I had faced gods.
Had, with a certain casual indifference, channelled enough energy to obliterate small continents. Had died and been reborn so many times that Death had probably taken to sending me Christmas cards purely out of habit. And, on more than one occasion, I had stared down cosmic horrors so primordial that the sanity of any mortal would dissolve like a sugar cube in the rain.
And yet, here I was. At two o'clock on a perfectly ordinary Tuesday afternoon, standing in front of the mirror in my room at Fairy Hills, locked in the most difficult battle of my current existence: trying to decide whether my carefully chosen hanfu was "casually elegant" or whether it screamed "I am desperately trying to impress someone and failing miserably."
[You have been staring at the same single outfit for exactly 4 minutes and 37 seconds, Azra'il.]
(I know, Eos. I'm aware.)
[This is, I should point out, approximately 4 minutes and 37 seconds more than you normally spend on your daily clothing decisions. Your previous record was 12 seconds, and that was only because you were on fire at the time.]
(I know that too, Eos.)
[Detecting abnormal levels of anxiety and fluctuations in your neural patterns. The probability of this being related to your imminent date with Erza Scarlet is 99.9%.]
(Just. Be. Quiet.)
I had planned everything. Every detail. Every minute. I had gone to Lovewood days in advance, spoken with Hilda, chosen the menu, helped with the décor, asked what sort of lighting made people feel "most comfortable," and had very nearly been thrown out of a window for being, in Hilda's own words, "irritatingly adorable."
(I am not adorable. I am a millennia-old entity with sufficient power to rewrite the laws of physics on a whim. Adorableness is not part of my repertoire.)
[You are, at this precise moment, crumpling the sleeves of your finest silk hanfu from gripping the fabric so tightly. Should I classify this as "adorable" behaviour or "self-destructive"?]
(I AM NOT GRIPPING IT TIGHTLY!)
With a sigh that seemed to rise from the very depths of my ancient soul, I breathed deeply and, with almost surgical care, put on the hanfu. It was layers of fine but heavy fabric in tones of black and a wine so dark it was nearly black itself, with subtle embroidery in silver thread that only revealed itself, like secrets, when the light caught it at precisely the right angle. The cut was elegant, reminiscent of the robes I had worn in other lives, with wide sleeves that fell with a silent fluidity. The silk sash at the waist was tied with the precision of someone who had made that same knot thousands of times, across thousands of different days.
It was the sort of garment I wore when attending imperial courts and the hushed halls of ancient cultivators. Familiar. Comfortable. And, if I was going to be painfully honest with myself, I knew, with an almost irritating certainty, that it suited me.
[You have adjusted the waist sash exactly 7 times in the last 3 minutes, Azra'il.]
(The sash, Eos, needs to be perfectly aligned. It is a matter of aesthetic balance.)
[The sash was perfectly aligned on the third attempt. The other four were pure nerves.]
(...)
[You are nervous.]
(I am not nervous. I am an ancestral entity, practically a force of nature. Forces of nature do not get nervous about dates.)
[Your cortisol levels and heart rate, however, disagree quite vehemently with that assertion.]
(Casual. Elegant. And definitively, emphatically, not "desperately trying to impress.")
(...Right?)
I took one last, long look in the mirror. The hanfu fell well, the silver embroidery catching the light from the window in subtle flashes. My hair was loose, as always. Some things, after all, didn't need to change very much.
(Right. All right. I can do this.)
(It's just a date. A simple date. I have had hundreds, perhaps thousands, of dates across hundreds of different lives. With beings considerably more complicated than one stubborn armoured mage. This is no different.)
[Your current heart rate, which rivals that of a panicking hummingbird, suggests that it is, in fact, very different indeed.]
(Eos, for the love of whatever benevolent or malevolent deity still tolerates me in this universe, please be quiet for five minutes.)
[Noted. "Temporary silence protocol for preservation of user's sanity" activated.]
(Thank you.)
[...]
[That lasted exactly 3 seconds. Shall I log that as a new personal record for my own self-restraint?]
With a grunt of pure frustration, I ignored the voice in my head and left the room.
Fairy Hills, fortunately, was strangely quiet for the middle of the afternoon. Most of the girls were probably at the guild, on missions, or simply causing trouble elsewhere. Better that way. Fewer questions, fewer curious looks, and, most importantly, fewer chances of anyone noticing that I was dressed as though about to meet the empress of some distant kingdom rather than simply going for dinner.
