The Fiery Ifrit And The Stone-Cold Iceberg

The Ball

P.S:  All the characters are owned by Rob Thier, author of the 'Storm And Silence' series.

I returned home after a day of grueling work carrying heavy boxes of files to my employer, Rikkard Ambrose, the richest and most powerful but stingiest businessman in London. Immediately my aunt ushered me upstairs with a surprisingly exquisite and expensive looking sea green dress. I looked at her questioningly. She only muttered some vague answer about someone sending it to our house. 

Questions were whirling inside my head but I brushed them off. I put on all the necessary undergarments with the help of Ella, sweet little sister that she was. After I put on the dress I gazed into the old, foggy mirror and gasped.

The dress was stunning. Extraordinary. Remarkable. Ravishing. The questions that I had so carelessly brushed off returned with a vengeance. The dress somehow had made it seem as if I was well endowed upstairs, as well as giving the impression of a minuscule waist. While I was staring open-mouthed at the mirror Ella was smiling at me. "It's a gorgeous dress, isn't it Lilly? You look stunning."

"But Aunt won't tell me where she got it from! And it's perfectly tailored! I just don't understand who would be able to give me this perfectly fitted dress!" I replied.

"It was quite bizarre how Aunt got the dress.  A huge Indian wearing a turban knocked on our door, holding the dress and said that it was for you. Oh and also that it was from someone who held you in a very special place in their heart! Then he immediately walked away, muttering about a woman who was worse than ifrit"

Aunt's face must have been priceless, I thought.

Wait, my inner voice screamed. The Indian was obviously Karim, so why had Mr. Ambrose sent me a dress? Was he coming to the ball tonight? And most important, how did he know I was going?

Aunt hollered from downstairs. "Ella, Lilly, are you girls ready ?". Both of us said in chorus "No, Aunt. 15 minutes, Aunt". Suddenly I had the urge to see Mr. Ambrose's mouth hang open when he saw me at the ball tonight. If he was coming, that is. No, Mr Ambrose's mouth hanging open was too ambitious, even for me.

My inner suffragist was crying and screaming. I completely ignored it and set to work trying to make myself look as pretty as I could.

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