orscreaming | (no subject)

The problem with escaping to one of these parties is that she has no idea what to do with herself. The Judge has held a few at their household, but she did very little there. No one dared ask her to dance. So mostly she had occupied the corner, of stared out the window. If she had been approached, she hadn't noticed.

But now here she is, among hundreds of people, and in quite over her head. She lets out a startled noise when she's bumped into, so lost was she in her own thoughts, and her hands fly to her mouth. "No -- forgive me. My head was in the clouds."

The man looks her over to see that she's all right — spooked perhaps, like a little deer, but otherwise not too out of sorts. Reaching gloved hands up to adjust his own mask, settling its position across the upper part of his face, Edward's brow furrows at that. He's a severe man, though not harsh. There's a softness to his eyes, lashes long — even feminine — pools brown, sorrowful. The severity is more to his own self, a certain inclination to keep himself steadfast.

To keep his head from ever becoming caught in the clouds.

"I am sorry to intrude upon your thoughts." He isn't much of a conversationalist, but he thinks perhaps he owes more of an explanation as to his mishap. "It's these masks, they obscure the vision. Silly things, aren't they?"

"In a way, isn't that the point of these balls? To obscure the vision, if only for a night." She's grateful for the masks. For the anonymity they provide. If anyone spotted her, recognized her as the Judge's ward, she'd be doomed. So she'll keep her mask.

"You're not intruding. Not really. Or at least -- I don't mind it."