The royal family of the Kingdom of Ocillion were famous for their banquets. Today, they had invited hundreds to attend the celebration of the prince's birthday in the halls of their castle. 
Rouh's heart pounded against his chest as he clutched a letter in his hands. The Lord's guests laughed, ate, and danced around him as he stared across the hall at its recipient: a tall girl dressed in a brilliant sleeveless white dress, her long black hair braided into a thick spiral that trailed down to her waist. Turning to a friend, she laughed, and the sound, along with her shining smile, did nothing to help the swarm of butterflies currently fluttering around his stomach. 
Rouh looked down at the name on the letter in his hands. Ayla. He inhaled shakily. "I can do this. I can do this." Before he could change his mind again, he strode towards Ayla, dodging dancers and performers and guests who had had one too many cups of mead, all of whom, as usual, paid him no mind.  
Before he knew it, she was right in front of him. Her friends had gone off to dance, and she was alone. He could no longer distinguish between the drums the bards were banging and the violent thumping in his chest. Okay. Here goes.  Rouh stretched his arms and dropped the letter to the floor before Ayla. 
Ayla jumped at the sudden appearance of the brown parchment before her. "What the..." she looked around anxiously, searching for the source of the letter. Warily, she knelt and picked up the paper. Rouh held his breath as she slowly read his words. He studied her face, and his heart sank as he saw... confusion... discomfort... disinterest – 
"Ayla!"  
They both turned. It was the prince, smiling brilliantly at Ayla.  
 "I've been looking for you! Would you do me the honor of dancing with me?"  
"Oh!" Ayla blushed. "I'd love to!" she beamed. She let the letter slip from her hands and fall to Rouh's feet. 
As Ayla and the prince left, Rouh stared at the ground and his opened letter. Slowly, he knelt and took it delicately in his fingers. The music blared around him. A drunk guest bumped into him, confused by the invisible obstacle. Rouh crushed the paper in his hand and closed his eyes. Then, he woke up. 
    
Rouh opened his eyes to dark stone above him. He sighed and sat up. Pale blue moonlight from small, barred windows twenty feet from the floor illuminated a stone cell as large as the castle's great hall. In one section of the cell, shelves of books formed a small library; in another, instruments of various types and sizes were spread on a wool rug; other sections were dedicated to paintings, exercise, or potions. This was Rouh's home: the castle dungeon. 
For as long as he could remember, this was where he lived. There may have been guards at one time, but if so, they stopped coming a long time ago. He did have a faint memory of visitors from the upper levels of the castle, maybe even friends who would see him every few months. Eventually, however, they stopped coming too. 
It was only through dreams that Rouh left the dungeon. When he slept, he could leave his body behind and travel wherever he pleased. What is more, he could bring objects with him on his travels and interact freely with the material world while remaining invisible to others. He had roamed the castle and the kingdom at length, all while collecting everything he needed for his home in the dungeon. 
Rouh glanced down at the crumpled letter in his hand. No. Not everything. 
A small, grey object scurrying in the corner of his cell caught Rouh's attention. "That you, Morty?" 
"Of course, who else? I thought you'd never wake up," replied Morty. 
Rouh, over his many years alone in the dungeon, had picked up many skills and languages, including Rattese, which had helped him befriend one of the other dungeon inhabitants, Mortimer. 
Morty climbed onto Rouh's bed and looked intently at him. "So? How'd it go?" 
Rouh held out the crumpled mass in his hand. "How do you think?" 
"Ah," Morty shook his head. "Don't sweat it, Rouh, it's her loss." Noticing the glum look on Rouh's face, he continued, "Trust me. This'll get better. It will!" 
"Yeah, I know, I just... don't." Rouh stood and walked across the cold stone floor of his cell. He could faintly hear the music and cheers of the party continuing in the castle above him. He gritted his teeth. 
How long had he spent alone in this dungeon? With no light, no air, no music, while the rest of the kingdom weren't even aware of his existence.  No. He was tired of this. 
"Say, Morty," he started. "How would you feel about helping me with a little prank? They're drinking loads of mead up there. What if we... put a little something in their supply?" 
Morty cackled. "I'm always down for a little mischief. What're we thinking? Hemlock? Nightshade? Zinc phosphide? I might have some leftover Wolfsbane from '88." 
"Oh, uh, right, why don't we stick with something non-lethal this time?" Rouh picked up a book from his bedside table and settled on a page. "Veranite." 
Morty considered. "Let's see... mild discomfort, nothing too serious but enough to ruin a birthday or two. Let's do it," he grinned. 
Rouh grinned back, and after grabbing the necessary potion from his collection, lay back in his bed, this time with Morty by his side. He closed his eyes and went back to sleep. 
 
    
Rouh woke to a flood of noise and light as he and Morty arrived at the prince's birthday party. 
"Look! There's the mead!" Morty, perched on Rouh's shoulder, pointed to a collection of wooden barrels in the middle of the hall. 
Rouh strode towards the barrels, clutching the glass bottle of Veranite in his hand. He arrived at the barrels and gently cracked open one of their lids. No one could see him. Why was his heart pounding? 
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Morty asked. 
Rouh took a deep breath in. "Yeah, I'm sure." 
"What are you doing?" a voice behind him said. 
Rouh all but jumped out of his skin, nearly sending Morty flying off his shoulder and eliciting many angry squeaks. 
He turned around to face a person with short black hair, copper skin and large glasses in a loose-fitting, dark green linen dress. "Um, what?" he stammered. 
"What were you putting in the mead?" they asked. 
"I'm not – wait, you can see me?" 
  They stared at him. "Yes, I can see you. Also your rat, what's his name?" 
"Um... Morty. Are you sure you can see me?" 
"Pretty sure. What's your name?" 
"Uh... Rouh." 
"My name's Cecilia; you and Morty can just call me Cece though." 
"Hi, Cece," Morty said.  
"Wait, wait, how can you see me? That shouldn't be possible! At all!"  
"I dunno. Wait!" They froze. "I love this song! Wanna dance with me?" 
"Huh?"  
"He'd love to!" Morty said.  
Before he knew what was happening, Cece grabbed Rouh's sleeve and pulled him onto the dance floor.  
"I don't know how to dance," he mumbled. 
"Yes, you do, I've seen you dance here all the time!" 
"Oh," he blushed, surprised.   
They placed their hand on Rouh's right shoulder and took his left hand in their right, touch that send electric tendrils through his body. They bounced together to the rhythm of the music, stepping and swaying to the drums and lutes. Cece stepped and hopped and laughed as Rouh clumsily tried to follow their movements. The musicians gradually played louder and faster, and they followed it, until finally it ended with a rapid barrage of strums and beats, with Cece pounding their feet into the floor, eyes closed and ecstatic as Rouh could only marvel at them.   
The dance was over, and as they panted and grinned at each other, Rouh felt himself waking up.  
"S– sorry, I – I have to go." 
"Ok! Come back soon, I want to dance with you again." they said.  
As Rouh's spirit was pulled back to his body, the last image he saw was Cece's smiling face. 
 
Rouh woke beside Morty. They were back in the dungeon. It was cold and dark. He looked down at his hand. And found a key.