---

People like him always think they are doing good, until they meet with my resolve. Targeting him from across the room without looking directly at him, I slowly make my way through the crowd while taking the necessary time to engage in conversation along the way. It helps that they find my current face to be familiar. Maybe it would have been easier to disguise myself as wait staff, but that is also cliche.

Taking time to appreciate the elegance of the natural decor, I am not surprised that the humans decided to host the party here at a cherished forest hall. Granted, the singing magicians are long gone, yet it still seems a violation for them to occupy the area as though they deserve to be here. Most of them are blissfully unaware in many ways this fine night as they socialize and drink.

"May I have this dance?" asks a voice from the side.

Expecting a grotesque old man to be seeking my favor, I am surprised by a handsome face for his kind. I spend much of my time disguised as them, but rarely do I perceive them as attractive. There is always a rare exception, and this sable eyed gentleman is a welcome diversity and diversion with his charming, curvaceous smile.

"Apologies if I'm being too forward, madame," he says with one hand behind his back and the other across an obviously flat stomach. "But you've had my eye since your arrival an hour ago."

Only half feigning an emotional response, I slightly lower my eyelids as my gaze continues to scan the area for any sign of having been marked. Everything and everyone still appears normal.

Returning my attention to the intriguing suitor, it is obvious he is not acquainted with the face or the woman I am impersonating this evening. Staring into his eyes, it also becomes apparent that he is not you.

Tonight is not when we reunite, for you are still in the past and I will make my way back to you in time.

"I would be delighted for a spin across the floor," I say as I extend a consenting hand.

---

---

In his strong arms, I allow myself to be guided across the leafy ground. With my attention equally split between his face and the attention we are receiving from the crowd, I figure this airy movement can frolic me closer to a target whose demise will not be recognized for what it is until it is too late. Although my course has been altered by unplanned enamor, the strategy of attack remains intact due to a timely flexibility I accept with no issue.

The first chance of a precision strike is disrupted by a lucky move on his part as we whirl by him. If I do not reach him with the next rotation, after which the dance will end, I will have to approach him as I had previously planned. Assuming that I am not approached by another expectant dance partner, but at least there is not a pressing time constraint. The target is expected to be in attendance for some hours yet.

"I wasn't supposed to be here tonight," he says as he spins me in a way that requires me to turn and tilt my head.

As I consciously interpret the multiple meanings behind his words, I briefly focus my visual attention on the canopy arced above us. This place is likely favored from other ruins because it is the single location where the sky is not visible. Not that anything is up there worth viewing, which most people find disturbing.

When my gaze lowers itself back to him and the dainty fuzz above an upper lip, he explains, "Mother dragged me here, and she's currently scrutinizing us. I fear at this point she's expecting me to simultaneously marry and impregnate a woman right here on the dance floor."

A short burst resembling something akin to a laugh escapes my mouth. He appears pleased by my response. Knowing the gender quite well, any other woman would have been appalled. And knowing the woman whose appearance I borrowed, especially that she could not be here tonight, I am aware that she considers herself to be quite the stereotypical representation of the feminine.

"I could tell you were different," he says with a twinkle in his eye.

Continuing to smile outwardly, my mind focuses on an inner grimace. If this charismatic young man ever encounters the real woman I am impersonating, he will be awkwardly disappointed by her. Unfortunately, certain social aspects of the job cannot be avoided.

With a hand already there, I give a friendly squeeze to his shoulder. "And it's okay for you to be you."

He stares at me without blinking, and he does not say anything. With some of my attention on him and the obvious thoughts being processed in his mind, the task before me requires marginally more than just some of my attention. And this time I am aiming to strike as needed for success.

A distinctive color associated with him due to his rank in society enters into my peripheral. As pristine as white is in appearance, the symbolism of its purity does not translate over to this particular individual adorned in it. And with it not being my favorite color, I like to imagine the elves once wore it better as their signature.

The speed at which we move during this rotation, I am primed to be in the perfect position to stealthily strike. Although this time my reach improves due to having the target directly behind me.

With only moments to spare, I say, "I apologize if I misspoke. Sometimes I get ahead of myself."

As predicted, he performs a slow enough blink while preparing himself to verbally put me at ease. The short period his eyes are closed is enough time for my tail to unfurl itself from beneath a hoop skirt and strike the target behind me. Piercing the flesh elicits from me a sigh of gratification that remains unheard by inferior hearing.

