Maximillian observed Clara carefully as she seemed to consider the proposition he’d put forth; from the outside looking in, it seemed as though all of her actions were deliberated in a sea of hesitation and self-doubt. He wasn’t sure as to why a woman such as herself would partake in an activity as social as the masquerade if her sole intentions were to quiver within the embrace of her tortured mind, but the choices that this strange woman had made in order to bring herself to this decision were the least of his concern. The thoughts that consumed his psyche as he watched her gently place her glass of wine beside its empty sibling fixated on the feeling of familiarity he felt toward her. She could certainly be considered attractive by many a man’s standards, but he was sure that the austere aura of nostalgia she exuded far surpassed that of a common fling. If he truly knew this woman as he felt he did, he gathered the distinct impression that the history they shared was far from a comfortable one. Her glimmering pupils remained completely fixated upon him, almost as if she was scrying into the darkest depths of his soul. Combined with the hesitation in her actions, her careful inspection of his appearance indicated that she, too felt the nagging claws of familiarity tearing at her mind. To Max, this interaction had suddenly become far more intricate than a conversation with a masked stranger. It had become increasingly obvious to him, at least, that the dance they would enjoy was more akin to two predators circling one another, doing their best to approximate their adversary’s weaknesses before the first strike. After allowing herself another brief moment to inspect his masked visage, the emerald-clad Clara gingerly slipped her fingers between his own, and allowed him to lead her toward the smooth tiles of the dance floor. As they began their approach, her soft, fragile shell of a voice gently kissed his ears as she responded to his spoken invitation.

	“You'd be surprised,” As she spoke, the bemused Maximillian spared Clara a brief glance, and once again found her glittering hazel eyes firmly fixed upon his own dark emeralds. She was clearly devoted to her pursuits as concretely as he was to his own, and an easy going smile fixed itself upon his face as this fact made itself clear to him. This would prove to be a much more interesting evening than he originally anticipated. 
“The lonely tend to be that way for their own reasons -- and you'll find that the same tend to have a plethora of stories in their isolation. Something had to be the
cause of their despair, no?” It was easy for Max to accept this statement at face value. Though mysterious in her own ways, it appeared that Clara was capable of brutal, direct honesty—even if phrased in a bit of a roundabout fashion. Under normal circumstances, it was overtly obvious that she had a credible, logical reason for keeping her feelings closed off from the outside world. Otherwise she’d have no reason to waste her evening by isolating herself from the enjoyment of the masquerade. The more this woman spoke, the more intriguing she became to him. As her chilly, delicate tones tickled his ear drums; the aura of familiarity which surrounded her masked features began to overwhelm the foundation of logic and rationality which maintained his calm exterior. As they reached the dance floor, Max hesitated for the briefest moment, and gazed deeply into Clara’s intense, hazel-rimmed pupils in an attempt to decipher who truly hid herself behind the mask of black lace.

"But, prey tell. What makes you think that I’d be willing to share such tales with a stranger?" As she finished speaking, Max capitalized on the opportunity which had been granted to him to gather his thoughts. He took a brief moment to place his hand upon her hip, place his right foot forward, and then began to lead Clara in an elegant, though simple waltz as the band started to play. His form was precise and carefully practiced, and his black and white footwear glimmered with a polished shine as they began to circle toward the center of the floor. Though it could not have been longer than fifteen consecutive seconds of silence on Maximillian’s part, his composure seemed to falter slightly as he took a moment to once again gaze deeply into Clara’s eyes. Though brief, as their eyes met, his own emerald framed pupils burned with raw curiosity and his lust for the truth. As another moment of quiet contemplation passed between them, Maximillian finally seemed to find his voice and respond to her innocent query.

	“If I’m being completely honest… I’m not quite sure.” His statement was simple, purely logical, and came directly from his heart. However, he was far from finished speaking. Sparing himself the briefest instant to gaze upon the uncut emerald dangling from her neck, he felt as though he was beginning to connect the dots. For reasons that completely escaped his comprehension, the white-clad gentleman felt strangely sure that the cloak of familiarity which Clara wore resonated from his perception of the stone. It wasn’t the woman who wore it that captured his attention as he strolled along the party’s borders; it was this specific article of clothing. That emerald was sure to have a story, and Maximillion was intent on finding out just what it had to say—and more importantly, what it had to do with him. 

	“However, from a purely rational standpoint, is it not the intent of the masquerade to shed ourselves of our inhibitions and let caution fly to the wind?” Where Max had began his dance with a respectable amount of distance separating Clara and himself, with his next series of steps, he did his best to close the distance between them a bit more—but  in a manner that was more protective than romantic. Rather, as he closed a small increment of the gap separating them, he focused his attention purely on the way the room’s ambient light reflected off of the emerald’s surface as they continued to spin about the floor. He then shifted his attention back toward Clara’s attentive hazel eyes, and spoke once further.

“Clearly, you have to be interested in my words to some extent. Otherwise, I’m sure you could have continued on with your night unabashed. As you say, the lonely tend to have a reason to be so—if you’re reason is as logical as I imagine it must be, it must have taken a great deal of curiosity to indulge a stranger such as myself to a dance. Perhaps it’s a confidant in which you seek?”