[ she snorts inelegantly at him complaining about sitting down, then looks shocked for a second, as though she's surprised herself with her informality. there's just a way that she usually acts in the theater, and that certainly isn't it. but sylvain brings out the immaturity in her. not that it's a bad thing - the goddess knows she'd been forced to grow up too fast. ]

A maiden's heart? The opera is over, Sylvain. [ she turns to lean back against the table, looking up at him. she knows what men look like when they stare at her. she can tell easily, at this point, when someone is particularly struck by her beauty. she knows what the look on sylvain's face was when she stepped out from behind the screen.

he's seen her look far worse, is the difference. and yet, he still pauses to look at her, still sees her for what she is now. wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, freckles on her complexion, all tiny things that she's vain enough to enumerate every morning in the mirror. ]

I don't have a balcony, no, though I'm very curious about your serenading skills. [ she smiles, a little impish. ] And for the sake of your riding-impaired self, I won't force you to sit through dinner. We could have a walk, though. There are some food stalls I've heard are good nearby.