Featuring Roseshipping (Pegasus x Cyndia/Cecelia)

Pegasus nursed his glass of wine, laughing politely at the joke one of his fellow party goers had made – even though he didn't really find it amusing. The ballroom was absolutely ostentatious, and that was coming from Pegasus J. Crawford. He usually loved ostentatious. Today, though, it just felt too gaudy, and he was starting to get a headache.

Golden ribbons arched from every possible ledge, alternating with thick red velvet bows and sprigs of (fake) holly. Fake poinsettias formed the centerpiece of ever single table, practically dripping with plastic silver dew and little gold and silver spheres dotted around the leaves. The tablecloths were all of a suitably high material, embroidered with gold and silver thread in the designs of Christmas bells. A humongous tree (also fake, and made with a white and silver sparkly material) sat in the corner of the ballroom, a good twenty feet high, and strung up with the brightest twinkling lights and an outrageous display of millions of colors and shapes of ornaments. None of them quite matched each other, as though the decorator had simply wanted to show off all of the expensive and antique ornaments he owned; which was probably the point. In short, it was all beautiful, but too much. And this coming from the man who loved "too much", especially Christmas.

He sighed quietly as the idle chatter continued, feeling detached from his surroundings. He did not want to be here tonight. If it wasn't important to make an appearance for the sake of his company, he wouldn't have shown up. He would have spent his Christmas in one of his small, homey side rooms, with a real Christmas tree decorated with only a handful of mismatched ornaments, both handmade and cheap spheres with signatures and dates scrawled across them, a fire crackling in the fireplace that was decorated with real poinsettias, and a mug of warm chocolate in his hands. A quiet Christmas. One that...

Hm. Best not to let the thoughts stray that way.

After a few more moments of pretending to listen to the conversation while actually listening to the string orchestra play beautiful renditions of Christmas songs (the only thing he enjoyed about this party, to be honest), he quietly nodded to the other three and wandered away towards the dance floor.

He just hovered on the edge with his wine glass, watching the sparse group of couples twirl about. He had to smile, remembering his first fancy party like this. When he had been only ten years old, and he had met Cyndia for the first time. He had been too shy to talk to her after he had been introduced, but Cyndia hadn't been. When the music started playing, she had grabbed him by the hand and pulled him out in the middle of the floor, laughing when he stepped on her toes and teaching him how to do the waltz. Every party after, they had always done that silly dance together.

It was nice to know that the memories didn't really hurt anymore. They were a lightness in his chest instead, a warmth in the base of his stomach. He could remember her smile as clear as ever before, but it no longer sent a pang of regret through him. It only made him smile, made his shoulders relax and the knot in his stomach start to untangle. Her memory was no longer a source of pain – it was a source of comfort.

He did miss the dancing, though. What he would give for just one more dance with her.

And then, it seemed there was a brief rustle of wind past his side. A quick glance told him nothing and no one was there. No one had rushed past him to create such a breeze. So where...

His eyes seemed to move on his own, almost as though someone's hand was pushing his chin gently in another direction. He saw a young woman hovering at the edge of the dance floor, in a deep purple dress with a black bodice, and her ginger hair done up in a bun. She was chewing on her lip and looking just the slightest hint teary-eyed. Oh dear. He wondered who had left her waiting, and for how long.

"She's been waiting for about a half hour, and he isn't coming back," he thought he heard someone whisper. "What do you say? One turn around the floor?"

For a moment he felt a heat on his shoulder – like a hand squeezing it.

And then the feeling was gone. It left only a warmth hin his heart behind.

He had to smile, even as a tiny tear found its way into his eye.

"Ah, Cyndia," he murmured. "You just can't keep yourself from interfering, can you?"

He shook his head. He wiped the tiny tear away. Then a real smile spread across his face as he crossed the dance floor to the young lady.

"Hello, my dear," he said, sweeping a bow to her. "Might I have a dance with you, my fair angel?"

She blushed, and a smile perked at the edges of her lips.

"Oh," she said, putting a hand over her mouth to try and hide her embarrassment. "Why, thank you, sir. I would love to."

She put her hand in his and he lead her onto the floor. She ducked her head as he put his hand on her waist.

"Ummm," she whispered. "I'm not really good at dancing...that's probably why he...I mean..."

Pegasus smiled.

"I'm not either, my dear," he said in a conspiratorial whisper. "I've found that pretending, though, can make you look like you know what you're doing to outside eyes."

A shy smile grew across her face. As the next song began and the dance started, Pegasus glanced over the girl's shoulder.

For a moment, he saw her, standing there at the edge of the crowd, in that deep green Christmas dress that he had loved the most. She smiled.

"Be happy."

And she was gone.

He closed his eyes for a moment to let the music wash over him.

Thank you.