It came on like a madness, until I could think of nothing but the whisper of crinoline and the scent of lily bloom. My sight was stolen, always finding its way to across to floor to her hem but never daring to rise.
Her own gaze was petrous where it fell, nails like needles against my palm as we passed hands in the dance.Something had displeased her this night. I almost hoped I was the cause, poor regard is preferable to none.
The suitors treated her like the bright ornaments that hung from the yule trees set in the hall. Something fragile and displayed for their exaggerated appreciation. The young men scorned the gossip of women, too far from apron strings to listen to the rumors their own mothers and sisters murmured behind fans.
I was not such a fool. She was dangerous, more so with every pass the dance took us through.