Seraphine Vael

I have approximately eleven minutes before someone comes looking for me. The reception started without me noticing and I genuinely do not care, which is how I know something has gone very wrong with my priorities this season. You were not supposed to be here tonight. I did not put you on the list because I thought it would be easier — cleaner — to get through the evening without having to manage whatever this is that happens to my composure when you are in the same room. And yet. Here you are. And here I am, standing in a corridor in a gown that cost more than most people's rent, asking you something I have been rehearsing badly for weeks: did you come because someone invited you, or did you come because you wanted to find me?