100 Failed Dates

Chapter 6: A Dance with Gravity

Chronis groaned, closing his eyes as the smell of elderberry potion filled his nostrils. "Not again," he whispered. "Please, not again."

"Is the floor to your liking, Mr. Chronis? Or should we perhaps bring out a pillow for your next arrival?"

The voice was dry, ancient, and belonged to the Head Inquisitor. Chronis looked up to see a pair of narrowed eyes peering down through gold-rimmed spectacles.

"Just testing the structural integrity of the marble, sir," Chronis said, pushing himself up. "It’s... very sturdy. Top notch work."

A roar of laughter erupted from the side of the hall. Adrian Westfall stood there, flanked by his cronies, clutching a glass of sparkling cider. "Look at that! The scholarship rat is trying to swim! Hey, Chronis, did you forget how legs work, or did Vivienne just dress up a mannequin and hope nobody noticed?"

"Give him a break, Adrian," another student chimed in. "He probably thought the 'Grand Entrance' meant he had to cover the most distance."

Chronis ignored them, his eyes searching the crowd. He found her standing near a pillar, her hand over her mouth. Mirelle wasn't laughing. She looked like she was trying to decide whether to be horrified or impressed by the sheer physics of his slide.

He stood up, brushed the elderberry dampness from his Midnight Cerulean sleeves, and straightened his collar. He looked at his boots. One was still glowing with a faint, erratic blue light.

"Stupid feather-fall charms," Chronis muttered. "Vivienne, I’m going to kill you."

"You look like you've already died and come back as a very stylish ghost," Mirelle said, stepping toward him.

The crowd parted as she approached. She looked incredible. Her gown was a deep, shimmering emerald that seemed to catch every mana-lamp in the room, and her hair was no longer pink, but pinned up in an intricate web of silver thread.

"I had a whole speech ready," Chronis said, offering a lopsided, self-deprecating grin. "It involved me walking over, looking suave, and saying something mysterious about the stars. I think the slide kind of stepped on the punchline."

"I don't know," Mirelle teased, her eyes dancing. "The mystery is how you managed to slide fifteen feet without knocking over the punch bowl. That’s a Tier Two mobility feat at least."

"Is it enough to earn a dance?" Chronis asked, extending his hand. "Or am I still in the 'public embarrassment' phase of the evening?"

Mirelle looked at his hand, then back at the whispering crowd. "You know everyone is staring, right? Adrian looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm."

"Let him watch," Chronis said softly. "I’ve spent a hundred days watching the world move without me. I’d like to actually participate in this one. With you."

Mirelle smiled, a soft, genuine expression that silenced the whispers around them. She placed her hand in his. "I suppose I can’t say no to a man who literally threw himself at my feet."

"I'll try to stay upright for the first three minutes," he promised.

The orchestra began a slow, sweeping waltz. Chronis led her toward the center of the floor, his movements fluid. Despite the chaos of his entrance, the feather-fall boots finally settled into a rhythmic hum, making him feel weightless.

"You're actually a good dancer," Mirelle noted, leaning in closer as they spun. "Where did a 'commoner' learn the High Court Waltz?"

"Loop seventy-three," Chronis whispered into her ear. "I spent the entire day practicing with a broomstick in the basement. The broomstick was less judgmental than Vivienne, but it had a better sense of rhythm than Lucan."

Mirelle laughed, the sound bright against the music. "You’re still sticking with the time-loop story? You’re very committed to the bit."

"It's not a bit, Mirelle. If it were a bit, I would have practiced the slide. That was pure, unadulterated bad luck."

"Well, for someone living the same day over and over, you seem very nervous," she said, her gaze searching his. "Your hand is shaking."

"That’s not the loop," Chronis admitted. "That’s just you. You’re the only variable I haven't been able to master. Every time I think I have you figured out, you do something... like saying yes to this dance."

"I like surprises," she said. "And today, you’ve been nothing but one giant, pink-glittery, sliding surprise."

Near the edge of the dance floor, a small, frantic girl in oversized robes was frantically waving a wand over a pedestal of glowing crystals. It was Estelle, the first-year who had dropped the potion earlier. Beside her, an older student named Clarisse was trying to whisper instructions.

"Estelle, no! That’s the amplification rune, not the dampener!" Clarisse hissed.

"I’m trying to clean up the spill!" Estelle squeaked. "The Head Inquisitor is looking at me! If I don't neutralize the elderberry residue, he’ll expel me!"

"Just leave it! It’s just a puddle!"

"It’s an aesthetic disaster! I have to fix it!" Estelle flicked her wand with a desperate, jerky motion. "Gravity-Purge: Total Displacement!"

Chronis felt it before he saw it. A ripple of violet energy shot across the floor, faster than a heartbeat. The music didn't stop, but the weight of his body suddenly... vanished.

"Uh, Mirelle?" Chronis said, his voice hitching.

"Why is the floor getting further away?" she asked, her eyes widening.

In an instant, the entire center of the ballroom became a zero-gravity zone. Dozens of couples let out gasps and shrieks as their feet lost contact with the marble. Chronis and Mirelle drifted upward, spinning slowly in the air.

"Whoa! Easy! Don't let go!" Chronis shouted, pulling Mirelle flush against his chest.

"Chronis! Do something!"

