He bought her a dress.

Vincent Cain, the Emperor of the Tarot Hierarchy. Most magically-inclined individual she had ever met. Decently good looking, once you looked past the unruly mop of blonde hair. Childish, and not always in a way that was endearing. Excitable, and occasionally awkward, though he tried his hardest to hide it. Motivated by adventure, and those he cared about. Homesick, though he'd never admit it. A good heart. She figured she'd had her best friend figured out pretty well.

Then that son of a bitch went and bough her a goddamned dress.

Rayleigh stared down at it, her hands on her hips, her face screwed up in an expression mixed parts confusion and exasperation.

"What do I do with it?" she heard herself ask.

It did not take much imagination to what Vincent's reply would have been. He would have told her to wear it, rolling those ice blue eyes as if she could not have asked a stupider question. But she had not seen the scholar since finding the dress on her bed, a small hand-written note laid delicately on the pillow. "See you tonight," it had read.

What kind of cryptic shit was he trying to pull? Ray chewed on her bottom lip as she regarded the note, and the dress. It really was beautiful, delicate folds of chiffon that she knew would match her eyes. It would probably feel amazing to wear, so light and airy, and entirely unlike the constricting Alerarian garb she was raised on...

She blinked, startled by her own train of thought. Was she really considering wearing the thing?