It's so fascinating to be surprised by somebody's memory.
In the split-second before Acheron replies, Black Swan wonders if she will be remembered. Acheron had explained that her memory tended to hold on to strong emotion better, but Black Swan wasn't quite sure if she'd inspired such strength of feeling in their first meeting or, indeed, their second meeting at the ball. She knows she makes for a unique impression to most, but she doesn't know how strong of an emotion Acheron needed. Her memory doesn't work like those typically impaired with dementia, or amnesia, or just plain forgetfulness.
So, she's pleasantly surprised when Acheron does seem to remember her. Some of her, at least, if not the whole of her.
Black Swan's lips curve in a satisfied smile, and she gently curls her gloved fingers around Acheron's. "Good," she hums. "I was feeling awfully lonely."
This ball is being held in a building that used to be a theater, and still very much has the trappings of one, gilded golden archways and red curtains. Elegantly dressed people are making their way through the lobby, some of them stopping at a row of booths lined up against a far wall -- people go inside wearing a plain suit, and come out wearing a three-piece tuxedo, or a ballgown, or whatever they wish. It is a dream, after all; changing the appearance of people's clothes is easy. Black Swan doesn't need such technology herself, but she nonetheless guides Acheron over after casting a glance at her wardrobe.
"Your clothes may suit you, my dear, but I'm afraid they're not quite fit for a ball," Black Swan teases. "Here. These booths will allow you to browse for an outfit, and will update your residual dream image automatically."
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In the split-second before Acheron replies, Black Swan wonders if she will be remembered. Acheron had explained that her memory tended to hold on to strong emotion better, but Black Swan wasn't quite sure if she'd inspired such strength of feeling in their first meeting or, indeed, their second meeting at the ball. She knows she makes for a unique impression to most, but she doesn't know how strong of an emotion Acheron needed. Her memory doesn't work like those typically impaired with dementia, or amnesia, or just plain forgetfulness.
So, she's pleasantly surprised when Acheron does seem to remember her. Some of her, at least, if not the whole of her.
Black Swan's lips curve in a satisfied smile, and she gently curls her gloved fingers around Acheron's. "Good," she hums. "I was feeling awfully lonely."
This ball is being held in a building that used to be a theater, and still very much has the trappings of one, gilded golden archways and red curtains. Elegantly dressed people are making their way through the lobby, some of them stopping at a row of booths lined up against a far wall -- people go inside wearing a plain suit, and come out wearing a three-piece tuxedo, or a ballgown, or whatever they wish. It is a dream, after all; changing the appearance of people's clothes is easy. Black Swan doesn't need such technology herself, but she nonetheless guides Acheron over after casting a glance at her wardrobe.
"Your clothes may suit you, my dear, but I'm afraid they're not quite fit for a ball," Black Swan teases. "Here. These booths will allow you to browse for an outfit, and will update your residual dream image automatically."