[ There's something different about the magic on display. Different source, different presentation. But it's old and vibrant, and as real as Zelda's own.

She can't say she feels differently, and she's grateful for it. It's enough to be frustrated when her magic refuses to be called upon in these situations. She can't imagine feeling...dampened. ]

Mine is present as well. Less...visible.

[ Zelda finds a cigarette she'd picked up in the temple earlier. She usually prefers the ritual of using a lighter, but for the sake of demonstration, this time she does without. Oddly, the smoke doesn't seem to smell like much of anything, another quirk of her magic, reflexive after so many years. ]

But it doesn't work here. It won't work on this.

[ She sounds certain. It hadn't worked at the masquerade. She couldn't leave this place, remove this band from her arm. ]

Whoever brought us here certainly believes they have access to our spirits. These lighted bands are meant to say something about who we are.

[ Though Zelda has yet to fully understand what the damn thing is or how it functions. ]