What Malachi could remember of the masquerade ball itself was… fuzzy. Everything after was far clearer, if no less (in fact, far more) concerning.

However, some… smarter, kinder, better version of himself still remembered a flash of the events outside of his immediate focus, and in particular, he remembered her. If only for the fact that he’d seen her before.

Sonia. That seemed to be the name his hazy, addled mind had decided for her, so he did hope that it was the right one.

It was in an odd state that he opted to visit her. The majority of his injuries – of which there were many – were covered well enough by his clothes, leaving only a cut on his face and several more on his bruised knuckles. He hid them behind his back, hands folded neatly as always.

Malachi was far less certain of himself this time, stepping into the parlor without a bit to drink beforehand, but the dilation of his pupils suggested that he was either very pleased to be there or very high instead.

“Mi–”

Oh. That wasn’t Sonia, was it? The young woman in the parlor looked vaguely familiar, but only God knew how. Malachi blinked, glancing over her once before adjusting his approach.

“Hello,” he greeted, “I just wanted to check in on… Sonia. Is she about?”

“Oh,” Malachi nodded, and tried not to sound too disappointed. He wasn’t, really, but he’d already made the trip here.

Remaining in place almost awkwardly, as if he wasn’t entirely sure of how to act in such a place, he observed the woman’s pacing and tilted his head.

Shit. He had seen her, hadn’t he.

“I… was at the party,” he admitted, reluctant as he was to do so.

“I was the – ah, the devil. One of them, that is.”

Oh dear. Yes, he remembered… that. Sonia had announced it, after all, and Malachi himself had meant to leave after that.

He hadn’t, of course, but he’d meant to.

“Well, that is… perfectly understandable, I think,” said Malachi, watching her hands hover and retreat from the decanter. When the offer to share it came, it took him a moment to respond.

He shouldn’t. But – no. He shouldn’t. But –

“Sure, thank you,” he offered a smile that was sheepish, almost, and finally moved farther into the parlor. “I’m quite alright, just a little – off. Nothing that I cannot get through, I assure you.”

If only that was the truth.

“I don’t mean to pry, miss, but are you certain that this is what you want to do? It is your choice, of course, and I mean no judgement. It just sounds as if it might be more important to you than something to sell.”

Malachi accepted the glass with a grateful smile, albeit one that did not quite reach his too-dark eyes. Following after her with a carefully hidden hesitance, he waited until the woman had seated herself before he moved to sit at the other end.

“What makes you say that?” he inquired, and then lifted the glass to his lips. It tasted – oh, it tasted awful, but if Malachi did not like it, it did not show on his face.

“If you haven’t even… done it before, did something happen to smear your name?”

Malachi was silent as he listened to her story, sipping at his brandy on occasion.

What a dreadful thing, that. The poor girl had not only been subjected to the humiliation of such rumors, but to the wrath of such a vile man as well. He hadn’t the first idea of what it was like for a woman, being on the other end of that – but he suspected it was far from pleasant.

“There is no need to apologize,” he assured, eyes darting to the glass in her hand for just a moment.

“I’m terribly sorry that that happened to you, and that any bit of it follows you now. I am… sorry, too, that this feels like the best option for you. Your first should be a pleasant, desired experience.”

He… wasn’t even sure if he could remember his. But it sounded right.