Quick to understand, quicker to withdraw those prying words, Bexley eases in with the flow of conversation as though the hiccup of Moira's shame has never happened. It is delightful and refreshing, something that makes the phoenix smile gratefully on the inside, hiding it away where the golden lion-girl would not see it, something private only she would know. How sweet Bexley is without ever having realizing it - or perhaps it is simply how she was brought up? So many questions swim in amber eyes that seek out blue, finding amusement and wickedness trapped within the other woman's own mischievous face.

The music around them is faded and all she sees is the two of them. Is she lucky to be so alone with a silver tongued girl with a sparkling smile? Nerves were never a part of the question, for the phoenix does not feel fear. Perhaps she should, perhaps others would, but all she feels is the blush that stains her cheeks as her eyes go to the ground when that meaningful glance is cast her way. How bold, to make such a voiceless suggestion, to flirt in a way that Moira realizes it, to make her smile like a silly schoolgirl with her first crush. But why then does her stomach clench and knot? Gently fingers curl there, settling tight like a pitcher of icewater being dumped on her head, freezing her to her core. This is not fear, knowing at least that much she pushes the coldness to the recesses of herself to look into later. "A ballroom is much like a battleground," she muses at last, that glimmer coming back to her face as starlight falls on them both through the dappled trees overhead. How they shine in the moonlight, hidden angels, posing demons, so ready for a portrait or something more majestic, so beautiful that Moira cannot help the sigh that slips past carmine lips. "You're so far away, Bexley Briar. Perhaps you're in the stars like the twinkle in your eyes. What is it you dream?" It is a whisper, a request to be let in.

After all, who is to say that they'll ever meet after this one night? Should they never see each other again, Moira would be happy having met her. Despite the flirtatious looks, the pushing curiosity that could drive her insane and pull forth all her dirty little secrets, she rather enjoys the company of the other woman. They could talk long into the night beside the fire with but a few candles to illuminate soft skin. Moira could curl up next to her and feel like she were home again - somewhere safe, somewhere warm. But there are no guarantees, so she will pull all she can and suckle every ounce of honey from the blossoming flowers of the night. There is more yet to learn, more she will cherish and put on canvases to light into pyres of memories long since past.