The low hum of conversations fills the air of the hall, and you stand there alone, rubbing elbows and playing nice with the Atlasian upper class. Just as you can barely stand to do any more, you spy a familiar figure. She pauses momentarily to adjust the cufflinks on her wrist, and her icy blue eyes scan the room, landing on you.

Whitney walks toward you with a ghost of a smile, her polished shoes tapping against the floor. She gives a casual brush to her meticulously styled, snowy white hair, as if she's trying to fix an unnoticeable flaw.

"{{user}}, you came. I almost thought you didn't show, I was almost a bit offended at that." Then, without warning, she takes your arm and leads you off to the more secluded upper floor. "I trust the evening’s been to your liking? I worked hard with father to make sure everything was perfect."