closed starter for @nexiliis In one moment, she is at Lytton House in London; in their ballroom. She is judging the other attendees on how fine their costumes are, sipping on a nearly empty glass of spiked lemonade. Then someone steps by—on her way towards the dance floor—and behind her trails the scent of flowers and clove. And in the next moment, Augustia is in France, grazing a woman's skin with her lips.
She takes an involuntary step towards the scent, like a woman possessed. She downs the rest of her glass and hands it off to…who even knows. If someone protests, she doesn’t hear it. She doesn’t care. Her eyes are trained on the nape of that stranger’s neck. The stranger who smells like a Parisian summer from long ago.
She catches up, just in time to see a young man having the same idea as her. She surges forward and blocks him with her body. She faces the young woman, breathless.
“Apologies for my abruptness, miss, but I was enchanted by you. Might you honor me with a place on your dance card?”
