Fanfic: Gold
I'm posting a fanfic! I know, right? Since when do I ever do that??
It's from my sister's novel, which may seem a bit ridiculous to post. But I think it's enjoyable anyway, and not too hard to follow. And it's been declared canon by the author! Woo! \o/
I wrote this for her before her long plane flight to come see me. It's actually sort of a companion piece to an excerpt she wrote for my birthday, titled, "Silver."
(BTW, I'll be f-locking this later, so if you can't find it, that's why.)
Title: Gold
Rating: Oh-so PG
Canon: My sister's novel, Astralis
Word Count: 3,376
Point of View: 3rd-person, primarily following a younger Augusta Abrams
Summary: The Palace ballroom is noisy and bright, but Augusta-now silver-haired, a result of her recent brush with death-feels cold and alone. She attempts to escape the happy commotion of the party… and is followed. Ten years pre-canon.
Notes: It might be useful to read this post, but you can sort of get the gist of what's going on without it. Enjoy! ^^ This is one of my favorite fanfics I've written so far.
Gold
The ballroom of the palace was awash with golden light.
Couples in various combinations of bright-colored suits and gowns whirled around the dance floor in synchronized revolutions, like planets around the Sun. And there, at the center of it all-appropriately-was Her Majesty the Queen, spinning and twirling in the arms of her Prince, gazing up into his eyes with a smile that seemed to light the entire room. It was so perfect that it seemed almost painfully cliché.
That was somewhat of Augusta's train of thought, anyway, as she took in the scene before her eyes. She lingered near the edge of the room, off to one side, mostly avoiding any stares or glances from the crowd. But as much as she tried to convince herself that the characteristic, portrait-worthy image was only irritating her, she found her own eyes glued to the center of it all, involuntarily following Beatrice's every move with an intensity that suggested she truly was the center of the Universe. And at the moment, Augusta felt strangely far away from that center, almost disconnected, as if they were separated by more than the few dozen yards of physical distance between them.
Perhaps the distance itself wouldn't have been so noticeable, if not for its complete absence mere hours before. They spoke briefly in one of the Queen's private chambers before the party, and some of Augusta's thoughts remained there even now, lingering on Beatrice's golden smile at Augusta's remark that she looked beautiful in her gown, and on the way they had kissed and grasped for one another's hands before having to leave each other to prepare to make their separate entrances.
But she was used to it by now, or should have been, at least-the near-constant, almost painful cycle of drawing close and having to pull away. It had always been difficult for Augusta, but it was made even more so by the fact that Beatrice seemed to hate it even more than she did, to the point where the look in her eyes would tug on Augusta's heartstrings with immeasurable gravity. Her only comfort in pulling away, and in fact the only way in which she could bring herself to do so, was the assurance that her arms would soon find their way around Beatrice again.
Of course, lately there had been the added complication of her certainty in that assurance having been shaken, to the point where she sometimes didn't feel certain of it at all. And even though the danger had mostly passed, reducing itself to the same level they'd always lived with and remained calm in spite of, Augusta knew the horrible incident had affected them both. Beatrice still cried sometimes, repeating in low, gasping whispers how afraid she'd been of losing her dearest friend. But even though Augusta never cried and hardly said anything at all during those times when she wrapped her arms around the young Queen in an effort to be comforting, she couldn't help feeling like the fear she'd felt for Beatrice had been far more justified. Not only because the attack had been intended for her, but also because of the fact that while Beatrice had her prince and her family and her other Knights, Beatrice was Augusta's entire Universe. And so, unfortunately, the memory of the incident colored Augusta's thoughts even tonight as she watched the Queen dance, surrounded by people on all sides and even occasionally blocked from view, causing Augusta to feel oddly cold in a warm, glowing room.
The contrast was strangely uncomfortable, and eventually became noticeable enough for her to justify to herself the thought of escape. And so Augusta slipped outside into the cold winter night, trying to ignore the familiar and ever-present pulling she felt towards the center of the room.
She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't notice the pair of eyes that were watching her almost as carefully as she'd been watching Beatrice, even as she passed by their owner on her way out the door.
