Tomlin froze. He meant to freeze. Instead his feet dragged him towards the woman in red. Her mask now removed, there was something about her, something familiar. Yet he could not place her, nor did he know her name. He found himself not caring if he knew her name or not, but only that his feet keep taking him closer.
Spells are funny things, he had a moment to reflect, one minute you’re casting, the next you’re cast. The garden, the moonlight, the evening, something was drawing him to her, this mysterious woman.
Just as he closed on her position, for she had succeeded in freezing in place a shrill voice echoed into the still of the garden, “Tomlin! Oh, Tomlin! I thought that was you, so regal in your lion mask!” That voice he knew and could place. Augustine Remorath was a woman of little tact and less class. At some point he had unintentionally cast a spell on her, and she had pursued him ever since, doggedly and obliviously.
As she neared, Tomlin turned and said, “Hello August, this is my date…”