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Battler looked up at her, and then stood, their hands still joined. “Shall we dance, milady?” he asked, his voice betraying nothing but how confident he was in this.
Beato sighed. “Fine. But if you’re a poor dancer…” She didn’t bother finishing the sentence, trusting in the unspoken threat to be far more terrifying than any she could voice aloud.
(They dance in the rain a little; this is a very, very silly decision.)
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Bookmark Notes:
Finished