He followed her with his eyes as she shopped. Lately he had gotten in the habit of comparing women to the two women he now seemed to know most closely, Bellatrix Lestrange and Marietta. Marietta was terribly controlled, every movement deliberate, inflexible, whereas Bellatrix seemed to move through life almost on wires, loose, unpredictable, violent. Janella moved with grace and a bit of aimlessness, enough so that he found himself tracking her movements uncertain where she would alight in her search for robes.
"I was dropping off something to be altered," he said. "Then thought I might look for some new robes, I'm in need of some heavier ones for winter wear, dark material." He crossed his arms and leaned against a display. The past few months had changed him, made him darker, more confident, although he didn't really realize it. He had always been cold and distant and a little overly superiour, but later it was something more. He was in his element.
"I like the white ones," he said. "Or Ivory? I don't know, women always have five hundred names for the same shade."