The perfect drug.

Tic could do nothing but move as his captor did, thoughts of escape having fled his mind. The ball didn't appeal; its extravagance was distorted, dulled by a fog of apathy and regret. There were too many scrutinizing eyes, he thought, feeling numbly awkward under the attention of so many aristocrats. He remained silent as they greeted the man at his side, his head lowered and spirits broken.

One of the musicians had come to them, bowing and greeting. Tic's eyes lifted momentarily from the glass he held, still unsure of whether to drink. The reactions of others to its potency was clear, and it was an experience he didn't want yet to feel. He distracted himself with its presence though, silently staring down again with blurred eyes. It was comforting to feel an absence of Larkin's focus on him too, but the bard had soon moved away, to be replaced by another. Another, masked, with an elegant white gown and peculiar pink hair.

Immediately, he raised his eyes, his hopes doing likewise. But he knew it couldn't be -- she would have had to escape, and he knew she hadn't. He watched as she dipped her knees before the sovereign, addressing him with a cool voice. And he knew; she was just one of them, come for the luxury of the ball, looking just as beautiful as the rest, even with her mask --

And then she left, falling from his sight and into the movement and dance of the dimmed room. The sounds and excitement rose around his ears suddenly, rushing through his senses with a thrill. For moments, he simply stared, lips parted and eyes gazing to the air where the girl last stood. He quickly hid this awe, lowering his eyes once again to the brim of the untouched glass.