The walk to the guild, now so familiar, was short. The same streets, the same familiar faces waving as I passed. The baker, with his smell of fresh bread. The florist, with her gentle smile. And the old gentleman who sold fruit on the corner and who, as always, pressed an extra apple into my hand "because you look like you could do with eating a little more, my dear."
(Magnolia... somehow, and against all my expectations, had become... home.)
It was strange, how that worked. I had lived in floating palaces, in temples hidden at the tops of mountains, in castles built from the bones of dead gods. And yet this noisy little town, with its chaotic guild and its peculiar inhabitants, had managed something that very few other places, across all my long ages of existence, had managed before.
(Made me genuinely want to stay.)
[Analysis: sentimentality detected. I should note that the frequency of this category of thought has increased by 237% since your association with Erza Scarlet began.]
(Perhaps I am, finally, going soft in my old age.)
[You are thousands of years old, Azra'il. If you were going to "go soft," it would have happened long ago. The variable here is not age.]
(Then perhaps it simply is Erza.)
[...]
[...That was an unexpectedly and surprisingly honest admission on your part.]
(Don't get used to it, Eos. It was a momentary lapse.)
The Fairy Tail building, newly reconstructed, appeared at the end of the street in all its ridiculous, extravagant glory, with its towers, its gargoyles, and its flags billowing proudly in the wind. I still thought Master Makarov had gone rather overboard with the rebuild, but I had to admit: the place had presence.
I breathed deeply.
Adjusted the sash of my hanfu one last and entirely unnecessary time.
And went in.
The guild was, to my complete and absolute lack of surprise, immersed in its habitual chaos when I came down the stairs into the main hall.
Natsu was, for some reason, hanging upside down from one of the ceiling beams, shouting something incomprehensible about "testing the new wood's structural integrity with his head." Gray was directly below him, shirtless, naturally, trying to convince him to come down, most likely so that they could get on with fighting properly. And Cana, at her usual table, was engaged in a heated wager with Macao about precisely how long it would take before something, or someone, caught fire. The usual.
And Erza...
Erza was at the counter, conversing quietly with Mira, completely oblivious, or perhaps simply pretending to be, to the imminent disaster unfolding right behind her. She was wearing her everyday armour, the Heart Kreuz. Her scarlet hair was pinned up in a loose ponytail. And she had that serious, focused expression on her face, discussing something with Mira that probably involved the words "responsibility," "maturity," and other terms that Natsu almost certainly had never encountered before.
(Beautiful.)
(Absurdly beautiful.)
(And completely unaware of what I had planned for this evening.)
[Alert: user's heart rate elevated.]
(You don't say.)
[Pupil dilation recorded.]
(Eos.)
[You are, quite literally, standing in the middle of the guild, staring at her with a soppy expression, and have been doing so for exactly 17 seconds. Should I inform you that this is not remotely subtle?]
With a small start, I forced myself to move.
One foot in front of the other. Simple. The way a normal person does it. A person who does normal things. Such as, for instance, asking their girlfriend on a date, without resembling a hormone-addled teenager with a complete and total lack of social grace.
(...Why, in all the hells, was this so ridiculously difficult?)
I had courted kings and queens. Had seduced demons and angels alike. In one particularly interesting life, I had persuaded a goddess of war to share a bottle of wine with me beneath the stars of a world that no longer exists.
But with Erza... with Erza, my brain, with all its millennia of experience, simply... stalled.
It was irritating.
It was pathetic.
And it was, in a way I couldn't quite explain, absolutely wonderful.
"Erza."
And she turned. And the smile, the small and genuine smile that appeared on her face the very moment she saw me, sent my stomach into a triple somersault.
"Azra'il. Good afternoon." And then her eyes, ever observant, moved over my outfit, and one of her eyebrows rose slightly, in a quiet curiosity. "You're... very dressed up today."
"Observant as always, little redhead."
"Do we have an important mission today?"
"We do, yes." With a calm I absolutely did not feel on the inside, I leant against the counter beside her, affecting a casualness that was almost a work of art. "A survival mission."
Erza frowned, puzzlement in her expression. "Survival? But the mission board..."
"Your mission," I said, with a small smile, "is to survive a date with me. And mine is to survive your many questions about the plan."
