When one is bestowed the gift of undeath, they are quick to discover that their near-limitless span of life provides them access to the universe’s most valuable and finite resource. It is the bane of the mortal mind, and what brings demise even to the most powerful of men. Without the limits of mortality shackling the sentient mind, the time in which one is given allows them to acquire a great variety of skills. Some choose to hone the strength of their bodies, and others thrive with their increased perception and reaction time. Maximillian, on the other hand, most greatly values the time he was granted to educate himself in the finer aspects of life as he had once known it. Throughout the centuries, he found himself at odds with adversaries both cunning and powerful, and was certainly no stranger to the likes of a dual of wits. However, never in even his extended lifespan did he consider that one could leave him so easily starved of the words which he valued as his greatest of strengths. As he expected, his dance with Clara had only just begun, and he found himself lost within the hidden meaning of her cryptic replies. She was equally as skilled in the art of verbal confrontation as he, if not more so, and he was completely aware of it. As he awaited her response, he fixed his emerald gaze firmly upon her masked features.

	As their dance continued and the distance between them narrowed, the tone of their conversation took a decidedly intriguing turn as Clara’s soft, delicate tones drifted into Max’s ears. The close proximity of their bodies created an illusion of intimacy as they exchanged words, and to the masked dancers adjacent, they must have truly appeared lost in the other’s company. The reality of their exchange was far from intimate, and Clara’s words eloquently severed the strands of his narrative with every syllable she pronounced. As effective as his words were in arousing her curiosity, she saw through their smokescreen as clearly as if she was gazing upon the stars through a telescope. In her own words, she was far from typical. It was that alone that aroused his attention so acutely. This masquerade was a playground; every dress, every piece of jewelry, every curvaceous and voluptuous form awaiting a man’s company was completely within his grasp. Yet, his curiosity, his incessant drive to acquire truth placed him at the mercy of this emerald herald. The smile which blossomed so unexpectedly upon her face after she spoke her truth was one of victorious anticipation. She knew full well that the words within her mind would seal his fate before he could so much as muster a viable response, and with that she layed her accusation between them for them both to bare witness to. Truly, what was it that he was looking for? Every last instinct within him screamed that exposing his intent was a poor choice in judgment, but for the first time in one hundred and fifty years, Maximillian ignored the subconscious cries of warning which flooded his brain. If this Clara was truly as intriguing as originally thought, it would take far more than an honest declaration on the part of a stranger to send her back into the realm of obscurity.

	“Perhaps,” He began, narrowing the distance which separated them even further. His hand, once modestly placed upon her hip, now slid carefully into the small of her back as the tension between them rose to a boiling point. His eyes locked gazes with hers, and he felt the soft tingle of electricity bouncing along the length of his spine as he leaned his masked face ever so slightly toward hers. What was once a modest distance between them was now but a few inches of open air, and Maximillian’s tone was significantly softer than it was prior; and within it, it held an unbridled an unexplainable passion which hung upon his every word. 

	“Perhaps my curiosity has, for once in my life, taken a hold of my body. Perhaps when I first laid my eyes upon you from afar, I was ensnared by the aura of emotion which you wore as a cloak. Perhaps, even in this moment, I cannot help but feel as though our eyes have met in darker days than this one. But above all else…” He paused for a moment, pulling away from her slightly as he did so. For the briefest instant, Maximillian’s eyes fell into a fog of distant memory; her voice, her figure, and her very aura felt so familiar, and yet her identity completely eluded him. Who was this strange woman who had entranced him so? As suddenly as he drifted off, his awareness returned to him, and he turned his attention back toward Clara’s emerald pendant.

	“Perhaps I’ve been consumed by the madness of uncertainty which plagues my mind in your presence. One could spend eons chipping away at the castle which surrounds your inner-most thoughts, but this man prefers a more... Direct approach.” As the last sentence left his lips, he couldn’t help but allow the corners of his lips to rise in a fraction of a smile. His gaze remained firmly fixed with hers, and he narrowed the distance between them even further, leaving only an inch or two between them as their dance continued.

	“What say you now, Ms. Clara? Have I ignited that same curiosity within your soul, or shall I leave you to your loneliness?”