Liliana may have noticed how, in passing, Ignis had set down the bottle and glasses, for now, and if she didn't notice the much more subtle gesture of opening up the small, familiar music box that he'd set out earlier, she would once its familiar music, that ubiquitous tune that he so often found himself humming in the morning when making his coffee or preparing their breakfast, when whipping up treats for her class or office hours or days at the Consortium, joined in with the dusk's own orchestra.

"Ah, yes," he stated, "the narrow-minded perception of an inexperienced soul truly blind to the fathomless breadth of possibility. Perfection is a much more mercurial and changeable thing, it so happens, and right now, it involves not vehicles or locations or even Ebony. Just the answer to a simple question."

He gently turned her toward him, offering out his other hand as well.

"May I have this dance, my love?"