There She Stood;
A thousand hands shook in that garden-lantern-lit cathedral- a thousand impressions were made.
The taciturn inclinations of one dark-haired duchess kept her own impressions hidden, however.
Docile eyes that glowed almost bionic blue were masked under plum-induced shadow.
She regarded the breezy scene as if some biding understudy to God Himself.
She smiled at the thought of her own galaxy-wide tide of ovations in her future.
The dishes, the people, the conversational traps laid- they meant nothing to her.
Neither regarded nor respected nor recognized nor even badmouthed, there she stood.
Neither prude nor daredevil nor soldier nor queen, there she stood.
She stood even when all else fell into a fiery mayhem- her final ovation indeed.
