"You're too kind, but the honor isn't mine at all," Gwendell is saying to two bearded sycophants as you wait in queue with your company. 'Tis the Princess herself whose script is to be measured up this eve against that of the mysterious Muse.
Gwendell is still pontificating. "The honor belongs to the work, which flowed through me and is now a distinct being. I observe it as tonight it shares the stage with the work of The Muse. I celebrate it as a parent might a child, but so too I cleave it from myself. It stands on its own and no longer reflects on me for good or ill, for I am on to the next creation. Hold—is that you, Millicent?"
Gwendell bids the small knot of well-wishers around her to part and approaches your band. As Gwendell and Millicent clasp arms, you can see she takes note of you as well. Her eyes flash.
"I'm led to understand you're already acquainted with Bandochel, the most freshly-baked arrival in our ragamuffin troupe," Millicent says, following her gaze.
"In passing, I think? Yes," Gwendell says, affecting a frown. "Forgive me, Bandochel, if I don't recall the particulars."
You know full well from the look on Gwendell's face when you appeared that she remembers your encounter perfectly. Your company looks between you two, as do some of Gwendell's hangers-on.