FireSweet

Call me a Liar

A weight descended on me, constricting my chest as I half ran to my cabin.  The world tilted and whirled, blackness closing off my peripheral vision.  I could hear the voices of my crewmates as I staggered against them drunkenly.  “Flame…” they all whispered.  “She is the flame.” 

I responded to no one, nearly knocking Briamy over as I fumbled with my doorknob.  Her voice sounded out in surprise, but all I heard her whisper was the same word.  “Flame”.  Collapsing on the bed, I waved her away, wishing the voices would go with her.  Within moments of her closing the door, sleep mercifully came to me, relieving me of the torturous headache and voices.

I opened my eyes back in the Effugere camp.  I was in a flashover.  My swishing skirts swirled about me as I stepped lightly in time to the orchestra music.  My dark-haired partner smiled at me nervously, his palms sweating lightly as he kept my hands in his. 

“I do hope you are enjoying yourself Darling.  If you will excuse my forwardness, you dance quite well for someone who is new to such things.  You look beautiful when you dance.”

“Why thank you,” I replied demurely, stepping casually to the orchestra music.  I recognized the strings work as Dvorák’s Slavonic Dance No. 6. 

“N…Not that you don’t look beautiful anyways.” My partner stammered out, realizing his mistake.

                Had I been in control of myself at that moment I would have rolled my eyes, made a sarcastic remark, and left him for a better dance partner.  Unfortunately, I had no such control, and felt myself smile at him instead.  He bowed as the dance ended, and was quickly replaced by another bumbling male.  This one tripped over his feet as he attempted to steer me in our slow waltz.  As we moved in a tight circle my mind began to wander.  The flashover was boring me, not even permitting me the decency of excitement while I was forced to endure the etiquette camp. 

                I wished for a faster song, even if it was an old-fashioned ballroom tango.  I was desperate.  To my surprise I broke away from my horrid dance partner and made my way toward the lady in charge.

                “M’lady?” I asked softly, eyes downcast as a sign of respect, “I wish to ask as to whether we will be dancing to anything more lively.”

                The woman’s eyebrows shot up her forehead as she pursed her lips at me in distaste.

                “Lively as in a foxtrot or salsa?”

                I nodded enthusiastically, my heart racing in thought that I may get to do something enjoyable.

                “Those dances you call “lively”, they rely on close working between the two dance partners.  We do no such devil worshipping here.” she snipped.

                Before I could protest the ignorance of that statement she continued her objection, building herself up into a rant.  “You are here to learn proper behaviors between young men and women.  Forget everything you have known in the world you came from.  Forget vulgar rap lyrics and the promiscuous gyrating that passes as modern dance.  Forget the low-cut provocative clothing and the social sin of women wearing trousers.  I will tolerate no such abominations here.  Effugere is a haven for the old ways, and I will not have it tainted by those who wallow in the loss of their blasphemous ways!”

                I wanted to argue, to snarl at the woman and her blatant ignorance, but it was not working again.  No amount of willpower could break through the flashover.  I nodded my head respectfully and returned the group of teenagers who had never broken step of the dance.