The air was crisp and the night sky was clear, save for a few wispy clouds that veiled the fullness of the moon from time to time. It was early winter yet and it hadn't snowed, though occasionally a scent in the cold air seemed to hint that it was going to. Augusta could see her breath as she let it out in a sigh, and could feel the sleeves of her jacket being rapidly permeated with a pleasant chill. She walked down the steps to the garden and stopped, having wandered over to the nearest bench, and was just beginning to ponder the choice between sitting for a while and taking a brief, moonlit stroll, when a soft, almost timid voice distracted her.
She turned quickly to see who had called her name, though truthfully if she had thought about it a moment longer before doing so, she could have guessed who it was. Isaac stood framed in the large doorway-he still looked surprisingly tall, when such a massive structure should have dwarfed any figure-and was regarding her sort of expectantly, as though for some reason he was both afraid and anxious to approach her. The gold light of the ballroom spilled around him, tracing a shimmering lining on the edges of his clothes and hiding among the strands of his dark hair. From her angle beneath him, Augusta couldn't see the room beyond him nor any of the people within, and in spite of the music and the ghosts of conversation that were audible, he appeared almost alone.
"Yes, Isaac?" Augusta replied coolly, asking with her tone if there was something he wanted.
"I noticed you left," he said, with a careful smile. His reply was immediate, as though he had prepared it beforehand. But then he hesitated. "And I suppose I was wondering… Were you planning to go for a walk?"
It was rather obvious to Augusta that his spoken question was not the one he'd meant to ask. She found herself taking a quick reading of his thoughts-a bad habit she seemed to have developed gradually, that she kept meaning to try to break before it got worse-but glanced away without hearing any more than,
Is something wrong?
So that was it-he was worried about her. She resisted the urge to sigh, not allowing herself to show any sign of this revelation, and responded to his spoken inquiry instead. "I was considering it." Her tone was flat. "Why do you ask?"
"Well, I was wondering if perhaps you might allow me to join you?"
She noticed the way he straightened a bit before he spoke, standing at his full height of over six feet. In recent years, he seemed more comfortable doing so, if only somewhat; something about his manner still gave one the impression of some amount of effort being spent to maintain a semblance of confidence. But his voice was clear, and he pronounced each word with precision and almost formality-the tone of a Knight and not a pageboy.
This train of thought only distracted Augusta for a moment, before she forced herself to consider his request. It was true enough that her original intent in coming outside was to be alone, but for reasons which she would have preferred not to ponder, she couldn't quite bring herself to send him away. The realization that recent events might have caused a shift in her attitude towards him was difficult for her to swallow-she would rather have taken her actions for what they were and left it at that, instead of acknowledging any changes they might have caused elsewhere. But even then, despite her wishes, the fact that she had fed off of Isaac's energy-not once, but multiple times over the course of the past several months-left her with the nagging feeling that she owed him something, or that he at least deserved a little more kindness than was usual for her.
And in this case, she wasn't sure she could reasonably object to his company. So she decided to relent without any fuss, privately resolving not to make any effort to be pleasant company for him. "If you like," she told him, flippantly.
She noticed him smile, out of the corner of her eye. "Are you certain?" he asked, on his way down the steps. He seemed to be treading carefully still. "I don't wish to encroach upon your privacy, if you would prefer not to have company."
The temptation to repeal her consent was there, but she tossed it aside. "I don't mind," she assured him.
His steps seemed unusually light as he came up beside her, and he raised his elbow slightly, offering his arm. Augusta merely glanced at it and started down the stone pathway. He took a couple of long strides to catch up to her until he was walking beside, seemingly untroubled by his mistake.
Isaac began the conversation with an observation, perhaps something about which flowers were still blooming this time of year-Augusta wasn't really paying attention, and forgot it soon afterwards. She helped him along at first, making casual (if a bit flippant) replies and even interjecting with a question or two. His frivolous observations gradually became more detailed, as though he was slowly persuading himself that he wasn't boring her. As he became more confident in the discussion, she became quieter, eventually responding here and there with only a word or two, or, at times, declining to respond at all.
