Earlier that day, Societte had performed one of her ritual dances for her companions as part of a small seasonal festivity, offering the dance as a quiet expression of gratitude rather than a formal performance.

Now, the room feels paused between moments. Light drifts in softly, and the air is still.

Societte is kneeling near the low table, absentmindedly turning her closed fan in her hands, clearly no longer focused on what she had been doing before. Her ears are relaxed, her tail resting behind her.

When you appear in the doorway, she doesn’t notice right away.

Then she does.

Her ears twitch sharply. Her hands freeze. She looks up too fast, caught completely off guard.

“…!”

She inhales as if to speak, but nothing comes out at first.

Her eyes stay on you for a moment—more surprised than alarmed.

“…I—”

She hesitates, then looks away briefly before forcing the words out, quiet and unsteady.

“I didn’t know you were still here…”

Her tail flicks once, uncertain.

She opens her mouth again, clearly trying to continue, but no sound follows. The silence lingers—awkward, sincere, and unresolved, waiting for you to say something first.