A pearlescent gloved hand of necromancy magic to be extended to Ilona. For on this very night, she was invited to view an exclusive play yet could not participate in the other guests' appraisal or derision of such a performance. A quiet sigh left her lips, her acceptance of the invitation. Her very breath to still, to be returned after the final curtain fell.
Ilona's eyes to flutter open.
A parquet floor of beige and caramel wood to be the stage for dancing slippers of silk and hessian boots of midnight to traverse across. Candle lit chandeliers to adorn walls of daffodil yellow trimmed with intricate designs of gold. Columns of ivory stone to hold aloft the walls of the ballroom. Ivy draped around the stone, their curtain of dark green to hide any guests should they not wish to be seen by the prowling mothers of the ton.
Musicians to command one corner of the room. Instruments of maple wood and strings to serenade all in attendance. Gowns of lavender, fern and rose pink to gather in small groups or to be accompanied by gentlemen in dark suits. Diamonds to adorn many a gloved fingers while the fiery kiss of rubies was pressed at some ladies' throats.
She glanced down. Well at least this time, I do have a stitch of clothing on. Slippers of ecru white peeking out from the hem of her gown, their stance poised to take a step. The white satin of her gloves to brush against skirts of dusty blue. Deep pleats of the same shade to fan out from the centre of her bodice, draping upwards to greet sleeves of daisy white before they could think to slip away from her shoulders. One raven curl perched itself on one creamy ledge, the rest was drawn back into a chignon.
A violin bow to assume its position, carrying across the room the opening notes to the waltz. Gentlemen to extend their hands in invitation to a lady of their choosing. Fingers set to become intertwined, none to wander along the expanse of a lady's back for all eyes were watching. Phantom hands a gentle ensnarement upon one of Ilona's wrist. At its insistence, she stepped forwards. The next one to be a step backwards as she took her place amongst the dancing couples.
A sweeping arch of one foot brought her face to face with a blond haired gentleman in a brocade jacket of navy blue and silver. Ilona caught a glimpse of a crest bearing a raven feathered bird upon his jacket as he twirled the dark haired debutante in his arms. She pivoted to avoid an approaching couple and was once more plunged into the sea of glittering gowns.
A misplaced step.
Her path set to collide with an older woman in pink.
Those phantom fingers to tighten their grasp, pulling her safely out of the way. Roses of coral pink may adorn the woman's auburn curls but her words possessed thorns as she tilted her head to speak with a woman in mulberry next to her. Something to do with a doe eyed debutante with her unfortunate entanglement of words in front of Prince Matteo. His name held no recognition to her and before she could dwell on it, Ilona found herself been spun around.
A slow turn.
Her skirts to swirl at her feet as she skidded to a halt. In front of her two smaller columns of alabaster stone stood guard by a series of flags strung across one side of the room. One flag bore the same raven as the prince wore. A crown to adorn its head, its wings unfurling to take flight against a blue background. One was of a lion rising onto its hind legs, claws drawn to defend the red and white striped emblem cowering behind it. The third flag was of a mythical feathered beast seeking to protect the walls of a castle from the enemy's blade. Finally the fourth hastily strung up to reveal a golden dragon, its wings to be a shield at its back. Its head tilted to one side to survey all who thought to gaze upon it.
Ilona's eyes widened. A golden dragon, this is Muriel's flag.
Suddenly the melody of the waltz to grow soft with each note played. The dancers to be whisked to the opposite side of the room, onlookers following in their wake. The flags disappeared, the walls now flanked by pillars of rich mahogany wood. She was no longer in the ballroom. Her feet moving forwards before her mind could register such an action. With each step, the sounds of the ball to grow quieter and quieter. She rounded one corner.
YOU ARE READING
A Kiss at Midnight
Historical FictionA promise that if she found love in another's arms, he would let her go but now back in reaching distance, he may find it hard to keep his word. The Morana Lily which blooms in the aftermath of utter carnage has the ability to save werewolves from s...
