<div class="floatright">(https://pre00.deviantart.net/8665/th/pre/f/2014/155/c/8/white_fairy___stock_by_mariaamanda-d7l12qi.jpg)</div>Name:  Elia<br/>Location: Ballroom<br/>Tagging: William<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Elia let out a sigh of relief and contentment. Her momentary embarrassment over her misstep to fade right away, thanks to the way the white-suited and white-whiskered wolf casually swept her up into the arm frame for the walt. She became aware, then, that while to her this event was far and away the most surreally extravagant thing she’d ever seen, this man seemed to take it all in stride, literal waltz stride, as if he had seen and experienced much in his years. She had a sudden desire to be told long stories of live well lived or of bouts of danger and regrets. And that thought in turn made his voice seem somehow so familiar, as if she had in fact heard an appetite-whetting sample of worldly stories or philosophies from it.<br/><br/>She tried to think back...classes lectures, summer programs, commencement addresses, book tours, and the like...but the champagne and general giddiness of the magical event made her head swim for specifics. There was a certain familiar comfort to his beard, too, but she could not be sure if that was in specific relation to her aural deja vu, or perhaps some regressive memory like sitting on a department store santa’s lap (something she would reluctantly admit to having done up through high school).<br/><br/>Her thoughts were guided by the fact that that voice of his was musing on such things. “Oh, that would be...that would be a most storybook twist indeed, sir White Wolf. Hmm...if it’s not a faux pax for me to admit details of myself at a masquerade, I have done a bit of modeling - mostly not yet as mainstream as I’d like, still working on that -” she’d done more than a bit, but she was trying to be modest and mysterious, and it was true she was hoping to do much more - “So if you’ve been to certain photographers’ gallery exhibitions of late, you might have seen me up on the walls, and in the crowd, chaperoned by my father. And I have gotten in fashion magazines, but...well not<em>nearly</em>enough yet to make a career of it or call myself a professional model in any sense above the most literal. A cutthroat world, that, especially with the internet taking over, still looking for the big break.”<br/><br/>She realized she wasn’t sounding very mysterious anymore, and feared she sounded like a schoolgirl babbling to her guidance counselor or professor about her career goals, and smiled, “...or...maybe I really am a pixie and whisked you off to Neverland once, long ago, and come morning you thought it must’ve been a dream. Though with your voice….hmm, mmm...I would almost sooner guess it has whisked me off once to some realm or other, on a quixotic quest or fairy tale or, hmm, ” her wide flaring mask touched his as they spun, and wove into her train of thoughts, “or running with wolves.”