𝙂𝙧𝙚𝙚𝙠 𝙏𝙧𝙖𝙜𝙚𝙙𝙮

5.

5. Smelly Old Men

I didn't open the doors all the way, but I was still stunned by the simplicity of the ballroom. Every year, the balls never changed, they had the same old music, and the same old dances. Same old food and same old people, but it seemed like so much more than all of that now.

Though the doors blocked my view, I could see the wonderful twists of golden metal archways, and shining silvery chandlers. I could smell the tangy punch from the stairs, and I could feel the rhythm of the music under my feet. I heard the laughter echo around the ballroom, and I felt as if I could laugh right along with those people.

I couldn't see the floor, only the mixture of full dresses and colorful suits, all melting together on the floor of the ball. Everyone was having a grand time, and I could see why. The formalities were dropped for the night it seemed, no one was acting as if they were the King and Queen of a powerful kingdom, no one acted as if they ruled the world, everyone was acting as if they were nobles, and they weren't in charge of a whole kingdom.

No one acted as if they had titles, they were just people, I guess that's what I found so beautifully enticing. It was the simplest moment of pure bliss, unawareness, it was a joy that couldn't be replaced or replicated. It was people, being humans.

Maybe I would stick around longer for this year.

I smile, feeling a weight lift off of my shoulders slightly, a pit no longer lingering as deep in my stomach. My feet move out from behind the door, and I follow the entrance stairs, going to the railing to find my family, and easily spot them. All the way in the back, surrounded by nobles no doubt asking for Elera's hand in marriage for their sons. But I see no Elera, and I wasn't surprised when I see no Leon.

When I reach the ballroom floor, the women's dress swinging up into the air in sync as the music continues. I can't see a way to my family, only the blurring of colors and fabric. I hear muffled voices, commenting on some woman in the room, and I feel a tap on my shoulder as I try and find a way to my mother's side. I turn to face a short, pudgy looking man with graying hair and fat glasses. I fight a gag, he smells of old cheese and alcohol.

"May I have this dance?" His voice was coating in an obviously fake accent, sounding worse than he smells, I have to physically hold my breath. Of all people who could've asked to dance, why did it have to be this man?

"I- I'm sorry sir, but I must respectfully-" He rolls his eyes, not even allowing me to decline his offer. I couldn't even reject the man before he grabbed my hand with his sweaty grip.

"Nonsense! A beautiful lady like yourself shouldn't be standing near the stairs, she should be dancing!" The pudgy man says, his voice pitching up an octave. I wanted to scream when he started walking and forced me to the floor, my expression conveying one of discomfort. I didn't want to dance, I wanted to go to my family who was on the other side of the dam-

I mentally sigh, remembering my old teacher back in Polis, a proper lady does not curse, but I believe they would make exceptions.

Forcing a smile and trying not to breathe, I place my hand on the short pudgy man's shoulder, trying not to flinch when he placed his on my waist, farther south than I was comfortable with. We swayed for a moment, me hiding a disgusted expression and trying to keep this man's hands above my waist while also trying to keep distance between us at all costs. I couldn't get away now, I just had to hope that this song was almost over. Imagine my excitement when the song changed suddenly, and instead of a royal, painful, slow dance, it was upbeat and more like we were inside of a bar, not the royal castle.

The pudgy man looks annoyed, and he removed his smelly hands from my body, tucking them behind his back. I sighed in relief, mentally of course, and curtsied before following the simple pattern of steps the dance required. No matter how much Leon and I hated those dancing lessons mother made us take as kids, they were saving my life.

Following the one-two-three step pattern in a tight circle, then followed by a half rotation with my pudgy partner, our hands barely touching before it repeated. Except this time, the dance was one where you trade partners, and I almost stopped what I was doing and prayed when I got away from Mr. Rotting fruit and switch to a man who smelled much, much, better. This dance continued, though, I felt terrible for whoever unfortunate soul ended up dancing with that pudgy old man, he seemed like a foul creep to me. Smelled like one as well.

Though, that smelly old man did help me get to the other side of the ballroom, I wouldn't thank him for that though, I would try and stay as far away as possible.

Call me a flirt I guess.

March. 31