Ghostly Dances pv rome

Even as the rest of the attendees left in their clusters, as the music faded and a night sky of stars rolled over the Scottish sky, as the last of the celebrations died down and the lonesome storm cloud began to drift, Liliya still stood under the gazebo, her hands clinging to her chest as the uncomfortable tingling of drenched wetness spread across her skin, the water soaking from meagre fabric onto flesh. Her hair plastered to her cheeks, rainwater still dripping off from her strands, and tears still spilling out just from the edges of her eyes, she stood as a lone figure in the swarming night of the springtime breeze, the world moving around her sans mercy as she stepped out of the gazebo, the final raindrops of the showers just gracing her locks. Clutching the front of the dress as a shiver ran down her back, her fingers fiddled nervously with their edges, playing with a string that had come loose somewhere during the dance. She tugged on it until it came off, twining the thread just around her pinky — shock, disbelief, and the unbearable feeling of her soaked stockings.

“You should go after the festivities,” she had murmured to Noel, urging him to retreat into the warmth of their shared cottage. Her lips had been tight against each other, heart still beating with too much ferocity for her to register her own words. The sound of rainfall pounding in her ears, and her own pulse far too distracting, the laugh bestowed upon her by whatever overhearing god was distanced to her own ears, as if muffled by glass. In that moment, her soul, soaring with bliss, was finally blinded to the world’s inherent evils. She had barely caught herself exclaiming the worlds before having run off towards the gazebo. “Don’t catch a cold!”

Now Noel was gone, as she had instructed. It was an instruction she did not quite know how to feel about. Without the click of his loafers on the slick tiles of the dance floor, without the scuffle of hand against hand, finger against finger, without the remarks that would slip out of that charming mouth every moment or so, the world had lost its fire spark soul, and was reduced to the chills of the spring day under the last of the season’s rain. Burying her chin into the ruffles of her collar, Liliya took hesitant steps away from the shelter of the gazebo, her eyes resting on the puddles that littered the uneven ground. She moved with the mechanical nature of a robot who had lost its purpose in life, set free from its conditions and coding to roam the world — yet to her, it was a world of black and white, and one shrouded in darkness.

She did not quite know where to go; all she could do was evade the depths of the puddles as she manoeuvred her way to the open corridors, where she could seek respite from the downpour of the rain, even if it had faltered in ferocity. It was as if, now that the rest of the party had left, the rain, once so relentless and careless, had decided to leave the lone girl some mercy. It was lighter, almost reassuring in the mark of darkness it left on her dress, and the twinkle of reflection it graced upon her skin. It was as if it was asking for her to cheer up; that she was not alone. Liliya glared up at the sky, unsatisfied and unimpressed, as if to argue that she did not require the magnanimity of an entity that was not even human.

Liliya sat down on the edge of the corridor’s railings, her feet just barely touching the ground. She pushed herself in more, avoiding the puddles of rainwater that her heels had almost been plunged into. Here she was protected, not quite, but partially. The hems of her dress still soaked, and her stockings were still unbearably wet, but her head was covered, and her hair was starting to dry out. Sans further options, she retrieved her wand from an inner pocket and casted Aer Calidus. In the span of a few moments, hot air washed over her body, drying off the water that had weighted her down, leaving only a faint dampness as a reminder. That, Liliya decided, was something she could live with.

What she could not live with, what made her stomach nauseous and her head pound was her loneliness. She could return to her cottage with Noel, she could return to the girls she called friends, and she could return to the people who would choose anyone else over her in a heartbeat. Parents that did not mind her being discarded, guardians that had other children to trust, companions that would give her up and leave her side, as long they were given the cue. All her life, she was accustomed to be thrown into second place, the option only necessary when called for. As much as she attempted to convince herself she could live with that truth, she could not.

Today she was here, not with a date but with a friend. Or was she more of a babysitter to a boy who just wanted an excuse for a dance?

The truth was, even winning Spring Royalty did not quite satiate Liliya’s desire for a date. The glamour, the glory, the promises — it only made her ache for companionship worse. She wanted someone to see who she was, to congratulate her, to hug her, dance with her, and just maybe, kiss her, even if it was the joyous kind offered on the cheek. Sash drawn over her dress, crown still sat upon her head, she had never felt prettier. And all the same, Liliya Starkova had never felt lonelier.

In a manner where she would have been scolded for being unladylike, she drew one knee up to her face, and in that moment, staring out a sky that decided to be merciful, she decided that under this canopy of stars, she was barely, just barely, a little less alone.

@Romélie de Brissac | banner by Prat Pass