She remained distracted. Actually, to her it seemed the opposite, that this conversation was an attempted distraction of some sort, which had failed to actually redirect her thoughts from matters that were more important to her. Her mind remained in the ballroom, on Beatrice and her smile and gravity and the center of the Universe. But her eyes allowed the dark and the cold to penetrate her thoughts as well, feeling almost as though she was retreating inside herself by doing so, her current surroundings more appropriate to her mood than the faraway warmth of the ballroom.
Unconsciously, she regarded Isaac with the same sort of mild irritation with which one regards an unnecessary lantern in the corner of one's vision, when one's eyes have already adjusted to the dark.
They wandered through this section of the gardens for what Augusta supposed was just over half an hour. Isaac had asked intermittently for her opinions on which direction they should take, and her answers had resulted in them making an odd sort of loop, until they'd arrived close to the ballroom again but a row or two away from where they had originally started, and just shy of where the golden light spilled from the open doorways and onto the ground. There was a rather large gazebo just off the pathway, which Augusta was previously aware of but hadn't paid any mind to tonight, until Isaac indicated it with a glance and asked, "Would you like to sit for a while?"
She looked at him a bit curiously, wondering if there was some reason he seemed hesitant to reenter the party (especially considering the lack of lively conversation from her). But she wasn't exactly eager to reappear there herself, so she relented and led the way to the vine-covered structure.
She took a seat on the cold wood with a slight exhale, leaning back a bit. Her own casual posture as she watched Isaac seemed to draw attention to the fact that his manner was entirely different. He seemed to hesitate on the steps, glancing about almost carefully, his eyes slowly tracing the roof and two of the archways. His usual smile was in place, but it seemed slightly altered somehow, and a slight flush rested upon his cheeks-though Augusta realized that could have merely been a result of walking, and the cold night air. Overall, though, his countenance suggested that he was not quite relaxed, even that he was anxious over something, whether dreading it or hoping for it to happen.
As she wondered, she noticed that he was removing his gloves as he stepped up into the structure, still looking around himself absently. It seemed like an odd thing to do when it was so cold out, and there was no immediate reason for him to do so that was apparent-though it made her realize that her own hands were bare, as she had pocketed her gloves some time before she'd come outside and never replaced them. She rubbed the fingers of her right hand together as she waited for him to sit beside her. He never did-he stood stiffly a few feet in front of her, his eyes now angled towards the ballroom.
"Ah… It seems they've started another set," he mentioned, still refusing to meet her eyes. She glanced towards the doors as well. She hadn't really paid attention to when the music had started up again, but upon recalling she realized it had been playing for nearly a minute before he had pointed this out.
"I haven't had the opportunity to dance much this evening," he continued abruptly, with a statement that seemed just as misplaced. "And-you may correct me, if I'm mistaken-I believe I know of someone else who has been similarly depriving herself."
It occurred to Augusta where this might be heading. She was a bit too shocked to respond immediately, and stared at him sort of blankly as he offered his hand.
"Might I have the honor?"
At first, she had difficulty believing that he was serious. But he gazed at her steadily, expectantly, with a warm smile that was almost funny to her for its very lack of irony.
But she couldn't laugh at it, for whatever reason, and almost seemed to stumble over the words in her reply. "Isaac, you should know that I don't really… Well, certainly not the woman's part, in any case…"
"You don't know it?" Isaac guessed. His face appeared to fall.
"No, I know it," she corrected quickly, surprised at the slight force she heard behind her own words. "It's only that it doesn’t seem to make much sense, unless one is wearing a dress."
Isaac retracted his hand, finally. "I beg your pardon; how silly of me. You're right, of course-I should have realized that."
He gave her a brief, apologetic smile before turning towards the ballroom again. His entire countenance had shifted-an almost intangible change, but still somehow obvious. His anxious manner had all but disappeared, and in fact he seemed to relax in a way, with the melancholy relief of what she could only guess was disappointment. She realized suddenly (she had only been vaguely aware of it before, if she had been aware of it at all) that whatever had been occupying his thoughts until now had been centered on her-a revelation which she found both perplexing and mildly startling.
