1705. Luck had never been on Eleanora Finley's side. After her father died in a tragic fire, she was left at the mercy of her domineering and abusive mother, being deprived of all love and affection.
Truly, who would have thought that the simple red...
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1711, Aethiel Palace, Kestramore City
The night of the ball had finally arrived. La Nuit du Ciel Doré, or The Night of The Golden Skies, a night of endless festivities and magic, they called it. And certainly, it lived up to its name.
The Night of the Golden Skies is nearly legendary to Ravaerinnians, having not been held in almost two hundred years. A resplendent, sumptuous ball was to be hosted at the end of The Choosing Ceremony, according to custom. The entire palace would be illuminated by hundreds of candles painted with liquid gold, and then for one night only, all subjects of Ravaeryn were invited to enter the palace and eat and dine as they pleased.
Then, at midnight, fireworks would be shot into the sky. The golden sparkles of the fireworks would appear like a shower of stars in the blackness of the night, and it appeared as if the heavens had become gold, thus the name.
That night, Eleanora had worn the dress that Catarina had sewn for her, a sumptuous dark green robe à la francaise with delicate gold embroidery, a square neckline bordered with white lace, and flared sleeves that ended just above her wrist. Her hair was done up in an intricate crown of silver filigree, decorated with tiny sapphires and diamonds. The colour suited her complexion beautifully, making her skin glisten under the light of the crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling and the flickering torches lining the walls. She looked perfect.
Still, it did not feel right. Eleanora felt as if she were unworthy of wearing something so beautiful, nor did she belong there. It was too bright, too warm. The air that she breathed was heavy with the scent of roses, lavender and musk, combined with the rancid medley of sweat, alcohol and smoke. Every person she saw was dressed in their finest garments, and each lady seemed to have their family heirlooms looped around their throat.
Everyone had dressed to impress. This was not just a ball; it was a competition that everyone wanted to win, although there was not even a definite prize. Underneath their delicate smiles and coy greetings, they concealed hearts full of envy and discontent, but all that came from their lips were words of praise.
The thought of being there sickened Eleanora, and although she knew that her presence was required there, she found herself unable to walk through the entrance of the hall. From a distance, she could see the grand entryway, decorated with elaborate sculptures carved from marble and adorned with gilded columns. Beyond lay the banquet hall, filled floor to ceiling with tables piled high with food, glittering with the light of hundreds of candle flames and the sparkling reflections of jewels on chandeliers. The guests were everywhere—people dressed in fine silks and satins, men and women alike laughing merrily as servants passed trays of wine and delicacies. It was as if the palace were overflowing with life.
Eleanora stood there staring, longing for the solitude of her room. But she could not-- her absence would be too obvious. So she retreated to the courtyard, where a massive water fountain had been erected.
