Perry Greycloak retraced his steps to Madame Wanton’s house. It was no estate of Carnal Policy, but it rose proudly from the heart of the City of Destruction—timber walls veiled in velvet, gold and candlelight.
His face burned at the memory of his last time at the party—the flattery he’d offered Madame Wanton, and the way she’d cut him short with a single look. Worse still, the moment he’d asked Miss Light-Mind if they could go somewhere quieter—only to watch her vanish without a word.
The Author had reassured him. He had only quoted Prince Vassily, after all. And now the Dream had been reset. No one would remember.
Perry stepped into the ballroom. Madame Wanton was already there, arms folded, gliding to meet him. Her expression gave nothing away—but her eyes caught and held his.
“We begin again,” she said.
“You wear the same eyes as last night. But there’s a change in how you hold yourself. Have you come to win something this time, or simply to relive what you lost?” she continued, tilting her head.
This wasn’t supposed to happen—she shouldn’t have remembered. And yet, he was curious. Perhaps it would make the evening more interesting after all. He made a mental note to ask the Author about it once the party was over.
She studied him carefully, neither mocking nor smiling.
“Tell me, beloved,” she said at last. “Are we dancing tonight… or dueling?”
“Madame.” He let the word linger, just shy of affectionate. “Is that Lechery I see? What a bore. And Light-Mind? A careless dance may be just what I need.” He surveyed the room with a faint smirk. “What a delightful menagerie you’ve assembled. Not even the finest soiree of Vanity could rival.” He bowed slightly. “As ever, your devoted slave.”
He had doubled down on last night’s flattery—but this time, he was certain he’d caught the exact shade of Prince Vassily’s insincerity.
“Such pretty words,” she said, letting them linger on her lips like wine. “And such a tired heart behind them.” Her face softened. “You lie well. Well enough for the room.” She glanced at Light-Mind, still spinning through the crowd. “But not enough for me.” Then she leaned in close, her voice low. “Be careful, Mr. Greycloak. The Dream wears thin… when the dreamer forgets he’s wearing a mask.”
And with that, she was gone—swept into the whirl of color and laughter, leaving Perry alone beneath the chandeliers, adrift in half-true promises.
Perry moved easily through the crowd, the music swelling, laughter rising like foam around him. A footman offered him wine; he accepted without a glance. It was rich, cool—tinged with something he couldn’t name.
“Oh!” Miss Inconsiderate had appeared beside him, seemingly out of thin air. She bumped his elbow as she lunged for a second tart—nearly dropping it into her wine. “I didn’t see you there. Well—not really. I mean, I did, but I wasn’t… you know.”
She smiled. Far too broadly, like someone trying to prove a point—and launched into speech as if outrunning her own thoughts. “Did you try the tartlets? They’re wretched. Or maybe that was last week. I never keep track. You don’t mind talking, do you? I mean, it’s a party. People talk at parties. That’s what they do. Well, not everyone. Some people just stand there and look interesting—like you.” She tilted her head, eyes squinting as if trying to sketch him without moving her pencil.
Oh, this would be easy, Perry thought. He’d drive her off with a dose of sincerity, just as he had with Miss Light-Mind the night before. Mirror her bluntness and watch her scatter. But before he could open his mouth, she was already off again—words tumbling out like marbles from a tray she hadn’t meant to tip.
“Are you interesting? You don’t seem like one of the silent types—but then again, you were just sort of… standing there. Not doing anything. So maybe you’re one of those… broody ones.” She nodded, entirely pleased with herself. “That’s fine. I like broody.”
“Oh, the tartlets!” Perry cut in, just before she could spiral further. “Don’t get me started on the scandalous tartlets. I’m almost certain they were baked in the Town of Stupidity.” Was that blunt enough? He chuckled softly and leaned in, voice low in her ear. “Just between us—Madame Wanton should be absolutely mortified.”
Miss Inconsiderate gasped with delight, nearly spilling her wine. “I knew it! I knew something was wrong with them!” She grabbed Perry’s arm to steady herself, eyes sparkling. “They taste like regret and old furniture, don’t they?”
She didn’t pause for breath. “Ohhhh! You’re one of those—the ones who say things you’re not supposed to say but somehow make them sound like secrets instead of insults. I like that. That’s clever.” She sipped her wine, forgot to swallow, then remembered. “Honestly, I’ve always thought Madame Wanton tries too hard. Don’t tell her I said that. Or do. No, don’t. Or maybe…”
She frowned—just for a moment—then brightened again. “What were we talking about? Oh, right. You. Or me. Or tartlets.”
She beamed. “I’m so glad you came tonight. I was just about to leave, but now I think I’ll stay and say something truly embarrassing. Isn’t that what parties are for?”
Perry took Miss Inconsiderate’s hand gently and guided her toward a quieter corner beyond Madame Wanton’s reach, if such a place existed.
He touched a finger to her lips. “Quietly, my dear, quietly. But you’re right—she does try much too hard.
What is she hiding?” He laughed, startled by his own words. “Or perhaps it’s nothing. Just our imaginations. Don’t you think?”
Miss Inconsiderate blinked, then lowered her voice a notch. “Oooooh. Secrets and scandal? You are dangerous.” She glanced around, then leaned in close. “Hiding? Oh, definitely. People like her always are. That’s why she’s perfect—every minute, every glance. People who are always perfect are terrified someone might look too close.” She clutched Perry’s hand a second too long. Then seemed to notice—and let go.