Even more perplexing (and startling) was the fact that she found herself feeling somewhat guilty, not only for refusing his hand, but also for ignoring him for practically the entire night. He was only trying to be kind, and while she couldn't fathom this odd wish he had to be near her that seemed to go beyond mere concern, surely he deserved more for his efforts than what she had been giving him.
The nagging feeling returned somewhere in the back of her mind, agreeing that he did, surely, after everything he'd done for her…
With a barely audible sigh she got up, reaching for his retracted hand, which now hung awkwardly at his side. She rested her left hand on his shoulder and he quickly discerned what she was indicating, shifting into a proper dancer's embrace in an almost hurried manner.
She took a moment or so to settle into it, sort of marveling at the unfamiliar position. That is, she attempted to settle into it-not only was it mostly unfamiliar to her, but there were a few things wrong with it, and it was ever-so-slightly uncomfortable.
"You're holding your arm too high," she informed him, lowering their hands slightly. "You're tall, so if you hold your arm at that angle, she's going to get tired rather quickly. Especially if she's shorter than me-which most women are, as I'm sure you've noticed."
"Ah… yes, that makes sense," he agreed, a distinct blush forming upon his cheeks. Augusta could feel the muscles in his shoulders tighten. She sighed lightly.
"And relax," she added. She let go of his hand for a moment in order to rub both of his shoulders, trying to forcibly remove some of the tension. "She'll find it far more pleasant than when you're so stiff. Take a deep breath before you begin."
"Yes, I know," he replied, and she noticed him swallow.
There was a brief pause, during which they gazed silently at each other, each studying the other's expression. Augusta at last allowed herself to notice the warmth of his hand against hers, and the feeling of their energy resonating, which had started to become familiar to her. She tried to accept the sensation without pondering this fact in detail, shifting her hand slightly and focusing on his eyes. Then, as if they had timed it, they both took a breath at the exact same moment, relaxing back into the proper embrace as they exhaled.
His first step was hesitant, and hers had the reluctant weight of one who's not accustomed to following. His second was less so, and hers was graceful-by the third, they were dancing.
To say that it felt a bit odd to Augusta would have been somewhat of an understatement-she felt as though she were dancing backwards, after all, and the circles traced by their steps lacked the embellished sweep they would have had if she had been wearing a gown. But although the imbalance of their dance was distracting, a deeper, more important sensation was beginning to take hold of her thoughts…
Something was happening to her. Something that had started months ago, something that was happening slowly-like a glacier melting and eroding the side of a mountain. And though she thought she'd noticed it already, acknowledged it even though she didn't want to, something about tonight had made the true extent of the change clearer to her. It was the contrast of the warm ballroom and the cold winter night, of a golden smile and a hopeful look that was edged in a golden lining, of the center of the Universe and a light that followed at her side. And as she remembered the anxious tension in Isaac's countenance, and her own reluctance to send him away, she became aware of a very different sort of gravity, in which she pulled as much as she was being pulled, that seemed to guide her steps even now.
She wasn't sure what it meant. And that was enough to make her ponder the possibility of trying to stop it, though she could think of no immediate solution. But when she gazed up into Isaac's soft brown eyes, she noticed the same uncertainty about what was happening nestled deep within them, and she found it comforting somehow, comforting and unsettling like the feeling of his warm energy pulsing through her channels. She thought that he noticed it too, and was similarly comforted and unsettled-he did shiver, once, when she gripped his shoulder a bit more tightly, but it seemed to relax him…
Augusta took another deep breath and focused on their movements. The rhythm of their steps was deviating from the waltz occasionally, matching the heavy beat of the resonance between their bodies instead. Her channels glowed with warmth-was he doing something, perhaps?-and she found her mind wandering, lost in a slightly unfocused haze.
She closed her eyes, and felt as though she were dancing in an empty ballroom without a center, warm and glowing softly gold by the light of dimmer candles.