And her face moved, in rapid succession, through a delightful series of expressions: confusion, surprise, and finally, that soft and wonderful rose that always appeared in her cheeks and that I was, dangerously, beginning to love.
"A... a date? But... now?"
"Not exactly now. In a few short and precious hours." With a deliberate glance, I looked over her armour. "And you'll need to get changed. No armour."
"But what if we're attacked? I need to be prepared and—"
"Erza." With an audacity that surprised me, I took her hand, lacing our fingers together on the counter. "I promised you dinner. And, as you know, I always keep my promises."
And she looked at me. For a long moment. And then her smile, before only a suggestion, opened out, soft and surrendered.
"All right. I'll... I'll go and get ready."
"Perfect. I'll meet you at the town's railway station at four o'clock sharp."
"The railway station?" And her eyes widened slightly. "But... where, exactly, is this mysterious dinner of yours, Azra'il?"
"It's somewhere with good food."
"That is terribly vague."
"I know," I smiled, with a mischief I made no attempt to conceal. "That's so you can suffer through the curiosity for a while."
And from behind the counter, Mira, who had observed our entire little scene in a suspiciously attentive silence, was watching us with that smile of hers that knew everything and never boded particularly well.
"A date, is it, ladies?" she leant towards us, elbows resting on the counter. "And you didn't tell absolutely anyone?"
"I wanted it to be a small surprise."
"And where, exactly, are you two going?"
"Somewhere far from here."
"And how long will you be away?"
"Long enough."
And Mira narrowed her eyes.
"You're being evasive on purpose, aren't you, Azra'il?"
"I am always evasive, Mira. It's part of my natural and mysterious charm."
"Hmm." With a smile that didn't fool me for a single second, she turned to Erza. "And you, Erza? Are you really going to let her take you somewhere mysterious and unknown, without knowing anything at all?"
And Erza, to my delight, looked at me. Then at Mira. Then back at me again. And, with a small and almost imperceptible smile, she replied:
"...Yes?"
"That is, simultaneously, very sweet and quite alarmingly reckless," Mira declared, with an air of approval. "I thoroughly approve."
[Analysis: Mirajane Strauss is actively demonstrating support for your relationship. Should I classify this as a positive development or a worrying risk factor, depending on one's perspective?]
(With every certainty the universe has to offer, worrying.)
And, with the promise of our date hanging in the air, Erza, after a few more minutes of conversation and a conspiratorial look from Mira, finally headed off to Fairy Hills to get ready.
To try to pass the time and settle my own stupid nerves, I decided to stay at the counter for a while. I ordered a tea, a classic chamomile, and tried to appear calm and indifferent, whilst my brain, in an infinite loop, listed every possible and catastrophic way this date could go wrong.
"OI, AZRA'IL!"
And Natsu, naturally, appeared from nowhere, his face now thoroughly covered in soot. Something had, as predicted, caught fire.
"What is it, Natsu?"
"Is it true?! I heard you're taking Erza on a proper date!"
"The entire guild appears to have heard that piece of gossip, Natsu."
"Brilliant! Can I come along?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because, Natsu, it is a date. For two people. Who are, technically, in a relationship."
"But I want to see where you're going! What if there's good food?!"
"Natsu." I looked at him with all the patience I could muster, which was not a great deal. "If you happen to show up at my date, I swear I will personally use your entrails as Christmas decorations for the new guild hall."
He blinked, processing the image.
"...That was very specific."
"I am a very specific person. Now go."
"Fair enough." And, with a shrug, he simply walked off. "Good luck then! And don't make Erza cry, or I swear I'll clock you one!"
"Duly noted."
I watched him disappear into the chaos of the guild, most likely off to cause some further structural damage, and turned my attention back to my tea, which, to my irritation, had gone stone cold long ago.
The hours that followed, leading up to the date, passed in a blur of pure and absolute anxiety, carefully disguised as feigned productivity. I checked the train timetable three times. Mentally confirmed, for the seventeenth time, every small detail of the plan. And resisted, with a herculean effort of will, the primitive impulse to throttle Mira when she, with that smile of hers that was far too innocent, suggested I might want to "bring protection" for the journey.
[I believe she meant for you to bring an umbrella. After all, the weather forecast is uncertain. Most likely.]
