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?”