[End]
It's from my sister's novel, which may seem a bit ridiculous to post. But I think it's enjoyable anyway, and not too hard to follow. And it's been declared canon by the author! Woo! \o/
I wrote this for her before her long plane flight to come see me. It's actually sort of a companion piece to an excerpt she wrote for my birthday, titled, "Silver."
(BTW, I'll be f-locking this later, so if you can't find it, that's why.)
Title: Gold
Rating: Oh-so PG
Canon: My sister's novel, Astralis
Word Count: 3,376
Point of View: 3rd-person, primarily following a younger Augusta Abrams
Summary: The Palace ballroom is noisy and bright, but Augusta-now silver-haired, a result of her recent brush with death-feels cold and alone. She attempts to escape the happy commotion of the party… and is followed. Ten years pre-canon.
Notes: It might be useful to read this post, but you can sort of get the gist of what's going on without it. Enjoy! ^^ This is one of my favorite fanfics I've written so far.
Gold
The ballroom of the palace was awash with golden light.
Couples in various combinations of bright-colored suits and gowns whirled around the dance floor in synchronized revolutions, like planets around the Sun. And there, at the center of it all-appropriately-was Her Majesty the Queen, spinning and twirling in the arms of her Prince, gazing up into his eyes with a smile that seemed to light the entire room. It was so perfect that it seemed almost painfully cliché.
That was somewhat of Augusta's train of thought, anyway, as she took in the scene before her eyes. She lingered near the edge of the room, off to one side, mostly avoiding any stares or glances from the crowd. But as much as she tried to convince herself that the characteristic, portrait-worthy image was only irritating her, she found her own eyes glued to the center of it all, involuntarily following Beatrice's every move with an intensity that suggested she truly was the center of the Universe. And at the moment, Augusta felt strangely far away from that center, almost disconnected, as if they were separated by more than the few dozen yards of physical distance between them.
Perhaps the distance itself wouldn't have been so noticeable, if not for its complete absence mere hours before. They spoke briefly in one of the Queen's private chambers before the party, and some of Augusta's thoughts remained there even now, lingering on Beatrice's golden smile at Augusta's remark that she looked beautiful in her gown, and on the way they had kissed and grasped for one another's hands before having to leave each other to prepare to make their separate entrances.
But she was used to it by now, or should have been, at least-the near-constant, almost painful cycle of drawing close and having to pull away. It had always been difficult for Augusta, but it was made even more so by the fact that Beatrice seemed to hate it even more than she did, to the point where the look in her eyes would tug on Augusta's heartstrings with immeasurable gravity. Her only comfort in pulling away, and in fact the only way in which she could bring herself to do so, was the assurance that her arms would soon find their way around Beatrice again.
Of course, lately there had been the added complication of her certainty in that assurance having been shaken, to the point where she sometimes didn't feel certain of it at all. And even though the danger had mostly passed, reducing itself to the same level they'd always lived with and remained calm in spite of, Augusta knew the horrible incident had affected them both. Beatrice still cried sometimes, repeating in low, gasping whispers how afraid she'd been of losing her dearest friend. But even though Augusta never cried and hardly said anything at all during those times when she wrapped her arms around the young Queen in an effort to be comforting, she couldn't help feeling like the fear she'd felt for Beatrice had been far more justified. Not only because the attack had been intended for her, but also because of the fact that while Beatrice had her prince and her family and her other Knights, Beatrice was Augusta's entire Universe. And so, unfortunately, the memory of the incident colored Augusta's thoughts even tonight as she watched the Queen dance, surrounded by people on all sides and even occasionally blocked from view, causing Augusta to feel oddly cold in a warm, glowing room.
The contrast was strangely uncomfortable, and eventually became noticeable enough for her to justify to herself the thought of escape. And so Augusta slipped outside into the cold winter night, trying to ignore the familiar and ever-present pulling she felt towards the center of the room.
She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't notice the pair of eyes that were watching her almost as carefully as she'd been watching Beatrice, even as she passed by their owner on her way out the door.
