Darius and Zalfonia left the club they had been dancing at just as it closed two hours after midnight. Zal, whose natural, infinite energy had done nothing but grow since they had danced, was twirling around several feet ahead of her dear friend and dancing partner. She hummed an unfamiliar tune to herself. Her skirt, a type that was a short black skirt with a long sheer covering over the top of it, swirled loosely around her knee-high stiletto boots. It was one of the only times in her life where she actually wore anything other than jeans, and only Darius possessed persuasion skills that could convince her to do something so against her instincts. Zal’s blood colored hair drifted about her as she spun and pranced, the silken strands acting almost as if they had claimed a magic of their own. Darius followed behind her, a soft smile on his lips as he kept an observant eye on his Blessed.
“It would be wonderful if you could be this open around your sisters,” said Darius, his voice halcyon and astute.