“You know what I think?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I think she used to be something real. But something broke her. And now she throws parties so no one asks where she went.”
She nodded to herself, then sipped her wine, staring into the glass as if it had become interesting. “Don’t tell her I said that.” A pause. “I mean, do what you want. But… you won’t. Will you?”
Perry blinked, caught off guard. She wasn’t the Inconsiderate he’d heard about. And this night was not unfolding as planned. “Of course not, my dear. Our little secret is safe between us.” He hesitated, then added, more quietly, “May I be so bold as to ask you to dance?” The question surprised even him. “Slowly, mind you,” he added, tone lightening. “I’m all left feet.” He extended his hand.
Miss Inconsiderate gasped—then burst into a giggle, covering her mouth like she couldn’t believe herself. “Dance? With me? Slowly?”
She placed her hand in Perry’s with the theatrical grace of a child playing princess at court. When he guided her onto the floor, her steps were clumsy at first—but careful. She was trying, and Perry could feel it.
“You’re not all left feet,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Just… not in a hurry.” She looked up at him. “I like that.”
“No, not today, I’m not,” Perry said softly. “More a tribute to you than to me, I’d wager.” He glanced at her, almost puzzled. “Strange I never noticed you dancing before.”
Miss Inconsiderate laughed—softly this time. Not her usual laugh. “That’s because I don’t. Not really. I mean—I have. I do, sometimes. But…”. She glanced down at her feet, then back up, her smile a little shy. “I usually just talk too much until people drift away. No one ever thinks I can follow a rhythm. They don’t usually ask me to try.”
She softened—visibly. Her body, her posture, even her rhythm began to echo his.
“But you…” She swallowed, and her voice grew small. “You’re not trying to get something from me, are you?”
Perry blinked, taken aback. He had come to observe, to understand—but this… this was something else. He couldn’t bear the thought of harming this fragile soul he was only just beginning to see. Gently, he placed a finger to her lips and gave the softest hush. “Just dance, my dear,” he whispered. “Just dance.”
They danced in silence for a few minutes. Then Perry spoke, softly. “Of course you may talk. But only if you want to.”
She nodded but said nothing. She kept dancing, the tension in her shoulders gone, her steps smooth and sure. At last, she looked up with a quiet smile. “I think…”. She swayed with Perry, letting the rhythm carry her, as if it had always been hers. “I think I always wanted someone to say that. That I could talk—or not. That it didn’t matter. That I mattered.”
She let out a long, quiet sigh. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a dance like this.”
The song came to a close, Perry twirled her with a light flourish, then stepped back and offered a deep, courtly bow. “Let’s not become the talk of the room,” he said with a faint smile. “Please excuse me. But stay, my dearest. The party would be far duller without you.”
Perry gave her a warm, unguarded smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She gave a half-curtsy—awkward, adorable, utterly sincere. “You’re leaving?” she asked, barely above a whisper. Then she caught herself, straightened, and flashed a too-bright grin. “Right. Yes. Of course. Can’t be the gossip. Can’t ruin the mystery.”
But something softer rose again—this time, left uncovered. “Thank you. For… dancing. For not asking me to be anyone else.”
“I’ll be here,” she whispered, to no one. Or maybe to herself. “I always am.”
***
Miss Inconsiderate stood there a long while, eyes wide, one hand still lifted from the spin. She stared into the crowd where he had vanished. She didn’t even know his name. With a blink, and a small nod to no one, she turned back toward the room. But not like before. This time, she drifted in silence.
Lady Gilt stopped her. “My dear, what was that?”
Inconsiderate answered, eyes still distant. “It was… a quiet song.” Then clearer, “And it was mine.”
Lady Gilt squinted, puzzled. Inconsiderate didn’t explain. She just walked on.
Inconsiderate stood alone, right where she’d first met him. Where she’d bumped into him.
Mr. Lechery sidled up beside her. “Well now… someone looks flushed.”
“Yes,” she said dryly. “Almost like I danced… instead of begged.” She smiled at him, eyes bright with mischief. “You should try it sometime.”
Lechery raised an eyebrow, reaching out—but she moved past him, untouched.
She found a pillar near the edge of the velvet drapes. To rest, not to hide. She took one sip of her wine, then set the glass down—unfinished. And then without ceremony, she left.
No goodbye.
No giggle.
No stumble.
She cast one last glance at the dance floor, her hand smoothing the folds of her dress. Then she slipped out the side door—her heels echoing softly on the marble behind her.
Her small room in the City of Destruction was cluttered. Papers were everywhere—lists, half-written letters, scraps with scribbled thoughts and “Don’t forget!” notes. It was the kind of place that belonged to someone always promising herself she’d get organized.
Someday.
She sat on her bed, still dressed. Just thinking.
Her fingers brushed the place on her cheek where he had touched her. Then her hand fell to her lap.
And for a while, she simply sat in silence.
***
Perry’s heart ached. When the Author had asked him to do this, he hadn’t known how hard it would be. She wouldn’t remember any of it tomorrow. But he would dance with her again. Not just for the steps. For the understanding. And when the time came, he would give her the greatest gift he could offer.
Not romance.
She would be a living person—not just “Inconsiderate” trapped in the pages of some dusty old tome.
