Reflections of the choices

Сhapter eighteen

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NOTES:

This is my favorite chapter in the story, and Indila inspired it a lot. I recommend reading while listening to that song.

Hope you're enjoying the story!

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"So much hope

On this path, even if I work very hard

Without you, my life is just a shiny meaningless stage"

Dernière danse by Indila

That same evening, when the Bridgertons were preparing for the ball that would close the season, the atmosphere was filled with anticipation and light excitement. The magnificent hall, gleaming with gold and crystal decorations, resembled an enchanted kingdom where every corner was carefully designed and adorned to the finest details. Tapestries depicting historical scenes hung on the walls, and the ceiling, painted with celestial motifs, seemed endless, as if it stretched into eternity itself. Crystal chandeliers hung like enormous drops of dew, refracting the light and casting shimmering reflections throughout the hall.

Noble guests, dressed in their finest attire, stood along the walls; some whispered quietly, while others watched the proceedings with restrained anticipation, holding glasses in their hands. Their faces displayed a mixture of excitement and curiosity. The men in their formal suits and the women in exquisite dresses adorned with jewels seemed like living decorations of the hall. Everyone sensed that something special was about to happen, and each passing minute of waiting only heightened the tension.

On an elevated platform at the other end of the hall sat the Queen, surrounded by her retinue. She reclined in a majestic chair with a high back, adorned with golden ornaments. Her face showed a hint of boredom and indifference, as if her attention was focused on something far more important than the surrounding events. She lightly tapped her fingers on the armrest, signaling that she was waiting for a moment that would dispel her ennui. Her retinue whispered in her ear, but she barely reacted, keeping her gaze fixed on the dim center of the hall.

The center of the hall was shrouded in semi-darkness, with a few thin beams of light piercing through the tall windows, illuminating a small space prepared for the performance. A light mist from the candles in the candelabra, placed around the edges of the stage, added to the mystery and intrigue of the scene. The floor appeared dark and shiny, reflecting every movement, every slight breeze.

The silence enveloping the hall was almost tangible, as if the air had become dense and heavy with anticipation. Everyone held their breath, waiting for the performance to begin, and it seemed that even the walls of the hall absorbed this trembling expectation. All eyes were fixed on the center of the hall, on the shadowy space where magic was about to unfold.

The orchestra played the first chords, and at that moment, the hall seemed to freeze in anticipation. Suddenly, a woman's voice rang out — deep, melodic, and penetrating to the very soul. It flowed through the hall like a stream of water, rising and falling, creating an enchanting magic that made every heart stop. The voice sang in French, the language of love and passion, and its tones conveyed a whole range of emotions — from tenderness to pain, from longing to hope.

The voice seemed like a living being, singing with such strength that it felt as if it could shatter any glass, yet it was soft and enveloping, like a velvet touch. The words were clear, but the singer remained in the shadows, her silhouette hidden behind the curtains. This mysterious image only intensified the magic of the moment. Like an unseen angel, she filled the hall with her melody, as if the night itself had begun to sing, telling its ancient yet ever-new story.