Open: it's time now to sing out though the story never ends

[This is being posted early, but it is meant to be occurring on the one year anniversary of Dionysus arriving at the mansion.]

There's a room in the mansion Dionysus discovered somewhat recently that is, for lack of anything better to call it, a dance studio. Shiny hardwood floors, one long wall of mirror, the opposite wall featuring a mounted barre. If anyone happens to be walking by it today, the open door might catch their attention, as Dionysus has his cd player set up playing music, which he is dancing to at the moment. He's wearing a pair of gauzy, loose pants that sit low on his hips, complete with a gold belt with dangling chains that serve to help emphasize his movements. His hair is pulled up into a messy bun, finally long enough that he can get all of it up with only a minimum of strands sticking out oddly.

He has been here for a whole year. To be fair, he's only slightly certain he's got the date correct, but even if it hasn't been a full year to the exact minute or whatever, it's close enough. A whole year. A year trapped, held prisoner for some unknown reason, unable to break out, kept away from all of his friends and family. A year in which he has been given the wonderful opportunity to meet people he couldn't possibly imagine living without now, in a place where anything, even stopping death, is possible.

Dionysus is fairly zoned out as he dances, so if anyone decides to duck in and say hello, it might take him a while before he notices.