Erin was just about to knock on the door when it opened inward--by itself; no one was standing there to greet her. She was actually a little relieved; the thought that there was som kind of magic-use going on here meant that this John fella wouldn't freak out the instant he saw her. She entered, glancing about the warmly but dimly lit hallway, trying to determine where she should go.
The door shut itself behind her. "John?" she inquired into the silent house.
The flame from a candle burning in the foyer floated up from the wick and danced in front of her. Erin was starting to get a little creeped out; even from a family like hers, this was an unnerving display. Damn near everyone needed to maintain an unbroken line-of-sight contact with fire to control it with even the slightest degree of accuracy, and this candle was now motioning for her to follow it. Erin was getting very nervous at this point; she almost decided it would be better to deal with being called a freak of nature and subsequently rejected by virtually all her non-magical prospects than to stay here a second longer...but her stubborn streak won out.
She followed the floating candle-flame down the hallway and to the right, and into a largish dining room.
She was stunned. A very ornate room lit by oil lamps greeted her, with two silver plates gracing the smaller of the room's two elaborately carved oak tables. A meal she would expect very rich people to pay exorbitant sums of money for was set out, along with a crystal decanter of red wine, and another bottle of similar appearance but filled with a deep amber liquid. "What the hell?" she thought. "Why go to all this trouble?"
"Good evening, Erin," a cultured, British voice spoke from the side of the room nearest the kitchen. A tall, thin man walked in and extended his hand to her. She reached out to take it, but before she could, he bowed down and kissed her class ring.
He had long, dark hair which he had swept back from his face; he was just a tad on the pale side; he had eyes so blue they made him look insane; he has a neatly trimmed moustache and goatee; and he was dressed as if for a black-tie affair. Erin resisted the temptation to boggle. Or tackle him right there and rip those expensive-looking clothes to ribbons, before...
"Pleased to meet you," she said, trying (successfully) to keep her voice composed. Damn it all, the question had to be asked; she might as well get it over with.
"John," she began, "does it bother you that I'm a..."