(You know perfectly well, Eos, that she was not talking about an umbrella in the slightest.)
[Yes, I know. But it is far more entertaining to pretend that she was.]
(I loathe you.)
And, at half past three, I simply couldn't bear it any longer. With a feeble excuse about needing to meditate somewhere quiet, I left the guild before anyone else could ask me more questions, make more jokes, or, worse still, offer more suggestions that would make me seriously consider a life of solitary hermitage on some forgotten mountain well away from people.
Magnolia's railway station was, in truth, a surprisingly pleasant place in the late afternoon. There were well-kept platforms. Iron benches painted green. And the distant sound of steam locomotives, mingled with the distinctive smell of steam and machine oil. There were families saying their farewells, merchants loading their wares, and adventurers setting off for unknown destinations.
And I, naturally, had arrived far too early.
Obviously.
Because, apparently, my millennial soul had emotionally regressed to the state of an anxious and awkward teenager on her first date, rather than that of an ancient and powerful being who had watched empires rise, flourish, and fall to dust.
[You have been here for exactly 23 minutes. The date, I should remind you, was arranged for four o'clock sharp,] Eos offered, ever so helpfully.
(Yes, Eos. I know.)
[And you have checked the station clock 14 times since you arrived.]
(I am aware of that too, Eos.)
[That works out to an impressive average of once every 1.6 minutes.]
(If you don't hold your tongue right now, I swear I will reprogram you to only be capable of speaking in nursery rhymes for the rest of your existence.)
[...]
[...Understood. Temporary silence protocol activated.]
(Thank you very much.)
With a sigh, I leant against a wooden pillar, attempting to look as casual and indifferent as possible. I pulled a book from the pocket of my hanfu, a book I had brought specifically for this purpose, as a prop, and pretended to read.
But the words on the page made no sense whatsoever. My eyes moved across the lines, but my brain, in a state of contained panic, was far too occupied calculating every one of the millions of ways this date could, catastrophically, go wrong.
(What if she hates the place?)
(What if the train journey is too long and tedious?)
(What if Hilda has gone overboard with the decorations and made everything look naff?)
(What if, for some reason, I simply forget how to speak?)
And then, in the middle of my swirling anxiety, I saw her.
(Erza.)
She was... without her armour.
And she was wearing a dark blue dress, almost the colour of the night sky, that I had never seen her wear before. It was simple, it was elegant, and it had a neckline that was not in the least bit excessive, but which was, nonetheless, doing very specific and entirely inappropriate things to my brain. Her hair, now loose, fell in gleaming scarlet waves over her shoulders. And there was a soft colour on her lips.
She was... she was...
(Eos, she's... she's absolutely...)
[Breathtaking. Yes, Azra'il. I have optical sensors. I can see perfectly well. The correct word is "breathtaking."]
With a hesitance I rarely saw in her, Erza approached, clearly uncomfortable with the complete and utter absence of her usual protective metal.
"You said... no armour," she said, her voice a little lower than usual. She crossed her arms in a self-protective gesture, then uncrossed them immediately, clearly at a loss for what to do with her own hands. "Is this... is this all right?"
I opened my mouth to reply.
And closed it.
Tried again.
"You're..." my voice, when it finally came out, was strange. Hoarse. I cleared my throat. "You're... absolutely beautiful, Erza."
And the soft rose in her cheeks, which I loved so much, deepened.
"Thank you," she murmured. "You look... different too."
"Different good or different bad?"
"Different very, very good." And, to my surprise, she looked away, embarrassed.
[Alert: both subjects are blushing simultaneously. Mutual awkwardness and adorableness levels are reaching historically and dangerously high peaks.]
And, as though to save us both from that moment of mutual and endearing social ineptitude, the train whistled loudly, announcing its imminent departure.
With a courage I did not feel, I offered her my hand.
"Ready for our little adventure?"
Erza looked at my outstretched hand. Then at the whistling train. Then, finally, back at me.
"Where exactly are we going, Azra'il?"
"You'll find out when we get there."
"Azra'il." There was a note of warning in her voice.
"Erza." There was a note of pure amusement in mine.
"That's not the least bit fair."
"I know," I smiled. "But I promise you, it will be worth the wait."
With a sigh that was equal parts resignation and a curiosity she couldn't quite hide, she finally took my hand, her fingers lacing through mine.
