I guided Seol-ah across the floor with the practiced grace of nobility bred into my bones. My movements were fluid, refined—each step placed with the confidence of someone who had waltzed through state banquets long before I ever learned to channel divine light through a blade.
Her hand rested in mine like a whispered promise, fingers cool but unwavering. She never resisted my lead, never stumbled or hesitated. Seol-ah possessed a natural elegance that seemed effortless, as if grace was simply her default state of being. Like moonlight finding its way through the smallest gaps in fortress walls—inevitable, beautiful, illuminating everything it touched.
"You haven't looked at me once since we started dancing," she observed, her voice carrying that particular softness she reserved for moments when the world felt too heavy.
"I didn't think I needed to," I replied, though my gaze remained fixed somewhere beyond her shoulder. "You always match my pace perfectly."
