Maeve stood alone at the edge of the grand ballroom, her 17th birthday party in full swing around her. The soft glow of the crystal chandelier above cast a kaleidoscope of colors across her heart-shaped face, highlighting the piercing green of her eyes and the rich, auburn hues of her hair, which cascaded down her back in loose, effortless waves. The sweet scent of fresh flowers and the subtle hint of candle wax wafted through the air, mingling with the gentle hum of the string quartet.
The rustle of her silver gown echoed through the silence between notes, the delicate fabric whispering against her skin like a gentle breeze. Yet, despite the opulence surrounding her, Maeve's gaze remained fixed on the polished marble floor. Her mind was numb from the forced smiles and polite conversations she had all evening.
At this point someone please turn off the music
She whispered to herself.
The taste of the champagne she'd sipped earlier lingered on her lips, a faintly bitter reminder of the hollowness within her. She felt like a porcelain doll on display, her every move scrutinized by her family's expectations, as the soft murmur of the guests and the clinking of glasses created a sense of detachment, like she was observing her own life from afar.
As she walked back into the ballroom, the warm glow of the candelabras and the soft murmur of the guests enveloped her, making her feel like a small boat adrift in a stormy sea. She reached for another glass of champagne from the waiter who passed by her; the condensation refreshing her fingers. Distant murmurs among the guests drew her attention, and she noticed the sudden change in the room; it seemed as though everyone's gaze turned to one particular direction, like a flock of birds taking flight.
Maeve's eyes locked onto a mysterious figure emerging from the crowd, his dark hair and piercing gaze commanding attention like a magnet. His presence seemed to fill the room, making the air vibrate with otherworldly energy. She felt a shiver run down her spine as their eyes met, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and fear. As she watched him, the music and laughter around her faded into the background, leaving only her heartbeat and the soft rustle of her gown. She felt like a small, fragile thing, caught in the gaze of a predator. Yet, she couldn't look away, mesmerized by the effortless grace and power that radiated from his every step.
Soon the crowd gravitated towards his pull, most women in the room, in fact, their faces upturned like flowers to the sun. 'Another bachelor they sought to gobble in their claws. She could only wish him good luck,' she thought, as she turned away. The sound of her heels clacking against the marble floor echoed through the silence. It was about time she made her exit and called it a night.
"Maeve? is that you? I am yet to send my wishes to you of your celebration," she recognised her aunt May's voice. Maeve turned to face her, forcing a smile onto her lips, the muscles in her face aching from the effort.
"Aunt May, it's so nice to see you," she cooed, the words feeling like dust in her mouth.
"You have grown so much, my dear. "Her aunt's voice was like warm honey, dripping with sweetness, but Maeve felt a sting beneath the words.
Her smile was unwavering, a practiced mask that hid her genuine emotions, as she gazed at her aunt's powdered face and the faint scent of lavender wafting from her perfume. She couldn't count how many times she had heard that tonight, her phrase echoing in her mind like a mantra.
"Still, your sister's striking appearance stands out even more. It's hard to tell that you both are even related at all," The words dripped with malice, like a slow-moving poison, and Maeve felt a shiver run down her spine as her aunt's gaze flicked to Cecilia, standing amidst the centre of the ballroom.
Cecilia's laughter rang out, a melodious sound that drew the attention of the guests, who listened eagerly as she spoke, Their countenances turned upward just like blossoms seeking the sun's warmth. She had the same commanding presence as the mysterious man from earlier, her voice weaving a spell that captivated all who listened. Nevertheless, her aunt's words dug deeper into her skin, like a splinter working its way under her fingernail.
Maeve picked up her glass once more, the sudden annoyance burning in her chest like a spark. She walked away, ignoring the cries behind her by her aunt's confusion at her departure, the sound of her heels clicking on the marble floor echoing through the silence. She escaped outside once more, and not to the terrace this time, the sudden gust of cold wind slapping across her bare skin like a slap. The silver dress rustled, giving off a shimmering glow under the moonlight, like a thousand tiny stars twinkling in the darkness. Her arm was pulled down like a leaden anchor as she held the glass in her hand, feeling exhausted by its weight.
