[center]𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅 𝑫𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒎𝒂 𝒐𝒇 𝑳𝒂𝒅𝒚 𝑨𝒍𝒚𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒂 𝑮𝒓𝒆𝒚
𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑰[/center]

	𝓦atching as Lady Alyssana did not take a seat, Finnegan admired the woman's bodice as she read the paper. There were things about her that he found absolutely ridiculous. By ridiculous he meant in all good-humour as the upper class would say when frowning upon the lower-class as, [i]people who believe that one husband ought to live with the one wife whom he has lawfully married; that a girl should be innocent, a woman modest, and a man, manly, self-controlled...[/i] Ah, the great authors and their wisdom. They shamed him as he smiled uncontrollably at the woman. He would have more self-control if perhaps the two of his cherished friends had not dowsed him with one of his lovely potions. 
	
	Never he mind such thoughts, now. The woman spoke with a straight charm. It was not the kind that fancied with bells and chimed up and down the human instrument. It was the kind that was frank but still lovely with sound. It was low yet with the ability to maintain the ability to remain open for some sort of male attention, if perhaps, the man were sharp enough to hear through the eye of a needle. Finnegan yearned to be such a man, if not for the sake of the chase but out of self-control.

	“Your sharp attention is every admirable,” he smiled at her, looking up to her with light eyes of a dark-needed yearning all too focused on her outer physique than anything, “As always,” he concluded his first line and continued, “A dance around the world takes me to either the Moon or some flying creature or contraption. Still, there is little lead from those three vague clues. You are quite correct about the jingle being to Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Perhaps, though, if I may,” Finnegan shifted weight, uncurling his fingers as if secretly pushing some invisible script from his face before placing his attention on Lady Alyssana, “The actual tune of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star is not just similar to the [i]ABCs[/i] or [i]Baa Baa Black Sheep[/i]. [i]Ah vous dirais-je, Maman[/i] by none other than Mozart himself. Again, we are left with three more vague leads. Whether they are true to the conclusion or not, I would only assume so much, anyhow.” His hand waved in the air again, and landed on the cushion of the chair. His head tilted back, curls a little damp, pressing into the rich fabric, “I wonder, which of these is the shyest?” Light, bright eyes still admiring the Lady through a boyish haze.