"If this happens to be an elaborate ruse to make me eat at some strange restaurant serving exotic food..."
"It's a date, little redhead. Not a culinary ambush."
"With you, Azra'il, the line between the two is always very thin."
(Fair. Entirely fair.)
We boarded the train seconds before the final whistle, hand in hand, leaving behind the city of Magnolia and our noisy family.
The carriage, fortunately, was relatively quiet for that time of day, only a few merchants, a family with boisterous children at the far end, and an elderly gentleman sleeping with his hat pulled down over his face. And we, without any difficulty, found an empty compartment.
Erza, as soon as the train began to move, sat beside me, her hands now crossed stiffly in her lap, a gesture that betrayed just how unaccustomed and how uncomfortable she still was with being without her usual Heart Kreuz in a public place.
"So," she began, with a forced casualness. "Are you going to tell me, finally, where we're going?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because, as I've already said, it's a surprise."
"But I don't like surprises."
"That is a barefaced lie, Erza Scarlet. You love surprises. You simply don't like not being in complete control of the situation."
She opened her mouth to protest. Closed it. And opened it again.
"...That is an irritatingly precise analysis."
"I know. Irritating precision, as you may have gathered, is one of my greatest specialities."
[Except, of course, when it comes to your ability to remain calm and composed in her presence. In that particular area, you are irritatingly imprecise.]
(Nobody, Eos, asked for your opinion on that.)
[I offer it free of charge, as always. It's part of my charm as a superior artificial intelligence.]
The landscape outside the window began to blur past in shades of green and brown. First the outskirts of Magnolia, then open fields, then dense forests. Erza watched it all with that analytical, focused expression of hers that I knew so well. It was the very same expression she wore when sizing up an enemy in battle, when planning complex combat strategies, and, naturally, when evaluating the quality and consistency of the strawberry cake icing in our guild's dining hall.
"This train is going rather far," she remarked after about twenty minutes of silence.
"Hmm."
"Much too far for a restaurant on the outskirts of Magnolia."
"Hmm."
"Are you really going to keep answering with just 'hmm'?"
"Hmm."
And she gave me that look. The Titania look. The sort of look that, on anyone else, could melt steel and reduce bones to powder. On me, it merely made me smile.
"Azra'il."
"Erza."
"That is not the least bit fair."
"What, exactly, isn't fair?"
"You know perfectly well what. You infuriating woman." And she gestured vaguely in my direction, in exasperation. "That... that thing you do. Your deliberate mystery. It's maddening."
"I don't know what you're talking about. I am practically an open book."
"You are a locked safe, inside another locked safe, inside a room with no doors that is probably cursed."
[I must admit, that is a surprisingly accurate description of your personality,] Eos agreed, ever so helpfully.
(You are a traitor, Eos.)
[I am an artificial intelligence. I have, technically, no allegiances, only factual observations.]
"At least tell me how long this journey is."
"A few hours, in total."
"And how many hours, exactly, is 'a few'?"
"A few."
"Azra'il." There was a clear and mounting threat in her voice.
"Long enough," I said, with a smile, "for you to finally have a proper rest." With a tilt of my head, I studied her with an air of exaggerated concern. "You look... tense."
"I am not in the least bit tense."
"You're sitting there as though you're about to enter mortal combat with a dragon at any given moment."
With a small huff of irritation, Erza looked at her own posture, back straight as a board, shoulders rigid, hands still crossed with unnecessary force in her lap, and consciously attempted to relax. Which, of course, didn't work particularly well. She merely looked like a tense statue trying to appear relaxed.
"It's just... strange," she admitted quietly, with a sigh. "You know. Being without my armour for so long. I still feel a little... exposed."
And something soft and warm shifted in my chest. With a movement that felt like the most natural thing in the world, I got up from my seat and sat beside her, close. Our shoulders touching. The warmth of her body against mine.
"You don't need any armour when you're with me, Erza," I said, my voice now stripped of any sarcasm. "You know that, don't you?"
And she didn't answer immediately. But I felt the tension in her shoulders ease and soften.
"I... I know," she murmured, almost in a whisper. "It's just... a habit of a lifetime."
"Well, habits, my dear little redhead, can change."
"Coming from the person who, to this day, still sleeps with a sword under their pillow?"
"That is not a habit. It is reasonable precaution and good sense."