She thought to smash the glass into the ground, but instead gulped down its contents eagerly, the wine burning down her throat like a river of fire. Her dress was stained in the process, a dark blot spreading across the silver fabric like a stain on her soul. Another stray tray of wine passed by her once more, and she reached out for some more, the stem of the glass cool between her fingers. And just at that moment, she raised the glass over her mouth, the rim of it touching her lips like a kiss. It was snatched from her clutches, the smooth voice sending shivers down her spine like a whispered secret.
"You don't look like you're meant to be drinking this at all." Maeve's eyes flashed up, meeting the gaze of the mysterious stranger, her heart racing with a mix of fear and excitement. "Who are you to decide what's meant for me?" she grumbled low, the words tumbling out of her mouth like a challenge.
"A fellow with a deep concern for your well-being," he answered in a rich baritone voice, the deep tones vibrating through the cool night air.
"I didn't ask for your concern," she stepped away from him, needing to put more distance between them so as not to be disturbed further. The rustle of her skirt echoed through the silence as she moved, and the scent of blooming flowers wafted up from the garden she had walked into. She heard his heavy footsteps falling in steady strides behind her.
"So bold of you to follow a lady about at night. Don't you think someone might misunderstand your intentions?" she asked, her voice laced with irritation, the words tumbling out of her mouth like a challenge. The moonlight cast eerie shadows on the ground, making her feel like she was trapped in a dark fairy tale.
"And what do you think my intentions are?" he replied, his tone calm and curious, his breath misting in the chill air.
"You think I'm up to trouble, so you're making it your responsibility to look out for me. Newsflash: I didn't ask you to," she spat, her tone bitter, the words dripping with venom. She could feel the anger burning in her chest, like a fire consuming her from the inside out.
"Quite the contrary, I am out for a stroll. The inner vicinity was getting a bit stuffy," he said, his voice unruffled, the sound of his voice like a gentle breeze on a summer day.
She huffed and walked away, the sound of her heels clicking on the stone pavement echoing through the night. But he continued to follow her, his footsteps steady and relentless. She flared up at him once more, her heart racing with frustration.
"If you step one more foot closer, I will make a scene and accuse you falsely," she threatened, her index finger pointed aggressively at him, the moonlight glinting off her fingernail like a tiny knife.
He smiled wryly. "I'm not easily intimidated, I assure you. And I think you'll find that making a scene would be... unwise."
He took a step closer, his movements calm and deliberate, the soft rustle of his tailcoat echoing through the air. The scent of sandalwood and bergamot wafted from his direction, but Maeve's senses remained on high alert, her instincts prickling like thistles.
"Let's not quarrel, shall we? The night is too pleasant for that," he said, his voice low and even, like a gentle breeze on a summer's day.
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her breath catching in her throat like a trapped bird.
The stranger's eyes never left hers, his gaze piercing but calm, like a still pond on a windless day. He offered his arm, his movements fluid and confident, but Maeve hesitated, her heart racing like a wild animal in her chest. The gold buttons on his sleeve glinted in the moonlight, but she saw only a stranger's hand, not a gentleman's.
"Join me," he said, his voice low and husky, but devoid of any hint of persuasion or charm. It was a simple statement, a request without expectation.
Maeve hesitated, her desire for excitement warring with her need for safety, like a ship torn between two opposing winds. But her curiosity, like a small flame, flickered to life, and she took his arm, her fingers tenderly caressing his skin, akin to a captivatingly hushed revelation. Together they navigated the crowded entrance, leaving a trail of whispers and curious glances in their wake, like ripples on a moonlit lake, but Maeve's senses remained on high alert, waiting for the other shoe to drop.