The Ball

Long, delicately trimmed fingernails curled over the banister as the woman descended the staircase.
The faint beam of light glowed with a peach-colored hue. Caressing her skin to a rosy red.
Dark lashes curled at the tips, accenting hazel eyes, which were fixed on the back wall. For no particular reason, only out of habit.

Her burnette hair was piled into a bun. Various curly strands of hair fell loosely and purposely onto her shoulders. The hair kept it shape as she cautiously descended the staircase.
A dress flowed like a velvet river. Accenting her frame.
Strands of tan fabric fell in luscious billows down her body, and expanded down her hips.
A light pink corset was tied firmly around her waist. Making her seem abnormally thin.

The woman looked down upon the guests. Her face thin and almost un-healthy looking. She was young, but her eyes held an aura of dignity.
The staircase came to an end, and the woman sashayed across the ballroom. Her tan dress flailing behind her in billows of peach and tan.
She seemed almost in a hurry.

She looked disdainfully at the food put out for the ball. Her mother had always said that eating too much poisoned the body. More of an obsession now that the woman was 26 years of age.

A slender hand was revealed from the waves of fabric. Clasping a crup of liquid the woman politely sipped soundlessly. her eyes rising every once and a while to gaze at the gorgeous ballroom.

Drink still in hand, the woman gazed admiringly at a statue. Its chizzled figures were almost abnormal in the atmosphere of the ball. Gray and pale were the eyes atop the face. It seemed to remind her of someone.

She remembered her manners, regaining her posture and clearing her throat. The woman placed the cup at a random table. Her cheeks turning even redder in the light.

She held her hands at her waist properly, but it seemed as if her mind was elsewhere.

Being in the presence of royalty was an honor, and it was too bad her mother couldn't attend the ball as well.

A regretful sight passed her heavily-painted lips.

Her eyes glazed, transfixed on the open doorway. If only she could engage in some sort of conversation, to make the night less un-bearable.

The woman's eyes seemed to dance with visions of highly-decorated people flailing about the dance hall.

But she was inconspicuous amongst the other guests at the party...

"Wine," she idly commanded at a passing waitress, "Strong Wine."