The air was crisp and the night sky was clear, save for a few wispy clouds that veiled the fullness of the moon from time to time. It was early winter yet and it hadn't snowed, though occasionally a scent in the cold air seemed to hint that it was going to. Augusta could see her breath as she let it out in a sigh, and could feel the sleeves of her jacket being rapidly permeated with a pleasant chill. She walked down the steps to the garden and stopped, having wandered over to the nearest bench, and was just beginning to ponder the choice between sitting for a while and taking a brief, moonlit stroll, when a soft, almost timid voice distracted her.
She turned quickly to see who had called her name, though truthfully if she had thought about it a moment longer before doing so, she could have guessed who it was. Isaac stood framed in the large doorway-he still looked surprisingly tall, when such a massive structure should have dwarfed any figure-and was regarding her sort of expectantly, as though for some reason he was both afraid and anxious to approach her. The gold light of the ballroom spilled around him, tracing a shimmering lining on the edges of his clothes and hiding among the strands of his dark hair. From her angle beneath him, Augusta couldn't see the room beyond him nor any of the people within, and in spite of the music and the ghosts of conversation that were audible, he appeared almost alone.
"Yes, Isaac?" Augusta replied coolly, asking with her tone if there was something he wanted.
"I noticed you left," he said, with a careful smile. His reply was immediate, as though he had prepared it beforehand. But then he hesitated. "And I suppose I was wondering… Were you planning to go for a walk?"
It was rather obvious to Augusta that his spoken question was not the one he'd meant to ask. She found herself taking a quick reading of his thoughts-a bad habit she seemed to have developed gradually, that she kept meaning to try to break before it got worse-but glanced away without hearing any more than,
Is something wrong?
So that was it-he was worried about her. She resisted the urge to sigh, not allowing herself to show any sign of this revelation, and responded to his spoken inquiry instead. "I was considering it." Her tone was flat. "Why do you ask?"
"Well, I was wondering if perhaps you might allow me to join you?"
She noticed the way he straightened a bit before he spoke, standing at his full height of over six feet. In recent years, he seemed more comfortable doing so, if only somewhat; something about his manner still gave one the impression of some amount of effort being spent to maintain a semblance of confidence. But his voice was clear, and he pronounced each word with precision and almost formality-the tone of a Knight and not a pageboy.
This train of thought only distracted Augusta for a moment, before she forced herself to consider his request. It was true enough that her original intent in coming outside was to be alone, but for reasons which she would have preferred not to ponder, she couldn't quite bring herself to send him away. The realization that recent events might have caused a shift in her attitude towards him was difficult for her to swallow-she would rather have taken her actions for what they were and left it at that, instead of acknowledging any changes they might have caused elsewhere. But even then, despite her wishes, the fact that she had fed off of Isaac's energy-not once, but multiple times over the course of the past several months-left her with the nagging feeling that she owed him something, or that he at least deserved a little more kindness than was usual for her.
And in this case, she wasn't sure she could reasonably object to his company. So she decided to relent without any fuss, privately resolving not to make any effort to be pleasant company for him. "If you like," she told him, flippantly.
She noticed him smile, out of the corner of her eye. "Are you certain?" he asked, on his way down the steps. He seemed to be treading carefully still. "I don't wish to encroach upon your privacy, if you would prefer not to have company."
The temptation to repeal her consent was there, but she tossed it aside. "I don't mind," she assured him.
His steps seemed unusually light as he came up beside her, and he raised his elbow slightly, offering his arm. Augusta merely glanced at it and started down the stone pathway. He took a couple of long strides to catch up to her until he was walking beside, seemingly untroubled by his mistake.
Isaac began the conversation with an observation, perhaps something about which flowers were still blooming this time of year-Augusta wasn't really paying attention, and forgot it soon afterwards. She helped him along at first, making casual (if a bit flippant) replies and even interjecting with a question or two. His frivolous observations gradually became more detailed, as though he was slowly persuading himself that he wasn't boring her. As he became more confident in the discussion, she became quieter, eventually responding here and there with only a word or two, or, at times, declining to respond at all.