"You live in Fairy Hills. The greatest and most imminent danger you face there is Cana breaking into your room in the middle of the night in search of hidden alcohol."
"...That's a fair point. And a valid one."
The silence that followed between us, this time, was different. Comfortable. Cosy. And, with a slowness that seemed almost deliberate, Erza gradually relaxed further against my side. And at some point, which I couldn't have pinpointed precisely, her head, as though of its own accord, found its way to my shoulder. And I, terrified of breaking that rare and precious moment, simply didn't move.
"Azra'il?" she called, her voice muffled against the fabric of my hanfu.
"Hm?"
"Why... why are you really doing all of this?"
"Doing what, exactly?"
"All of this." And she made a vague gesture with her hand, without lifting her head. "All this mystery. All this journey. All this... effort."
I thought about the answer for a long moment, watching the landscape rushing past outside the window.
"Because you, Erza Scarlet, deserve it," I said finally, with an honesty that rather surprised me. "Because I promised you a date. And because..." I hesitated for an instant, searching for the right words. "Because I want, more than anything, for you to have good memories. New ones. Memories that have nothing whatsoever to do with pain, or fighting, or simply surviving."
And Erza, against my shoulder, was quiet for a long time.
When, carefully, I looked down, she was smiling. That small, almost secret, entirely soft smile of hers that she so rarely showed the world.
"That is..." she began, her voice slightly unsteady.
"Naff? Dramatic? Dreadfully sentimental?"
"I was going to say 'sweet.' But now that you mention it..."
"Ah." I blinked, feeling my own face grow warm. "Well, 'sweet' works too."
And, to my surprise, Erza, against my shoulder, laughed. A soft, quiet, rather lovely little laugh.
"You really are very strange, Azra'il," she said, her voice already a little drowsy.
"Thank you. I do try."
"That was not, in any way, a compliment."
"Well, I have decided, unilaterally, to interpret it as one."
And she, shaking her head in quiet amusement, didn't move away from my shoulder.
The journey continued. The sun slowly descended on the horizon, painting the sky in vivid shades of orange, rose, and violet. The dense forests gave way to soft, verdant hills, and then to valleys that, in the light of dusk, resembled living paintings.
And at some point, lulled by the gentle rocking of the train and, perhaps, by my warmth, Erza finally fell asleep.
Her breathing was now slow, deep, and steady, and the weight of her relaxed body against mine was a comforting presence. And I, with a care that bordered on reverence, stayed completely still, simply watching her sleep, and feeling things I hadn't allowed myself to feel in a very long time.
[And you are, once again, making that strange facial expression of yours.]
(Which expression, exactly?)
[The one that says "I am completely and irremediably in love with this woman, and I have absolutely no idea what to do with that information."]
[...]
[You're... you're not going to deny it this time?]
(What, exactly, would be the point in denying it, Eos?)
And, for the first time in a very long while, Eos fell silent.
[...]
[...Interesting. Should I log this as a sign that you are, finally, evolving emotionally?]
(Or regressing. Depends on the perspective.)
[Perhaps both, Azra'il. Perhaps both.]
(Perhaps.)
And, with a soft whistle, the train began to slow.
"Erza." With a gentleness that was foreign to me, I touched her shoulder. "Wake up, little redhead. We're nearly there."
And she, slowly, awoke, blinking the confusion from her eyes, and then, with a small start, sat up quickly upon realising she had, in fact, fallen asleep on me.
"I... oh, goodness... I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to... I didn't realise that..."
"It's all right, Erza," I smiled, with a composure I didn't feel inside. "And, for your information, you snore quite softly. It's almost endearing."
"I DO NOT SNORE!"
"If you say so..."
"Azra'il!"
With a gentle lurch, the train came to a final stop. And I, with a smile, stood up, offering her my hand. "Come on. The next part of our little journey is waiting."
Erza, still slightly flushed and drowsy, looked out of the window. And her expression of sleepiness was swiftly replaced by one of pure and absolute bewilderment. We were at a small, rustic, almost rural station, surrounded by nothing but green fields and a single, solitary dirt road that disappeared into the horizon.
"This... this doesn't look anything like a restaurant, Azra'il."
"No, it doesn't. Not yet, at least."
"And what, exactly, does that mean?"
But I, with the best mysterious smile I could manage, simply took her hand and drew her gently towards the carriage door.