<div class="floatright">(https://pre00.deviantart.net/8665/th/pre/f/2014/155/c/8/white_fairy___stock_by_mariaamanda-d7l12qi.jpg)</div>Name:  Elia<br/>Location: Ballroom<br/>Tagging:  -<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Candlelight, so much candlelight, it filled Elia’s eyes with stars, and made them glisten and shine from within the eye holes of her fey-light butterfly mask. The mask itself sparkled, reflecting the candlelight and making it seem like the upper half of her face had been dusted with diamonds. So too the bust of her white gown, a relatively simple thing by the impeccable fashion standards of much of the crowd. Elia dressed like some fairy tale princess who had just run off into the woods, fleeing some evil stepmother or predating huntsman, with the gown’s dress in a deliberately many-split, almost tattered looking, style.<br/><br/>If some god had seen fit to spray a coat of glittering diamond dust upon her face and bust, as it seemed in the refracting candlelight, so too her silvery-blue eyeshadow and her sparkling lavender-shaded lipsticks, and her high heels. The high flashed as she walked, despite her small-stepped gait. A gait for stalking up and down catwalks, more for being seen than for doing anywhere in a hurry.<br/><br/>Eila was in no hurry. She was basking in every sight and sound. Even the powdered scents of the others a wonder. She found herself staring at ceiling paintings. She lost herself imagining she were some lady hundreds years ago, seeing a Sistine Chapel freshly painted. Then nearly bumping into someone reminded her to keep going.<br/><br/>She felt her nerves, snatched a glass of champagne from a passing servant, a rather handsome lad at that. She drunk it down, less daintily than she perhaps ought have, and the next servant she passed was kind enough to relieve her of the empty glass.<br/><br/>She marveled at the ballroom, and especially at her host and hostess. She had heard fantastically decadent rumors about them, and hadn’t thought much of it then - talk was cheap, words were wind - but somehow, seeing them now, in their lair, she could believe it all.<br/><br/>An orchestra? Dancing? Oh dear, this would be something more than the gyration that passed for dancing at a DJ’ed magazine launch party, Elia supposed. Then again, she had years of ballet under her belt, or rather tutu, and her father, ever eager to present her a debutante, had gotten her some practice at ballroom dancing. Her teacher had been a nice lady too...a very very nice lady...Elia suddenly had a guess what had been involved in her father selecting the tutor. She let out a giggle, then hastily held the back of her wrist before her mouth to quiet it. She took the next offered champagne glass, and used that to preoccupy her lips from any more errant giggles.<br/>