Seven Witches

eight

Once upon a time there was a girl who loved the ocean so much she drowned in its cool waves, watching the corals. This place reminded Cythera of the drowning girl, not because she was miserably choking by the thing she loved the most, which she thought was a good metaphor, but because this place looked so lovely even though she knew it could swallow you whole.

There were at least five women with their breasts out so she didn't know why it felt so obscene for her to have her breasts pressed up to her chin. Maybe because those five or more women actually wanted to have their chests exposed.

She thought she looked very exotic, but she would prefer for people to see her necklace and not her nipple.

Hera wore a beige dress with green flowers on the bottom that rose up to her waist like vines. The corset pressed her waist into a tiny thing compared to her huge skirt, the top of the dress exposed her collarbones and the pearls she gave her yesterday. Her sister looked like a walking garden.

Cythera wore a white gown with golden details on the skirt, the top plain with a neckline that dipped to the middle of her chest. She wore a royal blue dress coat over it pinned with golden flowers to her skirt. When she walked, the skirts dragged and she truly feared someone might step on them.

Before going into the ball, the Tsar had given her a pair of teardrop quartz earrings and a necklace to match them and ordered her to wear them. If he was trying to be romantic he was horribly bad at it.

Paul wore a white tunic and black pants with a fancy overcoat embroidered with beige silk. He looked both very out of place and ordinary with his thin figure and curly blond hair.

Right now Cythera sat on a very comfortable chair sipping red whine slowly, careful to not have too much because at some point she would have to get out of this dress and perform a dance. She didn't know when since the Tsar had not come to join his own party yet.

Hera was gawking at the Faberge egg displayed in the middle of the ballroom. Both she and Paul were trying to look like they were not gawking and about to squeal.

It was a beautiful egg, if only she could understand why they seemed to be expecting it. She thought they had some unspoken secret and hated how she was not involved.

Someone was tugging at her skirt now and she looked down to find a young boy holding it. The Grand Duke had a thin face for a kid and a lot of freckles that she didn't remember seeing in the painting hung in the Tsar's quarters. His thin lips were pressed tightly, brows pinched as he looked down to his feet, ears bright red. "Ma'am," he spoke politely. "W-Would you like to dance with me?"

Cythera put her glass down, resting her face on her hand as she watched the boy. She wanted to play with his brown curls and dress him into little clothes. "Will you step on my toes?" she asked sarcastically.

Grand Duke Alexander looked up at her with honey coloured eyes, not quite like his older brother who reminded Cythera of midnight showers. "My tutor says I'm a very exceptional dancer," Alexander also had freckles on his hand and his neck that she only noticed once he lifted his chin and extended a hand.

"Your tutor would lie to you rather than face the consequences of telling the truth." Nevertheless, she took his hand and rose from her comfortable chair.

She was much taller than him and it was awkward at the beginning as he tried to put his hand on her shoulder but couldn't reach. Instead, she took his delicate hands and put them on her waist, slowly swaying to the lovely music. "He wouldn't lie—my tutor,"

Cythera bent to whisper in his ear, "Everyone lies, my dear." But despite that, he was a very elegant dancer. She didn't expect any less from a Grand Duke who never slept on anything other than silk and never saw a kitchen in his life. But she didn't hate him for that, she just...pitied him. "So, why dance with me?"