#daya.

evening of July 30th, 1889  Arthur’s birthday party at his house

The party is going well in Arthur's eyes, especially when he finds out that people are in disagreement on how old he's actually turning. He's not planning to reveal the mystery anytime soon and he hopes that none of the people who actually know the answer won't do so either. The truth does send a shiver down Arthur's spine. Thirty. A rather unbecoming number. If he could stop time, he'd do so in a heartbeat—his twenties are certainly treating him well. Or rather had treated him well. This should've been a funeral themed party, an au revoir to his youth. 

The ground floor is swimming in guests; friends, mere acquaintances and, frankly, a very large number of strangers—he's been rather generous with giving out invitations. The more the merrier. The music, the loud laughter and the conversations all bring Arthur an immense amount of comfort. They're also a distraction—while the hauntings have grown calmer and became almost dormant, Arthur's started obsessively thinking about them instead. He's so tempted to write about it all but he still remembers what happened the last time. He does not want a repeat any of it. 

There's one person Arthur sent out an invitation to that he didn't think was going to show up. That’s why the surprise is clearly visible on his face when he finds Daya entering the celebrating crowd. He rushes down the stairs to meet her, catch her attention before anyone else does. "Do my eyes deceive me? This cannot be true," he says, his tone teasing and especially dramatic. He breaks out into a smile right after, as if it were going to make them both forget that they haven't really spoken in a while and when they did, it wasn't all that pleasant. Arthur's in a very amiable mood tonight, though, and he tries to sounds as genuine as he can. “I didn't think you'd come, actually. But I'm glad you did."