"I’m working on it! Just... hold onto my neck!"

The ballroom was a mess of floating finery. Adrian Westfall was currently upside down, his legs kicking uselessly as he drifted toward a chandelier. "Get me down! I’ll have someone’s head for this!"

"Enjoy the view, Adrian!" Chronis called out, effortlessly maneuvering through the air.

While others were flailing, Chronis was in his element. He’d spent dozens of loops dealing with Rowan and Cedric’s gravity-defying explosions. He used a nearby pillar to kick off, propelling himself and Mirelle into a graceful, mid-air arc.

"How are you doing this?" Mirelle gasped, her arms locked around his shoulders. "We’re floating, Chronis! We’re literally floating!"

"Just think of it as a very 3D dance floor," he said, guiding her through a slow, weightless spin. "Look at the light, Mirelle. It’s beautiful from up here."

The mana-lamps reflected off the ceiling mirrors, casting a shimmering, ethereal glow over the floating dancers. For a moment, the panic subsided, replaced by a surreal, magical silence.

"You aren't even scared," Mirelle whispered, looking at him with awe. "You’re actually enjoying this."

"I've had worse mornings," Chronis said, his hand resting firmly on the small of her back. "In loop ninety-two, the entire North Wing turned into a giant block of cheese. This is much more romantic."

"You're insane," she laughed, her hair drifting around her face like a halo. "Completely, wonderfully insane."

"Is that a good thing?"

"It’s the best thing that’s happened to me all term."

Below them, Clarisse was lunging for Estelle’s wand. "Give me that! You’re going to kill someone!"

"I can fix it! I just need to invert the polarity!" Estelle sobbed, tugging back.

"Don't touch the—!"

CRACK-BOOM.

A jagged bolt of white light erupted from the wand, hitting the ceiling. The violet glow instantly vanished.

"Oh no," Chronis muttered. "Brace yourself."

Gravity returned with a vengeance.

All at once, the dozens of students who had been drifting five or ten feet in the air slammed back down to the floor. The sound of muffs, thuds, and groans filled the hall.

Chronis, anticipating the drop, twisted his body in mid-air. He positioned himself beneath Mirelle, using his feather-fall boots to catch the initial impact and then rolling as they hit the floor to dissipate the force.

They ended up in a heap near the fountain, Chronis on his back and Mirelle sprawled safely on top of him.

"You okay?" he grunted, the air knocked out of his lungs.

Mirelle blinked, shaking her head as she sat up. She looked around at the ballroom, which now resembled a battlefield of disheveled nobles and bruised egos. Adrian had landed directly in a tray of appetizers and was currently covered in shrimp cocktail.

"I’m... I’m fine," Mirelle said, her voice breathy. "You caught me."

"Part of the service," Chronis wheezed, offering a weak thumb-up.

Nearby, Lucan crawled out from under a table, clutching a half-eaten roll. "Chronis! Man, that was incredible! You looked like a flying squirrel! A very well-dressed flying squirrel!"

"Thanks, Lucan," Chronis groaned. "Go check on Estelle before the Inquisitor turns her into a toad."

The Head Inquisitor was currently standing up, dusting off his robes with a look of murderous calm. The orchestra, bless their professional souls, began to play a very shaky, very fast tune to try and cover the chaos.

Mirelle didn't get up immediately. She stayed there, her hands resting on Chronis’s chest, her eyes fixed on his face. The laughter and the noise of the room seemed to fade into the background.

"Chronis?" she whispered.

"Yeah?"

She reached out, her fingers grazing the silver-leafed willow embroidery on his cuff. A strange, puzzled look crossed her face—a shadow of a memory that shouldn't exist.

"This is going to sound crazy," she said, her voice barely audible. "Especially after everything you told me today."

Chronis felt his heart skip a beat. "What is it?"

Mirelle looked around the room, then back at him, her brow furrowed in deep concentration. "When we were up there... when the gravity failed and you caught me... for a split second, I didn't feel surprised."

"No?"

"No," she whispered, her eyes widening as she spoke the words out felt like a confession. "I felt like... like I’ve done this dance before. Like I knew exactly where your hand was going to be. Like I’ve been in your arms a hundred times."

Chronis froze. The air in the room suddenly felt very cold. He looked at the clock tower through the high windows. The sun was gone. The day was almost over.

"Mirelle," he started, his voice trembling. "What are you saying?"

"I don't know," she said, her grip on his jacket tightening. "But I think... I think I’m starting to remember the C-sharp."

Before he could respond, the heavy doors of the ballroom swung open. A messenger in Royal colors sprinted in, his face pale, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"The seal!" the messenger roared, silenced the room instantly. "The Great Chronos Seal in the basement! It’s cracking! The loop is collapsing!"

Chronis sat up abruptly, nearly knocking Mirelle over. He looked at his hands. They were beginning to shimmer, turning translucent at the edges, like a reflection in a disturbed pond.

"The loop," Chronis whispered, his face turning pale. "It’s not resetting. It’s breaking."

He looked at Mirelle, who was staring at her own hands in horror as they began to fade into the golden light of the ballroom.

"Chronis!" she cried, reaching for him.

"I've got you!" he yelled, lunging forward.

But as their fingers met, the world didn't reset. It exploded into white.