[center][h1][b][color=9354FF]Fritz "Ryn" Hendrix[/color][/b][/h1][color=9354FF]Time:[/color] Sola 28 1739; Nighttime Hours
[color=9354FF]Location:[/color] Castle Dining Room
[color=9354FF]Interaction(s)/Mention(s):[/color] [@Potter] [@princess] [@FunnyGuy] [@samreaper] [@Helo] [@Apex Sunburn] [@Tae] [@Oso][/center] 
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Ms. Persephone had not uttered a word in some time, Ryn noticed—her eyes darted about the room like a trapped sparrow. At first, he had attributed her unease to the rather delicate matter of her current situation. Impersonating nobility while Count Damien sat mere tables away was hardly conducive to a relaxing evening, after all. The grandeur of the setting by itself could unsettle those unused to such displays of wealth and power, let alone those who regarded them with contempt.

Or—and this thought gave him pause—possibly he was the source of her discomfort. He struggled to pinpoint any particular offense; their interactions since the masquerade had been limited to passing pleasantries. Hardly the stuff of lasting grievance. Still, with these things, one never knew.

Watching her, however, he realized it was not any one thing causing her distress—it was everything. The sounds, the smells, even the very air seemed to press against her like a physical weight. As voices rose around them, the shadows beneath her eyes deepened, and something flickered behind her gaze—a darkness that made him think of storm clouds gathering before thunder.

He was about to suggest she might benefit from some fresh air when soft arms encircled him from behind. 

Lady Charlotte’s embrace was tender, warm, yet it sent an inexplicable chill down his spine. Not a word passed her lips, but the gesture carried all the weight of a farewell. Then she was gone, offering Mr. Kazumin both an embrace and affectionate words.

[color=lightpink]“Kaz.”[/color] The whisper was so faint, Ryn nearly missed it. [color=lightpink]”Outside. Now. Please.”[/color]

Words rose to his lips and died there. If his earlier assessment of her discomfort around him held any truth, his presence would only compound her distress. Best to leave this to someone she trusted. Ryn caught Mr. Kazumin’s eye and gave a slight nod, watching as he hurried after her.

With a quiet sigh, Ryn divided his attention between Duke Vikena—just in case the man decided to make this evening even more interesting—and the high table. Lady Morrigan, silent as she had been at the theatre, now leaned close to Prince Callum’s ear. Though her words were lost to distance, Ryn could read the shape of her question clearly enough: [i]Who are you?[/i]

[i][color=9354FF]Or what?[/color][/i] he added. The prince’s magicae had altered dramatically since Ryn's last assessment, and not in ways that suggested natural progression. The dark entity’s presence raised many troubling questions: Had it been invited in—through a spell of the prince's own casting—or had it found its way in through other means? A curse, perhaps, tied to one of those artifacts he and his maid had discovered? Or had something fundamental shifted within the prince himself these past few days?

Captain Wasun’s suggestion—[color=1E90FF]“Charlotte, you should go find doctor”[/color]—cut through Ryn’s musings. He took a moment to consider everything he had observed throughout the evening. While Duke Vikena might be correct about Lady Charlotte feeling the sting of rejection, Ryn was not entirely convinced it was by Mr. Deacon. There was also the Captain himself, whose gaze kept straying to a beautiful woman who was in the company of Lord Vael-Damien with an ache that mirrored Lady Charlotte’s own. Not quite the same story, nonetheless written in the same ink.

Perhaps he should check. [color=9354FF]“You do look unwell, Lady Charlotte. Would it help if Lord Cassius Damien escorted you to the infirmary?”[/color]
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