A Mirage Of Milk And Honey

Chapter 31 - Leading Lady

Honey hadn't been to many parties. In fact, she'd never been to any party. In Nileau, there had been one or two days where she'd wander further into the palace. Bored of the cobblestone walls she was surrounded by in the outer shell, she'd make her way closer and closer to the centre of Kingsdock Palace. Though it seemed more castle than palace on the outside, Honey had come to discover that the closer one got to the centre, the more lavish it became. The plain cobble with little decoration would soon morph into sanded down stone painted with lavish depictions of the kingdom's countryside. There were murals of gods and deities and things that Honey couldn't truly understand. A courtyard so big it served as an entire garden was in the centre and the more she explored, the more the realisation dawned that the palace was not simply a fortified home for The King, but a self sustaining, nearly impenetrable fortress that, should he wish it, The King would never need to take leave of.

It was also the first time Honey had seen a ballroom dance. She'd happened upon it by accident, her steps silent in her silken slippers as she instinctively kept to the shadows of the upper balcony.

The dancers below spun fluidly, the women's dresses blooming like peonies as the air lifted their skirts. The men, dressed in sleek dark furs and cloaks, contrasted the women at their hand. It was all femininity and masculinity, the burly, bear faced men guiding the petite, flower faced women across the dance floor.

Each space between the couples was even. Each step they took the same distance. Each tilt or dip or spin precisely timed, specific and undeniably identical in a way that matched certain beauties of the world. The dances at Nileau were like the geometric shapes of crystals or the evenly sized hexagons of honeycomb. They held the same calculated shape found in the frozen fractures of snowflakes or the evenly lengthed silk from a spider's web—beautiful but repetitive. The same designs could be found from Osheya to Nileau.

At those balls, the clothing had been ornate. It had been decorative and restricting and sharp and proper and so Honey was standing outside of Striker's cabin with her fist raised to the wood, hesitating. Again.

She always found herself hesitating.

A laugh sounded from behind the doorway, and Honey realised she'd been standing, staring at the wooden panels before her for an unusual amount of time. So, to save herself from the embarrassment, she took a deep breath and rapped her knuckles against the wood, hoping to any gods that may or may not exist she didn't happen to be interrupting something.

The door swung open with what was a—relievingly short—period of time and Me'Liah stood before her with a puzzled expression.

Honey was by no means short, but the doting, almost nurturing nature that Me'Liah held made Honey feel like a child twiddling their thumbs, knocking on a parents door because of a nightmare.

"Is everything alright?" Me'Liah asked, leaning out the door as if to check for herself.

"Yes." Honey stated, "I just... What is the dress code for tonight?" She asked randomly. That hadn't been her intended question, but Me'Liah's eyes lit up in a way that told Honey she'd happened upon the very reason the white haired girl stood outside her door. 

The early evening sun was dulling into a deep shade of blue as Me'Liah tugged Honey through the door.

"Who is it?" Ma'Tali called from the vanity, hairbrush stroking through her silken brown hair.

"It's the little Snowy Rabbit!" Me'Liah gushed, and Ma'Tali quirked a brow.

"Snowy Rabbit?" Honey murmured confuzedly.

"Because of the white hair." Me'Liah said, before turning her attention back to her wife, "Honey here is in need of something appropriate for tonight." She explained, and Ma'Tali's face seemed to shift from one of boredom to one of downright mischief.