Eve scanned her surroundings with much unease. Squeals of laughter pierced through the flow of the lyre, their excited feet taking them across the room and forth in a patterned manner.
The heady scent of alcohol and perfume filled the room along with the peculiarly disgusting scent of human sweat, much muted by the sweet scent of the palest pink roses hanging from the glass ceiling.
Tonight the crowd was much thinner, exclusive to a selected few, the closest of the closest allies of Ibitea. Being the last night of the feast, it was considered an honor to be invited to the Moonlight Ball. At least that was what she had heard from the servants.
But what was obvious to her observant eyes was that the number of slaves had also considerably thinned from when she had arrived. And from what she had seen yesterday, she didn't have to second guess the reason for the same.