She remained distracted. Actually, to her it seemed the opposite, that this conversation was an attempted distraction of some sort, which had failed to actually redirect her thoughts from matters that were more important to her. Her mind remained in the ballroom, on Beatrice and her smile and gravity and the center of the Universe. But her eyes allowed the dark and the cold to penetrate her thoughts as well, feeling almost as though she was retreating inside herself by doing so, her current surroundings more appropriate to her mood than the faraway warmth of the ballroom.
Unconsciously, she regarded Isaac with the same sort of mild irritation with which one regards an unnecessary lantern in the corner of one's vision, when one's eyes have already adjusted to the dark.
They wandered through this section of the gardens for what Augusta supposed was just over half an hour. Isaac had asked intermittently for her opinions on which direction they should take, and her answers had resulted in them making an odd sort of loop, until they'd arrived close to the ballroom again but a row or two away from where they had originally started, and just shy of where the golden light spilled from the open doorways and onto the ground. There was a rather large gazebo just off the pathway, which Augusta was previously aware of but hadn't paid any mind to tonight, until Isaac indicated it with a glance and asked, "Would you like to sit for a while?"
She looked at him a bit curiously, wondering if there was some reason he seemed hesitant to reenter the party (especially considering the lack of lively conversation from her). But she wasn't exactly eager to reappear there herself, so she relented and led the way to the vine-covered structure.
She took a seat on the cold wood with a slight exhale, leaning back a bit. Her own casual posture as she watched Isaac seemed to draw attention to the fact that his manner was entirely different. He seemed to hesitate on the steps, glancing about almost carefully, his eyes slowly tracing the roof and two of the archways. His usual smile was in place, but it seemed slightly altered somehow, and a slight flush rested upon his cheeks-though Augusta realized that could have merely been a result of walking, and the cold night air. Overall, though, his countenance suggested that he was not quite relaxed, even that he was anxious over something, whether dreading it or hoping for it to happen.
As she wondered, she noticed that he was removing his gloves as he stepped up into the structure, still looking around himself absently. It seemed like an odd thing to do when it was so cold out, and there was no immediate reason for him to do so that was apparent-though it made her realize that her own hands were bare, as she had pocketed her gloves some time before she'd come outside and never replaced them. She rubbed the fingers of her right hand together as she waited for him to sit beside her. He never did-he stood stiffly a few feet in front of her, his eyes now angled towards the ballroom.
"Ah… It seems they've started another set," he mentioned, still refusing to meet her eyes. She glanced towards the doors as well. She hadn't really paid attention to when the music had started up again, but upon recalling she realized it had been playing for nearly a minute before he had pointed this out.
"I haven't had the opportunity to dance much this evening," he continued abruptly, with a statement that seemed just as misplaced. "And-you may correct me, if I'm mistaken-I believe I know of someone else who has been similarly depriving herself."
It occurred to Augusta where this might be heading. She was a bit too shocked to respond immediately, and stared at him sort of blankly as he offered his hand.
"Might I have the honor?"
At first, she had difficulty believing that he was serious. But he gazed at her steadily, expectantly, with a warm smile that was almost funny to her for its very lack of irony.
But she couldn't laugh at it, for whatever reason, and almost seemed to stumble over the words in her reply. "Isaac, you should know that I don't really… Well, certainly not the woman's part, in any case…"
"You don't know it?" Isaac guessed. His face appeared to fall.
"No, I know it," she corrected quickly, surprised at the slight force she heard behind her own words. "It's only that it doesn’t seem to make much sense, unless one is wearing a dress."
Isaac retracted his hand, finally. "I beg your pardon; how silly of me. You're right, of course-I should have realized that."
He gave her a brief, apologetic smile before turning towards the ballroom again. His entire countenance had shifted-an almost intangible change, but still somehow obvious. His anxious manner had all but disappeared, and in fact he seemed to relax in a way, with the melancholy relief of what she could only guess was disappointment. She realized suddenly (she had only been vaguely aware of it before, if she had been aware of it at all) that whatever had been occupying his thoughts until now had been centered on her-a revelation which she found both perplexing and mildly startling.
