Against her better judgement, Princess Pirouette agreed to GarGar’s request that they take an evening stroll on the southern terrace. With Lady Greenmeadow and Abigail Hoffenhoff walking a respectful ten meters behind them, Pirouette felt reasonably safe. She even let GarGar, le comte des Deux Chats take her arm and slip it inside his own. “Please do let me escort you properly,” he said. By the glow of the torchlight, GarGar’s eyes shimmered seductively. Pirouette did her best not to look into his face for more than a second.
When GarGar paused in front of one of the large windows that looked into the grand ballroom, he released a long, heartbreaking sigh. “Look at our reflection in the glass!” He said. “Don’t we make the perfect couple?” This was one of those rare moments when Pirouette was at a loss for words. If she said, “yes,” it would be tantamount to an agreement to marry. If she said, “no,” it would be an immutable rejection, and so she said nothing. She simply sighed.