gialaxy
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She smiled to herself beneath the veil of her hat, turning to look at the familiar figure that prowled stealthily across the rooftop. He was impossibly silent, as he always was, that she sometimes wondered whether or not he was really there, whether he was merely the face of her lonesome dreams, a wisp of smoke in the night air, a ghost wandering the skyline.
Or: The Painted Lady wasn't planning on spending a night at a stuffy party full of other 'vigilantes' with the Blue Spirit, but here they are, doing something that strongly resembles gossiping, and she can't help but wonder who he is beneath the mask.