Coralie looked across the swirled, marble floor of the ballroom. It was polished to a luminous shine that reflected hazy, colorful silhouettes of the figures engaged in dance and talk. Her eyes landed on one distinct reflection on the floor, and she looked up.
Then she saw him.
Him.
Her eyes must have had invisible hooks attached, for as soon as she caught vision of his face she could not look away.
Time: no longer existent.
People: redundant and gone.
Feeling: numb beyond recognition.
And yet the emotions;
They stood alone.
Her eyes had grappled themselves onto his features and latched themselves there. Her heart thumped in hysteria and jumped up to her throat, screaming for her to look away, look away right now before he turns his head and sees her staring. But she couldn't, as she was just standing there, in the midst of a royal ball, staring wonderstruck at a stranger.
He looked back at her, and she melted to the floor. Her heart died and then resurrected more prominent than before. He seemed to catch himself, but she couldn't see him fall.
She saw his soul exposed as it leaped out in front of her. Leaped onto the shiny floor and stared right back.
Seconds were centuries.
Then she saw him walking. Getting closer and closer.
Coralie, in that very moment, forgot how to breathe for the first time in her life.
Then he stood there. Right in front of her. Smiling as warmly as she felt.
He bowed deeply before Coralie and outstretched his right hand to her in gracious beckoning, while his left one was folded behind his back. “Radiant lady,” he breathed. His voice was a chorus of angels caroling in her ears. “May you grant me the most privileged honor of taking my hand in this dance?”
His words.
How was a human being able to sound so graceful simply by talking?
He looked up at her, still poised in his bow. His hair was dark, nearly black, and parted on his very left side. His eyes, which sought into hers, were lighter, the color of cider, with golden flecks scattered like dust in a summer breeze. They reflected the candlelight in the room, adding to an amber mood. He wore a cloud-white button-down shirt underneath a dusky gray vest, on top of which he wore an inky black tailcoat and matching dress pants. His shoes were fine, too: midnight leather polished to a shine, like the floor upon which they stood. A small crimson-colored bow was tied underneath his collar and around his throat. A dash of vibrance. He was tall, broad, and more than handsome;
He was the single most beautiful boy she had ever seen in her entire life.
Coralie had lost her words. She knew she was blushing red as the boy's bow tie and was well aware that it must have looked freakish since her mother had forced her to wear lots of rose powder on her cheeks (as well as dozens of other powders). She suddenly felt self-concious.
Coralie broke the boy's gaze and looked down at the toes of her tiny white shoes. They were peeking out of the hem of her pink dress, an ornately decorated thing. He was too beautiful to look at without her heart hammering into her throat.
But she extended her hand and clasped his big and strong one. It was dwarfed next to his. He clearly noticed this and smiled. He wrapped his fingers around her soft little palm, but gently, so gently. Yet even still, his touch was a fire that seared up her nerves, electrifying itself into the deepest pit of her existence. She jolted, and was able to clumsily fumble for the word “Y-yes.”
Never had Coralie been so swept off her feet in her life. Or so she’d told me, but I sure do believe her.