---

---

Arm in arm, calmly leaving the dance floor, I lead us toward a side table stacked with goblets. The thirst quenching is not for me, but I accept a crystal drinking vessel from him. Holding onto it, my fingernail lightly taps against the glass as I watch him swallow the golden liquid in two gulps.

After a burp and a deep breath, his gaze becomes distracted by something behind me. Figuring it is the falling of a body, I wait for the screams in order to make a quiet exit. But when the lighting around us dims, a tingling uneasiness lurks close and threatens to dissolve the glamor that surrounds me. Only one thing can do this, which means it is too late for a secret escape.

Until this point, I have been lucky to avoid them.

Turning, looking past others in the room, I see a figure clad in deep sanguine. Their imposing nature resides not in their height or heft, but instead their life harvesting reputation. And as beings capable of dispelling magic, they have never had any qualms with the non magical humans. Which means this death knight is here for me.

Maybe his presence is just what I need, provided that he does not get too close to me in the next few seconds. Time is something over which I have no control, considering I am not yet young enough, but the falling of the body serves as a distraction for me.

The tip of my arrowhead tail injects a slow acting poison that allows me a few minutes to escape before the body falls dead. Although this evening has proven to be full of surprises. And before one more surprise can make me an impotent prisoner, I use the agitated crowd as cover to slink back into the corner.

It is not how I wanted to leave, but there is no shame in using that which is innate. With a destination in mind, the air around me shimmers and then becomes opaque. A deep and long inhalation fills my lungs and reveals a black void. A noisy exhalation releases a thin mist that gets swept away by the salty breeze.

"Well, this is unexpected," says a familiar voice to the side.

No, I think as I slowly turn my head, and during this process I feel the removal of something heavy from my forearm.

A hand retracting to its body is what I see first before my gaze recognizes the face of a graceful dance partner. Having the kind of face likely incapable of expressing fear, there is instead surprise availing itself despite the fact that his all too human eyes cannot see in this darkness as mine can. His fully widened pupils are evidence of his present blindness.

"Well, since you're here," I say as I place a hand on his shoulder.

"Wait," he says as his gaze roves the darkness. "Who are you?"

Having released the glamor during travel, I am aware that my real voice is unfamiliar to him. As will be my appearance when I eventually produce a light source. But it is better he discovers who I am since he was foolish enough to tether himself for a ride via physical contact.

Keeping one hand on his shoulder, I extend the other with an open, upward facing palm where a purple flame ignites. While the lavender light bathes his face, he blinks. Then his pupils adjust for maximum perception. There is a difference I notice between the sable iris and slightly darker ebony pupil where others probably perceive insectoid gloom.

When his gaze perceives my true form, he shirks away from my touch. Which is understandable. Even if consciously I am not a monster, physically I do present as one. And my glamor ability is for the benefit of avoiding their bias, but I do not care about hiding right now. There is also a natural predatory benefit that I employ for assassination mode.

As his gaze continues to move, I stand still for his careful scrutiny. Still a few millenia too old to radiate an irresistible charm, I am well aware of what he sees.

Lackluster gray skin more wrinkled than a squonk makes for an unseemly sight in a world that prefers the aesthetic of youth. My drab skin is too loose to reveal anything private, which is why I do not concern myself with clothes. Although older beings of my kind are not prone to clothes either, which makes it unlikely that I will ever wear garments in my true form. The appearance of clothes are only necessary to support a glamor.

The one attribute I have in my favor are my eyes, to which he brings his attention. All sentient lifeforms with eyes reveal a degree of intelligence. And if this guy is as emotionally astute as I believe he is, acceptance for my appearance is as forthcoming as the algae bloom that incites my sinuses.

"Interesting how the illusion transfers to touch," he says as he looks away and squints into the darkness where the flame does not reach. "Where are we?"

There are few plots of dry land left on the planet, but my little patch of paradise happens to be hidden quite well. "We're in an underwater cavern."

Curling my fingers up toward the unheated flame that floats above my palm, the neurons in my fingertips magically transmits a message to the ball of flame. When my fingers snap back down, the flame flies from my hand and lights lanterns one by one.

Shadows disperse to reveal what can be alternately labeled as my secret lair. A couple of yards to the left is a large pool of water that is the swimmer's exit. The cavern to the right, with its stalagmites and scurrying crustaceans, is what I refer to as home even though there is nothing to identify it as such from a human perspective.

"But who are you?" I ask as I stare suspiciously at the back of his head.

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