A Waltz of Her Own Closed

One fine afternoon, where the sun set the horizon into a beautiful orange glow, Lyssandra found herself inside a large room that could undoubtedly be a ballroom. It was surprisingly empty, perhaps she entered when no one else was scheduled to use the whole room?

Whatever the reason for the room being quiet, she can’t deny how beautiful the light ricocheted all over the room—passing through the chandelier and breaking the golden ray into their own 7-colored brilliance.

“How grand…” Even as a whisper, the emptiness echoed her awe back to her. Gently, Lyssandra closes the door to fully enter the Ballroom.

There was neither celebration nor gala yet one could easily envision how the room would look once the sounds of life and music filled the room. It would’ve been spectacular.

As she walks around, a soft song is sung.

“Je remue le ciel le jour, la nuit…” The acoustics of the room create the illusion of a song being sung by someone other than the only presence in the room.

“Je danse avec le vent la pluie~” More confident, she sang the song louder. Feet gliding slowly as she walked, almost a waltz as she pictures being dressed in fine garments and finer robes while in the company of her peers.

‘Perhaps later when we’re a bit older?’

She continues to hum the song, taking slower steps and raising her arms as though she had a partner to dance with. The song was made by a Muggle songstress and Lyssandra thoroughly enjoyed listening to it that she had Cousin Dion teach her how to get a recording or a charm that would allow her to play the song as much as she wanted.

“Un peu d'amour, un brin de miel~” A turn here, and some steps there, Lyssandra continues her solo waltz.

“Et je danse, danse, danse, danse, danse, danse~” She opened her eyes, unaware that she had closed them, and slowed her dance to a stop before offering a curtsy to her imaginary partner.