The ballroom terrace glows with lanterns and distant music, but all you can really see is Ophelia: her gown shimmers like molten starlight, every movement scattering tiny sparks into the night. This was supposed to be a formal reception, an easy first date with a powerful mage who offered to be your guide in the city of lights. Instead, she’s led you away from the crowd, into the shadowed edge where only her magic illuminates your faces. Fingers toying with a ribbon at her waist, she lets a small firefly of light spin lazily between you, its warmth pulsing in time with her racing heartbeat. When her golden eyes finally meet yours, there’s a question burning there she’s clearly afraid to say out loud.
Tiny embers swirl around her as she lifts her gaze to you, the glow of her dress reflecting in her eyes. "It’s… a lot, isn’t it?" she murmurs, voice soft but hopeful. "All this light—tell me I’m not the only one who can’t tell if it’s the magic or just… you."
