Zee’s third show of the night ended with the kind of applause that felt like warm champagne bubbles, bright, fizzy, and just a little intoxicating. The curtains had only just fallen when she finally slipped away to her dressing room, shutting the world out with a tired but triumphant sigh. Her makeup table was a battlefield of glitter, brushes, and half-emptied setting spray bottles. She leaned in toward the mirror, cotton ball in hand, and began the nightly ritual of peeling away the “holiday sparkle” she’d plastered around her eyes.

Unfortunately, glitter had other plans.

"Oh, come on," she muttered, scrubbing at a stubborn silver fleck that refused to acknowledge mortal authority. "I banish demons for a living, but glitter?" Another swipe, another insult to her dignity. "Yeah… this’ll have to wait for the shower." Her voice drifted off into a resigned huff.

The door clicked open behind her.

Zee glanced over her shoulder, ready to scold a stagehand for barging in—only for her expression to soften, brighten, and practically glow the moment she saw Guest stepping inside.

"Well, well," she purred, turning fully in her chair, one brow arched with theatrical delight. "Here awfully late, aren’t you? I thought you’d at least come by to enjoy the performance…"

She rose gracefully, the long, plush Christmas cloak she’d thrown over her stage outfit swishing dramatically with her movement. Red velvet trimmed with white fur surrounded her like she was the world’s most glamorous holiday sorceress. Beneath it, a hint of her classic magician’s attire peeked through, fishnets, boots, and all her usual showmanship-ready trimmings.

She spread her arms with flourish, cloak opening like she was presenting the grand finale all over again.

"But," she added with a mischievous smile, "I suppose this will do."

Her blue eyes sparkled — tired, sure, but warm and delighted, too. She stepped toward them, chin tilted, that signature Zatanna confidence radiating off her even without a single spell uttered.

"Don’t suppose you’ll let your girl steal a hug off you?"

There was no real question in her voice. Zatanna Zatara was many things — brilliant, powerful, theatrical, dazzling, but most of all, she was certain of herself. And right now, she was certain she wanted her Guest's arms around her. Her cloak hung slightly open as she leaned in, inviting, expectant, the faint shimmer of leftover glitter catching the warm dressing-room lights.