[color=#ff39d6]"Mmh?"[/color] Glancing over her shoulder to see who was disturbing her train of thought, recognition flickered in her eyes. If Ashley was honest, she had considered bumping into Mikhail "accidentally." What she didn't expect was for the "accident" in question to come to her.

[color=#ff39d6]"KHH-HM."[/color] She looks away briefly, making a sound like she was clearing her throat, before swallowing her food.

[color=#ff39d6]"Mikhail! Milord,"[/color] she adds, defaulting to her better social graces.

Mikhail was not just a looker (in Ashley's humble opinion). As the son of a Duke, he was also her social better by just shy of six degrees. Even in the "good old" days—a time from before they met—Ashley had been the daughter of a Marquess, still putting her somewhat beneath him. Further still, she was... well. Her existence was [i]documented[/i], at any rate, but if the two families had ever discussed marriage, she would not have been invited to that table. All of her siblings were better than her, seemingly at everything that nobles needed to be skilled at.

Well, they weren't anymore. Now, they were all missing—presumed dead. Perhaps even [i]hopefully[/i] dead, for someone with a mind as grim as Ashley's—but her father was [i]definitely[/i] dead, and that was all that really mattered to people like Lady Madeline.

In any case, this was now [i]his[/i] table, not hers—and she was his guest, not he hers—for those keeping score. She adjusts her posture accordingly.

[color=#ff39d6]"Please, be at ease,"[/color] she says smoothly, though with his confident look she needn't have bothered trying to soothe him. [color=#ff39d6]"I do not curse people, much less my social betters—even if I had the means."[/color] Her eyes, were they normal, would show no falsehood, as she sincerely meant what she said. Indeed, she did not know him as well as she'd like, and thus she lacked the means.

The problem was that her eyes were not normal—neither was her voice, nor her demeanor. They betrayed hardly a thing, besides what Ashley wanted to project—at least to the average person who paid little attention to the finer details of other people—but to the discerning eye, her entire being evoked a constant feed of falsehood. She was like a fake person, pretending to have emotions, voicing thoughts that were not her own. It was a subtle effect—one could be easily be forgiven for thinking she was simply poker-faced—but to someone who knew what she was and how that all worked, it was clear to see. They were the eyes, voice, and thoughts of someone given over to the abyss of the dark arts. Either the darkness was sucking the life out of her, or at best, everything she ever did was an act, leaving the "real Ashley" a complete mystery. She was not openly malicious, as the stereotype usually went—unless she chose to wore that mask in battle, to feed her fell arts with the fear of her enemies. No, it was simply as if she wasn't all there.

Mikhail had gotten a taste of this at the last party they both attended.

The unreasonable demand of the day, which was being foisted upon his shoulders, was to demonstrate his progress on his combat ability. Having seen Ashley on stage several times before, he would finally have the dubious honor of joining her, as she was to be his opponent. An organ played as she stepped onto the stage, casting her as the "villain" in their fictional battle to the death. As she was expected to lose, Ashley fully intended to let him win—what she did not expect was that her charity wouldn't be necessary.

Ashley plainly refused to use her fell arts on the stage for all the nobility to see, which would make her a sitting duck if she didn't also have some skill with the sword. However, with Mikhail's superior strength and stamina, using the oppressive range of his lance to fully leverage every advantage he had, Ashley could do little but dance a dance of death around him, avoiding his strikes as narrowly as possible for the full dramatic effect, and throwing out the odd attack whenever he would overextend. Suddenly, the crowd would gasp as Mikhail's wooden training lance nicked Ashley's face, drawing blood. Then, after wiping her face, she would reveal a positively villainous smile, and the nobles would go wild, all the while a full orchestra was going on in the background. It was quite the extravagant display—though Ashley and Mikhail shared one speck of camaraderie in that they both found the whole spectacle quite droll.

Eventually, Ashley would become too exhausted to continue, and Mikhail would be declared the winner. Dripping with sweat, she would be forced to stand uncomfortably close to him and raise his arm up in the air with her own—and then, also, she would be offered the poisoned drink by Lady Madeline—a drink she could hardly be seen refusing—and then again, afterwards, have to act the part of a drunkard, as if she hadn't secretly also drank an antitoxin while no one was looking—and finally, excuse herself, with apologies. The whole night was pretty mortifying overall, and it was also the only close contact she'd had with Mikhail in a long, long time. They only spoke to each other very rarely. Certainly, they had never been alone together. This was the closest she'd come to such an encounter.

Realizing this, Ashley steels herself. [color=#ff39d6]"Haven't seen you since the last party, handsome. You're faring well, I take it? Am I right to assume that the events in Irinoth have piqued your interest as well?"[/color] she inquires, every word dripping with all the dangerous charm a woman of her ilk could muster.