Chaos is God in a system of true disorder. And I seek to my title of God, I have no care for whoever crumples to nothing in my persuit to achieve such.
The catatonic idealisation of one's reflection is no longer beheld as solipsistic but self-respecting. Then what is the disparity between self-reverence and vain when you cannot pardon those around you?-Palace of Ulric labyrinths, Elvira Crest.
࿐SÉRAPH࿐ |Than|
THE VESTIBULE of the ballroom was sufficient, to say the least. Faux candles operated with gold electricity, long ceilings glooming a calm peach colour into the air. Old portraits of long-dead men and women hung on every open space of the walls, untouched by the disease of dust.
Juniors and seniors of millennial long bloodlines, all exposed and on display to the private eyes of a hundred guises of capital.
The room was an open space, with no doors in sight as it expanded across what was supposed to be separate rooms. A meeting of bronze and gold design that carried the voices and laughter of the many attending guests, enveloping the fortress with an intoxicating resonance of finely squashed grapes and skewered delights.
'Looks like little Sera's got herself a few spectators,' Scarlet's muffled voice mused through her ear. She found the first set of eyes that belonged to one of the many ambassadors Séraph had memorized. Julian Carraway, the second ambassador of Than leaned sheepishly next to one of the open trays on a table, picking at a snack on one of the platters as he scanned her unrepenting. He was in his late thirties as far as she remembered, auburn hair clattering together as thin strands as it did in his portraits, revealing most of his irritated scalp.
Another voice spoke up. 'Letty always says ignore the eyes, Séra. They'll make you cursed.'
Cherry. She almost couldn't help but smile at the sound of the young girl's voice.
The dance was centred a the heart of the maturing crowd, stunning suction of melodies rounding to the asphyxiation of dresses made up of rare white silks and light satins that hovered across the marble flooring deathly in sync, diversifying between the steps of expensive leathers worn by men with hands full of jewelled corsets and blushing waists.
Lords, ladies, mistresses, ministers, ambassadors; everyone melted onto one another dual to soft butter left to glide in the heat of a culpable summer- In her own bubble of lull, Séraph Alchemy could read up almost every gust of lechery puffed out by the individuals occupying the sinking cavity of the Than palace. Well, that was until she became a magnet to nails.
She internally groaned at the charlatan clearing of a man's throat from behind her.
His tone was a bored one. "Do you always stare so passively at the fruits of the receptions you attend or are you just craving all the attention you gain from just standing there and looking pretty?"
