The ballroom of Nevermore Academy had never witnessed such a sight.
As two pairs of strikingly different yet eerily harmonious couples stepped onto the floor, the raucous music seemed to stutter for a moment.
The spotlight, as if possessing a will of its own, chased after the two figures sharing the same face.
Azem Gray and Wednesday walked in like a dark monarch and his queen emerging from legend.
The elegance of his plaid suit could barely contain the restlessness and dominance bestowed by Riot, his hand on her waist declaring a possessive claim.
And Wednesday, clad in "The Ravens Whisper," her pale face a frozen rose against the stark black, accepted his lead and the surrounding gazes of awe and fear as if accepting rightful submission.
On the other end, Azem White and Enid were like stars illuminating the dark night.
His white suit shimmered in harmony with the pearlescent glow of Serum, every move guiding Enid's spins gentle and considerate, his smile clear.
Enid's starry blue gown swirled as she danced, her eyes brimming with overflowing joy, as if he were her own, most perfect knight.
"Wow," Enid whispered in awe as Azem White spun her, "We seem... a bit too eye-catching, don't we?"
Azem White chuckled softly, his voice gentle: "Just standard procedure."
Meanwhile, Azem Gray led Wednesday through a slightly forceful dip, the faint sound of his joints cracking almost audible.
He lowered his head, his warm breath near her ear, carrying Riot's undisguised pride:
"Look, they're watching us. They all know you belong to..."
Wednesday's fingers silently pinched the soft flesh on the inside of his arm, hard enough to turn his next words into a stifled gasp.
Her voice was icy, audible only to him:
"Shut up and dance. Your arrogance is grating on my eyes."
Azem Gray winced in pain but instead let out a low laugh, tightening his arm around her.
The music in the ballroom reached its crescendo.
Azem White and Enid's dance flowed with grace and elegance, the soft radiance granted by Serum casting a gentle filter around them.
Enid's starry blue skirt swirled, scattering tiny starlight with every spin, her laughter clear, chiming against Azem White's heart—
The love amplified by Serum made the tenderness in his eyes almost overflow.
"Victor," Enid breathed slightly, her eyes dazzling under the lights, "I've never danced this well before!"
"It is your light that guides me, my princess."
Azem White's voice was low and sincere, leading her through a perfect arching dip.
Serum pulsed faintly at his neck, conveying silent agreement and joy.
However, this beautiful scene was soon shattered by the restlessness from the other side.
Azem Gray and Wednesday's dance resembled more a silent, powerful contest of strength and taming.
Riot's traits made Azem Gray's lead unquestionably dominant, his steps wide and aggressive.
Wednesday's dark gown swirled like rolling night fog as she matched his every step precisely.
Even occasionally countering with subtle, reverse-joint force, her cold gaze seeming to say: "I allow you to lead, not control."
"This music is as limp as a lullaby!"
Azem Gray grumbled discontentedly, spinning Wednesday so sharply she was nearly flung away, only to yank her back the next second, forcing her against his chest.
"Let's get some real rhythm!"
The Riot symbiote atop his head twisted restlessly, the gray-black substance emitting a low, inaudible hum like the beat of a war drum.
Wednesday's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, but she didn't object.
Her adaptability was exceptional; soon, their dance steps grew sharper, carrying a Gothic, almost combative, tension.
Out of place amidst the surrounding gentle waltz, yet forming their own bizarre unity, drawing every daring gaze.
In the shadows at the edge of the dance floor, Headmistress Larissa Weems leaned gracefully against a pillar, a glass of icy blue liquid held elegantly in her fingers.
Her deep gaze passed over the swaying crowd, settling on the two strikingly conspicuous, stylistically different yet face-sharing couples at the center of the dance floor.
A faint smile, tinged with resignation and indulgence, curved Ms. Weems's lips as she gently swirled her glass, murmuring:
"Ah, youth."
She had previously wondered what kind of stir her uniquely mad nephew would cause with his choice of dance partner.
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