Dating practices were always so strange. Finding a woman that suited your purposes was entirely strange, as if walking into a store and picking fruit simply because you liked how it looked. Courting practices, dating, whatever you wanted to call it, always struck me as strange but don't get me wrong... Beneath the fanatical exterior of well dressed businessman, let me tell you... I could quote every line from Pretty Women and half of the notebook. Now, I could blame this on the fact that I have one brother and seven sisters, but that would be dishonest. My littlest sister, lover of all things dysphoric and fearsome, had laughed at me when she had caught me watching romance movies when we were younger but living in the United States and able to afford a television. I had grown up watching romance as nothing more than a tribal practice of presenting a nearly naked woman with a dead animal for her to skin and you to eat later; and in my own house, I had experienced romance as a dreaded thing, rife with abuse and actions so abhorrent that it would have been accepted if I had morphed into a similar man of my brother: silver tongued, fluent in women, and a lover of anything with two legs with the ability to throw her away immediately. But me? I had loved finding flowers for Serena, I had loved finding jewelry I knew she would appreciate or finding books Elenore would devour and squeal with glee over before retelling their stories to me, endlessly.

I had wanted a fairy tale ending, and I had been determined for one until the ideas of fairy tales were wiped clean from my mental slate, and instead I had moved away from the practices I had once indulged in. Surely, though, the appearance of my 1972 Dodge Challenger that I had worked on with the help of my sister's "Forever Love" who had re-instilled my adoration of some of the finer things. Placidly, I waited for Serafina to arrive from the wonderworld that most women inhabit as a bedroom. She emerged quicker than I had expected, though her timing had allowed me a cigarette while I waited for her but with enough time to flick the cherried end onto the street before she arrived. I stood and straightened, offering my hand for hers to gently lead her to my car.

"I'm incredibly impressed. Never have I seen a woman prepare themselves with incredibly effective results as quickly as you," I taunted wryly, "And I have seven sisters. I am quite the expert on the matter."

It had been difficult to keep from appraising her figure with the same sort of look I had offered her at the masquerade ball, but I so desired to propagate the image of the gentleman I had not been able to introduce her to yet, and I kept the to run my fingers over the curve of her side instead of taking her hand at bay.

I reached for the passenger side door of the coupe to open it for her to slide into the car. There was something to be said for chivalry, and I gently closed it behind her before slipping into the driver's seat. Effortless and as if it was my element instead of the earth that was so pliable to me, I shifted the cars gears in order to send it forward to our destination with an ease that would enlighten the woman to my driving abilities. Before living in this city, I had partaken in many drag races as I had let my sister's husband tinker with my car before I had become professional at mending and mettling with the metal of the parts for my car. I hadn't felt so at ease around Serafina before, and the light mood would be evident in the offhand smile I would have given her before speaking.

"Do you speak any French, by chance?"

It took a very brief time before the parking garage came into view, and I could park the vehicle in an empty deck before slipping out to open her door, offering her an arm. The air was noticeably warmer on the deck, and as I led her towards the door of the building a sharply dressed butler would nod to us, opening the door several paces out.

"Bonjour, Mr.Dorian, Ms.Dubois," He said, his smile professional and broad as he let us into the building. The lobby of the building seemed plain, as if it were simply any regular building in our city. The elevator, though, was filled with notices that were clearly French in nature, and as the elevator neared the top floor I turned to the witch beside me with a smile that was obviously sparked by excitement. Would she enjoy the evening? I had spent several days practicing the evenings festivities and working up my stamina at withstanding the immense output of power. When I had been sure I was prepared, I had put everything into place and as the bell of the elevator sounded, and the doors opened to reveal the scene I had visited once or twice and tried to replicate to the best of my ability.

The lawn was a shade of green so vivid it nearly looked dream worthy, hosting a handful of tables beneath the shadow of a dazzlingly lit Eiffel Tower, surrounded by the spectacular lights of Paris at night. The air was heavy with the smell of honeysuckle, a creation of my own with the flowers in bloom framing the tables in the lawn. The candles on each table were visible from the elevator, which opened to view the scene. And all around? The buildings of our city were invisible, masked by the guise of Paris at night.

"Bienvenue à Paris," I offered, the words almost sing song. "You didn't look like you enjoyed oysters, so I assumed a different cuisine was in order. Besides, you told me that I owed you a date, and I like to think this qualifies. Shall we?" I offered her my arm again, more than excited to let her sample the illusion that would feel as real as my arm beneath her fingers.