After eleven had rinsed her body in Zeiss's elegant bathroom, she donned the silver dress. She had insisted on returning to her room to dress with Gianna's help, but Zeiss had halted her with a firm yet gentle declaration: he wanted to be the first person to see her in the dress. Eleven surrendered to his words, for they struck a chord deep within her chest, rendering her momentarily speechless.
She walked and sat at his vanity table at his command. "I don't have anything cinnamon," he informed her, standing behind her chair.
Eleven chuckled and shook her head. "It's alright. I didn't use cinnamon before — only after I ate the cake." He nodded, picking up the peach-scented lotion bottle that lay invitingly on the vanity. Eleven's heart thumped in her chest as she watched him rub the lotion into her hair. This moment — him, Zeiss, and her, Eleven — was a delicate dance that hinted at something more profound, something akin to a couple.
