"I have two... no. One piece of advice and one selfish request, Master Hazel Valentine Fletcher. In the first place if I have earned any thanks at all for my contributions to your night, small though they have been, I would ask you to inquire about Eclair Espoir. It does not need to be tonight. You do not need to tell me what you learn. Merely ask about the name, to one someone or to many. Or about the Order of the Aurora, if you prefer. I request that you ask. And then do with that information what you will."

Final touches, final checks. The Mystery Builder takes Hazel by the hand and lifts him to his feet with uncommon strength and ease. She frowns a moment thereafter. Deep thinking, and nothing more.

She leads him in silence through the hallways, toward the ever louder chanting that calls for his appearance. She walks on confident and steady feet with her back straight and proud, the way a hero should be. She links her arm in his and holds him steady. There are no grand tricks at play here; she had no time for coordination and no particular taste for the kind of looping schemes that someone like Timtam would have favored. Her comfort is merely the presence of a friend, and an inevitable march that does not give Hazel time to hesitate or spiral into misery.

There are flashes of smiles from the staff of The Chrysanthemum as they push the doors open. The Mystery Builder leads the Golden Faun into the ballroom without a word of commentary and without stopping. Through the crowds, and does not stop. Past the suitors, and does not stop. All the way to the dance floor and then through the center, closer to where the band is set to play.

And she raises her arm toward the ceiling, and turns to pass it over the entire crowd in attendance.

"I have brought you what you wished for, Party Goers and Good People of Vespergift!" her voice feels almost mystically powerful, "I claim as payment the right of first dance! To those of you who flatter yourselves candidates for the Queen of Light: do not dare embarrass yourselves by performing worse than my example."

She gestures for music. She flashes the smallest of smirks to Hazel, and pulls him close against her body. Their dance is something like a waltz: slow and easy to follow along to, if he follows her lead. And close enough for quiet words to not be heard by any ears but his, at least overtop of the music playing so jubilantly and so close by.

"I told you I have advice. It is this: Love is all that can save you, Sir. You stand at the center of a trial for dolts and thugs who heard the call to Thellamie's highest and most sacred station and immediately assumed that pulling Crevas apart at the foundations was a suitable path forward, and so you will never be out of danger so long as you are in this world.

"But somewhere among that lot are one or several girls who might, if you let them, plant a blossom in your heart that will flower into something truly special. These facts are all that you can trust: that you are capable of loving. That you are worthy of being loved. And that no Queen of Light will ever guide Thellamie who is not capable of loving you.

"Civellia and her pendant cannot save you. But you are a hero chosen by Starlight, Hazel Valentine Fletcher. So that is the path I suggest you walk. Set your challenges so that you may come to know each of these silly girls. Let your heart connect with theirs. You do not need to force anything. You do not need to worry about what ending this may all come to. Simply trust in Love, and let it save you. When you are claimed..."

She places two fingers on his neck and for a fleeting instant where they pass Hazel can feel the weight of a collar against his skin. Though of course this is a phantom sensation, invisible to all but him.

"Tamed..."

She takes him by the back of the neck and dips him low enough to brush his hair against the dance floor. Her arm is strong enough to suspend him in place, just on the edge of danger, without even seeming to tense or tremble. She pulls him back up and spins him close.

"When you can prove that you are hers..."

She mimes placing a ring on his finger. And again, though there is nothing there he can feel it. The weight of the band. The cool kiss of metal. The squeeze of something wrapped tight around him. And then it all vanishes into butterflies.

"You will understand. Goodbye for now, Hazel Valentine Fletcher. And good luck."

She offers him a deep, flourishing bow and steps backward. With a flash of her cape, her job here is finished. She vanishes into the crowd, to seek her own advice.