Sparks in 1863

A Spark in the Middle of The Dance Floor

Elliot James looked around his fathers' mansion, the place where he would be hosting his party.

     The Civil War was upon them, and spirits were down as the country, a mere century old, fought against itself, South vs. North, Black vs. White.
    At least, that's how Elliot saw it.

     The Massachusetts native could not see the point of the war - slavery was wrong. People were people, no matter what color they may have sported. Because, if you truly thought about it, what affect did the color of your skin have on who you were inside?

    Take Eve Nightingale. Hair like black as night, flowing down her back like a river and eyes flecked with Browns and greens and golds. Sweet as nectar and wise as a scholar, any man would be down on their knees for her to so much as send a glance their way - if her skin made her worthy, of course.

    Yet her skin was not deemed "worthy" by those in the South, or even some in the North. The rule was, if you weren't pale as a pearl, you were see as not as human, but as a creature of status below that of a rat's.  Hell, in the South, the rats were treated better than the blacks. And that is why Eve was unworthy.

Her skin was the most perfect kind of black. It was like fresh soil after a rain storm, like the bear hide of a jacket Elliot had once owned. But still - dark skin was dark skin, no matter how radiant it made its beholder.

Elliot snapped out of his daydreams, and looked at his pocket watch. 9:00! The guests should have been arriving at that very moment!

Elliot scampered down the endless flight of steps, just on time to open the door for his best friend, John Lawrence.

"Good evening, John." Elliot greeted with a slight nod of his head.

"Same to you, Elliot." John replied, and held out his hand, grasping it firmly for a count of three before leading his friend to the parlor.

"Adam!" Elliot called, and the family butler, Adam Prince walked in with an air of superiority, deeming himself of higher rank than anyone else, despite the fact that he was working for a rather arrogant and demanding 15 year old boy.

"Whatever do you need, Monsieur?" He asked in an accent that Elliot had always been highly suspicious of being fake.

"Please wait for the guests by the door."
Elliot requested, standing up a little straighter as he gave his orders. John smirked and leaned forward.

"Waiting for Nightingale, are we?" He asked in a low yet plenty teasing voice. Elliot frowned.

"I do not understand what everyone has against her. She is human the same as you and me, is she not?"

"Yes, but she is black." John said, as though telling the greatest joke since America defeated the British.

"Yes, but why does that matter? What does it matter the color of your skin if your skin does not affect who you are as a person?"

John rolled his eyes. "Of course it affects who you are as a person. If you are black, you are a slave, or you are killed by tigers and monsters in Africa. If you are white then you are served and die of age or famine."

Currently disgusted with his opinionated friend, Elliot walked out of the room to find his party in full swing.

A small orchestra played in the corner, a dozen violins, violas, bass, and cellos took up the melody whilst an organ played along with a harmony.

Elliot's eyes scanned the room, but he could not find the girl.

"Are you looking for something," a low, girlish voice asked him, her time in bondage had added a slight twang to her voice. Eve Nightingale.

"And I believe I have found her." Elliot grinned, planting a light kiss on her gloved hand. Eve quickly drew away.

"James, you disgust me."

"Ah, so you've discussed me." Elliot grinned at his clever rhyme. Eve rolled an eye and slowly began to walk away.

Elliot was sure her slow pace was due to the fact that she wanted him to catch up with her. Really, it was because of Eve's dress, which was a light spring green, the Lace on the bottom tangled with her feet.

Elliot sped up slightly, catching up to a slightly annoyed Eve. He reached out and grabbed her wrist with such force that the girl was knocked off her own two feet.

"Sorry!" Elliot internally cursed himself as he caught Eve's waist, setting her back on her feet. Said girl crossed her arms.

"And why, is it, you have decided to pester me, yet again?" Eve interrogated. Elliot looked at her with hide, shining eyes.

"One dance to prove myself is all I ask, Eve. Only one!" Eve looked up in surprise - what is it he needed to prove? That he was more of a foul got than Eve already believed?"

The word was already rolling off of her tongue: No. But she surprised herself with a gentle smile usually reserved for only her dear sisters.

"Sure? Why not?"

The tune that played for Eve and Elliot was neither fast not slow, but pace in between that was slow enough to talk but fast enough to not quite count as a slow dance.

"Elliot?"

"Yes, Eve?"

"Why is it you requested to dance with me?" And, being rather oblivious, Eve found herself truly curious on how Elliot would respond. After all, she was a refugee, fleeing to Canada - in fact, she'd be on the move again tonight.

"Well, Eve, I suppose it is because I find you quite beautiful." Elliot spun her around.

"Is that so?" Eve triedto hide her ever growing blush, yet it was not missed by Elliot.

"Yes, it is so - though I understand you do not return my affections, Miss Nightingale." Elliot smirked as Eve have him a look of fake annoyance.

"Well, Mr. James, it may have escaped your notice, but you are quite an arrogant, selfish, brat."

"Well, I am sorry to hear that." Elliot frowned.

"Eve?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think, if one small thing happened, perhaps if the runway spark was to light on a dance floor, it could change anything, anything at all?"

"Well, I am not sure. What is there that you would like to change?"

And without words, Elliot answered Eve's question as he leaned in, and his lips met hers.

The world seemed to fade, it was as though only the two of them, Eve and Elliot, existed, and it was as though millions upon millions of brightly colored butterflies had burst into flight in Eve's stomach.

When she finally pulled away, took the time to look around, she saw only a few onlookers gaping in their direction. But she smiled softly at Elliot, and though they may not have known it, they were thinking the same thing.

The spark had been lit.