[ He doesn't seem nervous of her, but she's learned that the humans here often aren't. Perhaps he thinks her eccentrics are part of the costume — or perhaps he doesn't. She'll observe for now, see what she makes of him. Everyone here could be a potential threat or of a potential use.

And so she lets him touch her, her hand cooly resting in his, his other at her shoulder. She's a thorny creature, sharp — the angles of her bones slant, thin. Slowly, Maleficent removes the heels one at a time, holding them both pinched inbetween the long fingers of one hand as she lifts them. There's a critical eye aimed to the items, her sharpness cast there for a moment. ]

The purpose of what humans choose to craft often eludes me.

[ ...An unnecessarily complicated way to say she doesn't know why such things exist and why anyone should choose to wear them. ]

She had you carry them? [ There's a soft cluck of amusement from her tongue, almost a little mean-spirited, as though she's aiming it at him. With a nasty little smile, Maleficent suddenly drops the heels right to the floor. Surely it's rude to leave one's shoes in the middle of a party, but she's done worse things. ]

What a gentleman you are. Fortunately, I shall not condemn you to the same fate tonight.