Even more perplexing (and startling) was the fact that she found herself feeling somewhat guilty, not only for refusing his hand, but also for ignoring him for practically the entire night. He was only trying to be kind, and while she couldn't fathom this odd wish he had to be near her that seemed to go beyond mere concern, surely he deserved more for his efforts than what she had been giving him.
The nagging feeling returned somewhere in the back of her mind, agreeing that he did, surely, after everything he'd done for her…
With a barely audible sigh she got up, reaching for his retracted hand, which now hung awkwardly at his side. She rested her left hand on his shoulder and he quickly discerned what she was indicating, shifting into a proper dancer's embrace in an almost hurried manner.
She took a moment or so to settle into it, sort of marveling at the unfamiliar position. That is, she attempted to settle into it-not only was it mostly unfamiliar to her, but there were a few things wrong with it, and it was ever-so-slightly uncomfortable.
"You're holding your arm too high," she informed him, lowering their hands slightly. "You're tall, so if you hold your arm at that angle, she's going to get tired rather quickly. Especially if she's shorter than me-which most women are, as I'm sure you've noticed."
"Ah… yes, that makes sense," he agreed, a distinct blush forming upon his cheeks. Augusta could feel the muscles in his shoulders tighten. She sighed lightly.
"And relax," she added. She let go of his hand for a moment in order to rub both of his shoulders, trying to forcibly remove some of the tension. "She'll find it far more pleasant than when you're so stiff. Take a deep breath before you begin."
"Yes, I know," he replied, and she noticed him swallow.
There was a brief pause, during which they gazed silently at each other, each studying the other's expression. Augusta at last allowed herself to notice the warmth of his hand against hers, and the feeling of their energy resonating, which had started to become familiar to her. She tried to accept the sensation without pondering this fact in detail, shifting her hand slightly and focusing on his eyes. Then, as if they had timed it, they both took a breath at the exact same moment, relaxing back into the proper embrace as they exhaled.
His first step was hesitant, and hers had the reluctant weight of one who's not accustomed to following. His second was less so, and hers was graceful-by the third, they were dancing.
To say that it felt a bit odd to Augusta would have been somewhat of an understatement-she felt as though she were dancing backwards, after all, and the circles traced by their steps lacked the embellished sweep they would have had if she had been wearing a gown. But although the imbalance of their dance was distracting, a deeper, more important sensation was beginning to take hold of her thoughts…
Something was happening to her. Something that had started months ago, something that was happening slowly-like a glacier melting and eroding the side of a mountain. And though she thought she'd noticed it already, acknowledged it even though she didn't want to, something about tonight had made the true extent of the change clearer to her. It was the contrast of the warm ballroom and the cold winter night, of a golden smile and a hopeful look that was edged in a golden lining, of the center of the Universe and a light that followed at her side. And as she remembered the anxious tension in Isaac's countenance, and her own reluctance to send him away, she became aware of a very different sort of gravity, in which she pulled as much as she was being pulled, that seemed to guide her steps even now.
She wasn't sure what it meant. And that was enough to make her ponder the possibility of trying to stop it, though she could think of no immediate solution. But when she gazed up into Isaac's soft brown eyes, she noticed the same uncertainty about what was happening nestled deep within them, and she found it comforting somehow, comforting and unsettling like the feeling of his warm energy pulsing through her channels. She thought that he noticed it too, and was similarly comforted and unsettled-he did shiver, once, when she gripped his shoulder a bit more tightly, but it seemed to relax him…
Augusta took another deep breath and focused on their movements. The rhythm of their steps was deviating from the waltz occasionally, matching the heavy beat of the resonance between their bodies instead. Her channels glowed with warmth-was he doing something, perhaps?-and she found her mind wandering, lost in a slightly unfocused haze.
She closed her eyes, and felt as though she were dancing in an empty ballroom without a center, warm and glowing softly gold by the light of dimmer candles.
[End]