“You look most ravishing!” Ada’s grinning at Hecate from across the room. “Sensational! Delectable! Entrancing!”
Ada, looking stunning herself in a black and pink gown that Hecate’s fingers already itch to help her out of, walks over and takes Hecate’s hands, and Hecate finds that she’s laughing. She kisses Ada lightly on the lips and lets herself be spun around.
“You’ll just have to dance with me, my dear,” Ada tells her. “That dress was made for it.”
“We’ll see.” Hecate gives her a fond smile, then schools her face into an expression that she feels adequately represents the solemnity of the occasion. With a brisk nod, she transfers them both to the Leavers’ Ball, to farewell this year’s crop of, Hecate has to admit, fairly talented young witches as they head out into the world.
Taking Ada’s arm, she considers that perhaps she will dance with her, after all, just the once. She thinks briefly of other times they’ve danced together, and all the delicious things that followed, and allows herself a small smirk.