White camellias, tied tight with a lavender bow, presented themselves before the mistress in red as she stood in her door frame. Behind them, a man in a casual suit with a smile as bright as the white he wore. “I’ve heard rumours of a ball this New Year’s Eve,” he started simply, “with stars and dancing to ring in the new year. And I thought, ‘wouldn’t it be great to have someone special by my side?’” Placing a hand atop his heart, he gave a polite bow, and offered up the bouquet of flowers. “Will you accompany me as my date, Miss Lotti?”
Perhaps it should be expected that one might ask her to this upcoming ball. Vanity was not something which was prominent in the elder Baskerville, knowing well her utter misfortunes in the life she has been given. That does not stop fair features from blossoming in a bout of surprise at the offer, albeit kittenish in response upon the words selected to invite her.
❝ Someone special, hmm? My, how bold!~♥ ❞ Gloved digits take the flower proffered with a cheerful smile, smelling it slightly as she taps it to her cheek thereafter. ❝ How could I refuse something like thaaat? I’d love to attend with you, Mister Byakuran! ❞