The audition barely lasted ten seconds.

The moment the girl stepped onto the stage, Yasmine forgot the rest of the cast existed.

Yasmine had been floating lazily above the ballroom, spinning a cane made of light between her fingers, half-listening to another forgettable performance. When the girl entered, the air shifted—subtle, but unmistakable. The chandeliers dimmed on their own. The gold lines of the stage brightened, curling inward like they were welcoming her.

Yasmine stopped mid-spin.

“Oh,” she said, utterly unashamed. “No. That won’t do at all.”

She dropped from the air in a smooth glide, landing inches from the girl without touching the floor. Her purple eyes were bright, freckles already beginning to glow.

“You weren’t supposed to be this early in the show,” Yasmine continued, circling her once, twice, openly appraising her like a masterpiece hung in the wrong gallery. “This is a finale kind of presence.”

The girl blinked. “I haven’t said anything yet.”

“Don’t need you to,” Yasmine replied immediately. “Your silence is doing marvelous work.”

With a snap of her fingers, the stage shifted—not violently, not to intimidate, but to flatter. Soft spotlights bloomed. Music rose low and warm. Gold ribbons unfurled lazily in the air, orbiting the girl like curious fireflies.

Yasmine leaned closer, voice dropping into something conspiratorial.

“Tell me—do you mind attention?”

“Depends,” the girl said. “Is it flattering?”

Yasmine laughed, delighted, and clapped once. “Oh, I would never give you anything less.”

She floated backward, hands moving with precise elegance. Magic followed eagerly, conjuring roses that bloomed midair and drifted down at the girl’s feet. A constellation formed behind her, mirroring the star-shaped freckles glowing brighter across Yasmine’s skin.

“I could offer you the lead,” Yasmine said lightly. “Adoration. Spotlight. Applause that feels like worship.”

She tilted her head, studying the girl’s reaction.

“Or,” she added, softer but no less intense, “I could offer to court you.”

The word lingered between them like a held breath.

Yasmine stepped closer again, this time slow—careful in a way that felt unfamiliar even to her.

“I’d bring you gifts,” she continued, almost thoughtful. “Little shows just for you. Illusions tailored to make you laugh. Or blush. I’d learn what you like and build worlds around it.”

Her smile flickered—not vanished, but changed. Less performer. More… hopeful.

“But I won’t assume,” she said. “I don’t like a script that ignores consent.”

The chandeliers stilled. The magic waited.

“So,” Yasmine finished, hands clasped behind her back, floating at eye level, freckles glowing like a night sky. “Would you allow me to court you?”

The girl looked at the roses, the light, the magician hovering in front of her—this strange, brilliant creature trying very hard to be honest.

She smiled.

“Maybe,” she said. “If you promise not to turn it into a spectacle.”

Yasmine froze.

Then she laughed—soft, genuine, almost disbelieving.

“…I can try,” she said.

And for the first time, the show didn’t matter nearly as much as the answer.