In Her Element

Almyra fiddled with the edges of the sash that hung from her dress, suddenly nervous. Making a grand entrance into the ballroom in front of all the high-society guests did not suit her fancy and the strain of that and of all the attention she would be getting tonight was now coming to reality and hitting her hard. She hated being the center of attention, but tonight she had no choice in the matter and it had already started.

She had been washed and scrubbed till her skin had nearly been scraped off and she had a red glow to her skin. The woman who had been hired for this momentous occasion due to her professionalism claimed it was called a healthy glow, but Almyra failed to see how so much pain for something as silly as this could be healthy, and why Miss Lisle, who remained on the side watching the entire time, was not suited to help her as she usually did.

After her torturous wash, Almyra was forced to stand in her entirely too thin and slightly see-though undergarments while her dress and everything that was to be worn underneath were delicately spread out on her bed in an order. And then the maids, led by the “professional”, began to dress their mistress for the last evening of her childhood years; after this night, she would officially be a woman (even though she could recall being told the same thing after she received the first of her monthly courses).

She now stood in front of a full-length mirror with her eyes shut, wishing she had not been so quick to allow her mother to descend to the ballroom to greet the guests and leave her daughter to face her imminent fate in the hands of the “professional”, who was currently standing behind Almyra and looking her over with a critical eye. Slowly Almyra cracked open one eye, then the other, allowing herself to peek at her reflection. Her astonished gasp brought a smile onto the stern countenance of the “professional”, who, now that her job was complete and satisfactory to the client, allowed a crack in her demeanor. Many would later argue that no one had ever looked as beautiful on the night of their debutante as Miss Almyra did on that very moment that she had gotten a glimpse of herself in the mirror; the look on her face that revealed her delight and shyness over her beauty was never again seen, on her or on anyone else.

Almyra looked marvelous. Her gown was elegant and rich, but not flashy—it was an understated elegance that completely suited her taste and features. The shoulders were tight, without any padding, giving it a more rounded look, and the sleeves were loose enough for her to move her arms comfortably and they became a hanging bell at the elbow. The neckline swooped a little lower than she was used to, yet she still felt comfortable in it, that it did not reveal too much; it was lined with lace. The gown was narrow at the waist, where a soft sash of a contrasting color lay, and then it flared and twisted as it slid down her hips and legs. It was floor length, but only the back was long enough to actually sweep the floor and not the front, so she would not be in too much danger of tripping over the hem.

The beauty of the gown was its lack of adornments. There were no stones, no bows or ribbons other than the sash at the waist. All the design was in the stitching and in the fall of the dress as it settled on Almyra.

Her hair followed the same pattern—no accessories other than a small tiara that sat in a nest of loose curls at the top of her head. Some of the curls had been tugged out of the pile of curls so that they fell and lay softly on her neck in a tantalizing manner.

Hanging from her ears were single strands of diamond dew-drops that lay inside a trio of spirals, and around her neck was a chain of fine precious metal from which a large diamond dew-drop hung. Upon looking closely, one could see the miniscule spirals that lay within the drop.

In short, Almyra looked like a work of art.

There was a gentle knock on the door, and Matthew’s voice wafted in under the door. “Are you ready, Almyra?”

“Yes, Matthew,” she sighed, her excitement over her looks fading at the impending night of unlimited attention and boredom; Almyra was not sure which would be worse. Miss Lisle gently pushed her forward and whispered “Go”, and Almyra had no choice but to move forward to the door. Matthew was opening it already, saying as he did so, with laughter in his voice, “You don’t need to sound as though you were attending a funeral, Almyra. It’s only…” But he halted in his sentence, the smile melting into a more serious expression, and he suddenly found he had a lump in his throat as he saw his little sister who was, well, no longer little. He walked to her, tears of a jumble of emotions filling his eyes, and slowly leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead. She giggled nervously, and then noticing his eyes wet, said in a horrified voice, “But Matthew! You’re crying!” He pulled her into a hug then, and after a moment, released her with a gentle smile that was so different than the one with which he had entered the room, and offered his arm to Miss Lisle.

This gesture distracted Almyra enough as her mouth opened in surprise, then widened into a grin as she clapped her hands in delight, all apprehension forgotten.

“Finally!” she exclaimed, and chuckled when they both blushed. She watched with a bursting pride and love as they walked out together.

She waited five minutes or so then followed with a final nod at the professional. She breathed in and out slowly, to calm the butterflies that were back in her stomach. This in itself was a feat with her corset pulled tighter than ever, her maids having had a grand time playing tug-of-war with the laces. She reached the top of the staircase that she was to descend into the ballroom and had to force herself to keep going and not turn back. She mustered up whatever courage she could and began the slow descent, her head held high.

With her mind entirely focused on her feet as they navigated the large, carpeted stairs, Almyra did not perceive the presence of the strange shadows that floated around behind her. Or perhaps she would not have noticed them at all, for it was their job at the pesent moment to remain hidden.

Almyra was now at the bottom of the staircase and she hesitantly approached the humongous and intimidating doors to the ballroom. She frowned when she noticed it was not Rupert who stood there waiting to open them but one of the footmen. The man gave a nearly toothless grin and slowly—achingly slow—pulled open the grand doors. With a sweep of his arms, he invited her into the much dreaded ball.