To my Dearest Friend

Pearls

I look at my own frowning reflection in the mirror. The simple black suit is as elegant as ever but I feel rather vulnarable in it. Back in England I knew what to do, I knew how everything works but now I don't even know what to wear. A french ball, my first french ball, what to expect. I practice my smile in the mirror and nervously pluck on my cufflinks which won't close. to be honest I've never heard of the person who organised it but my father knows him. Not sure how or why but I'll take it, at least I have something to enter into the high society here.

I walk into the mansion, I feel out of place everything is a lot more colourful here than it is at home even the men wear bright colours. The lights aren't just yellow but they have a special thing around them resulting is some kind of lilac light I feel out of place, I wish Yves would be here with me. I hate balls. But than my eye falls onto a young men standing in the room.

there in the purple light stands a young man, his aura seems to direct all the light towards him. He wears a light blue suit and lace gloves. He wears a lot of jewellery, most of which is made of pearl. His long hair is white and slightly longer than mine. The bottom seems to be slightly curly, while the rest is very straight. His white eyelashes highlight his white skin as does the red blush he is wearing. His green eyes shoot from side to side as if he is looking for something or someone, or as if he is a bird of prey. I do not understand how he has all the characteristics that could make you seem sickly yet he is one of the least sickly person I have ever seen. His eyes meet my eyes an the other side of the room. His thin lips curl into a kind yet almost terrifying smile. And then I knew, this boy is a French version of Yves. He walks towards me, He smiles, his white teeth lined up perfectly. if you would have asked me to say ten ugly things about him right now I wouldn't even manage to get over the two. I suddenly notice that in addition to his nine rings and four necklaces (all rather expensive looking), he is also wearing  pearl earrings. I have really never seen that on anyone of good standing but it looks good on him. He offers me his jewellery-adorned hand. 'I don't know you, what is your name if I might as sir?' He asks. 'My name is Cyril Courtenay' 'My name is Émile Polignac.' 'Nice to meet you Mr Polignac.' He smiles 'you can just call me Émile.' I nod 'You are not from Paris by the looks of it, what do you call home?" he asks. 'I am from Devon but I would call London my home. I moved to paris about a week ago.' 'I think I might've read about you. Did you live in Powderham castle?" "sometimes I do." he smiles "I'm more of a city person, I think Le chateau de lavoute-Polignac is boring.' I laugh at him a little. 'naming names for a moment are we? Mister Polignac.' He chuckles. 'You all do that there anyway' I look at him 'that doesn't mean we have to do It' 'You are right about that. I hereby invite you at this address on Friday at five o'clock. You can decide if you'd like to show up or not' he hands me a card and walks away. He walks so elegantly, it reminds me of someone but I don't know who. It feels like my life in Paris has really started now.

I grab my typewriter and roll the paper in. I catch myself grinning. I'm sure Yves will be proud of me. Yes, he might be a bit jealous. but we have always wanted the best for the other. I take a deep breath and start writing.