lady!

If Mister Greengrass looked at all disappointed, or confused, or concerned-- Ida missed those cues entirely. She was next to the love of her life, and thoroughly enraptured now by the fact that the woman had taken her hand, that they were disappearing around the corner, and that her newfound friend in Mister Greengrass had equipped her so well for this moment.

And it was a moment. They were in the lady's powder room for quite some time, chatting about life, about what Ida did, about what brought the ballerina to dance at this party -- learned her name was Ms Sophia Voss, she liked to be called Soph. The two of them talked all about her shows, her costumes, all the tricks she learned about makeup and hair. Ida felt oddly hypnotized by how the pretty dancer almost lovingly helped comb the mess out of her hair, the grace with which she moved when she did anything, even just resetting curls in her hair. The assault on every sensation sent Ida straight to cloud nine, enamored completely and utterly, which of course suffered a blip when Sophia innocently inquired about the gentleman she found Ida with.

“Oh, a good friend,” Ida played off, not at all inclined to talk about him, but not wanting to start her new relationship with her off on the wrong foot with lies either. What this might suggest went right over Ida’s head, and she didn’t notice the ballerina’s smirk hidden behind her hand clutching a dozen-odd hairpins.

Surely because Sophia Voss was a literal angel from the heavens dwelling earth, Ida departed her company feeling light as a feather and happier than she’d ever been. Sure, there was the sour note of having to take leave from her at all. But the woman had to dance her final number before midnight and Ida secured her mission as Mister Greengrass had suggested– an excuse to write, and get to know each other. With an expression of triumph Ida looked around for him to share the good news, peering around corners but hardly very thorough in her progressively inebriated state (a few champagne flutes might’ve flown to her hand as she floated out of the powder room in bliss). Frowning but deciding that she’ll see him eventually, surely, Ida found a friend and a perfect seat for them to admire the dance. There they rang in the new year, giddy and gleeful and thrilled with the promise of new love.

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stefanie made this beautiful set <3