The Ruler of Wattpadia - Contest

Lady Cori-Anne Fiske of Fayí

The ball could be better. The music is slow and quiet, so slow that not even the best dancers can figure out how to dance to it. Also, the food is in ridiculously small portions that the hosts call "sample platters." How is anybody supposed to get full on this bird food?

Carolina, my cousin, is somewhere in the throng, but she's been playfully avoiding me from when the ball started and I've since given up on finding her. I drift through the crowd, dodging elbows and spinning dames. I'm sick to my ears of the ball.

Nobody is watching me, so I slip through a door and into a quiet hallway. The pastel blue gown I'm wearing is impossible to maneuver in-given I'm wearing a corset-and I've tripped on the hem about three times in the past ten minutes. I tiptoe down the hall like the lady I'm supposed to be, not making a sound in my cloth slippers. Standing alone in a corner is a full-length mirror, which I use as I wipe my lipstick off. I don't even bother with the eye makeup; as soon as I touch it, it will just smear and adhere itself onto my fingers. As I rub my mouth, I notice something move from the corner of my eye.

"Boo!"

I yelp and sprint down the hall, away from the apparition I saw in the mirror. I trip into the garden and, ungracefully, sail into the fountain. Shaking from the freezing cold water, I remove myself and turn around. Laughing in the doorway are three teenage boys.

'Don't hurt them,' I tell myself. 'Don't get yourself kicked out of the ball.'

"Oh, Lordy," snickers one of the boys, apparently the ringleader. "You should have seen your face, Cori-Anne..."

I'm two inches away from his face, glaring directly into his eyes. "Hey, moron. Scat before I call one of the guards to lock you up in the dungeon."

"Th-the castle doesn't have a dungeon-"

"Fine, tower, whatever! Just beat it!"

The boys hussle away before I'm forced to blast them.

"Cori?"

I turn around and smile at Carolina. "Hey, cuz'. Nothing's happening here."

She looks me over skeptically with her big green eyes. "Right. Come back inside. They brought in a giant cake."

"Real food?!" I walk alongside her. "Great! I'm starving."

"Cori..."

"Yeah?"

"You're soaking wet."

Oh yeah. How could I forget? I glance at my sopping gown and, with a snap of my fingers, dry it. Then Carolina and I walk arm in arm through the wide double doors and approach the glistening white cake. Maybe I won't starve tonight after all.

"That's her," whispers somebody nearby. My ears prick. "The crazy chick from Fayi. Fiske, or something."

Wait, "crazy?"

I try to see who said it, but there are too many people and Carolina is pulling me to the cake. I whirl around, smacking right into a servant carrying an overloaded tray of used glasses. The servant, tray and champagne flutes all tumble to the floor. The people around us fall silent and stare at the shattered glasses.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!"

The servant bats me away when I try to help him up. "It's alright, milady," he grunts.

"No, really," I insist. "Let me clean this up."

I wave my hand, and the glasses pick themselves up, reassembling, then float back onto the tray and into the servant's hands. He and everybody stare at me in horror. His face is pale, and he shakes, nearly knocking the flutes down again.

"That really wasn't necessary," he stammers.

I look at all the frozen faces, then spin around and dash out of the ballroom. The garden is still dark and dangerous, and I trip, ripping my dress, but still I run until I find a valet. "I need a carriage to Fayi," I pant. He scans me slowly, then sighs and gestures for me to follow. The door is barely open when I hop inside and swing it back shut. Tears streak down my face.

I was stupid. So stupid. I used magic as if I was in my own manor, and now I probably just ruined any chances I had at finding a husband that will make my parents shut up about marriage. I didn't even talk to a single guy (those idiots from earlier don't count).

In anger I rip the hair clips out of my hair and let my tresses fall around my face. I'm never going to be invited to another ball again, so what does appearance matter anymore? It's while I'm disassembling my complicated hair-do and removing my earrings to put in my clutch that I notice one of my shoes are missing. It's probably having a swell old time back in the garden.

Dang it.