Not All Masks Are Porcelain and Lace
1st eve of Flamerule, 1350
Al'maire Estate, Waterdeep
A knock at the door instantly caused Cecilia to take a small step back, the laces of the ornate gown crushing her ribs with a final tug; corset in place. Ornate was putting it mildly, of course. Silks dyed in wine-red and blackened hue, trimmed with lace, drew ones eye to the ball dress which cinched the waist and overflowed at the hips, layer upon layer. Nervously, the young woman wrung slender hands gloved in crushed velvet as the finishing touches were made by bustling maids.
"Pretty as a painting." commented one of the younger, kinder of the servants. The compliment curled the corners of the Tyrran's rosen lips into a grateful smile. After hours of preparation following what could only be described as an interrogation by the Lady Al'maire over the courting of her son, Cecilia was finally ready. Make-up caked her naturally pretty features for the first time in a long while, pale blonde hair cascading freely over her breast in recently heated curls.
With the small dainty steps of heeled footwear, Cecilia gathered her skirts and made her way over to the large door which was opened for her on approach. There stood a figure, broad shouldered with a lean tapering wait evident under the form fitting attire chosen for him.
And by the gods, they had chosen well. She may be a paladin, immune to all number of things but she was still mortal. Caught off guard with lips slightly agape, her gaze dances over the dashing male before her and lingers overly long. As he turned his golden-flecked blue eyes upon her, Cecilia's porcelain cheeks flush a warm crimson and she dipped into the practised curtsey of her station.
"Eldarian." she murmured fondly, slightly breathless as she took the offered arm. Despite all the horrors they had endured to date, it was he who was able to coax out her softer, feminine nature.
"You look beautiful, Cecilia." came the reply from beneath the handsome black mask which covered most of the Dawnknight's angular features save for his smiling lips and clean-shaven jaw. Already at the cusp of eve, it had been a full day since the two had shared company. Given the warmth of her smile and the relaxing of her petite shoulders, it wasn't hard to surmise that Cecilia found comfort in Eldarian's presence and words. It had been a long day for the paladin, the traditional restraint she had shown was one she had been bred into yet parted from several months back.
She knew how to play the game, even if she did not enjoy it. Ironic, that such events partook of the use of masks as if giving a physical representation of the human condition. A game of polite smiles, of carefully chosen words, subtle flirts and poisonous intrigue. Snide comments, half-truths. It could be said that Cecilia had gotten used to being around paladins, honest and open that she had forgotten the game. The careful calculations a snake uses in the choice of attire, the brushing of one’s fingers upon another’s arm, the polite sabotage that occurs to make competition seem unfit - all of which was hidden behind masks of neutrality. As a girl, she had never understood these things, though they were attempted to be taught. Always greet with a smile, be seen and not heard unless the words uttered are a contribution. Gone were the shyer days of her youth. Now older and wiser, she began understand it. Recognise it. Yet she remained resigned to it all the same. True, the Al'maire's themselves were not nobles as of yet though the part certainly fit them well and without doubt many of the attendants would be in high social standing.
Just how much of her own history would be echoed in the halls tonight?
Upon the couple's all-too-soon arrival the doors to the grand ballroom swung open to the sound of string instruments dancing a melody on a merry, very formal occasion. Laughter faded in and out over the rise and fall of the excitement. Cecilia's blue eyes dipped and danced over the display in awe, grasping a little more tightly onto the arm of her lover. To the couple's surprise this was not the small gathering they had expected, despite the lavishness of their attire. The marble floor was crowded, serving staff weaving between numerous patrons with orderves as they exchanged small talk and gossip. The aroma of a larger buffet down the hall beckoned with imaginary tendrils promising a gourmet selection; fanciful drapes and ornamentation decorating the walls and high ceiling amidst the crystal chandeliers. Gowns and masks of every colour created an ever-changing sea of luxury, waves of personal taste and flair cresting and breaking as each sought to outdo the other.
"Master Eldarian Al'maire, escorting the Lady Cecilia Lafayette." announced the booming voice of the herald at their side, the older man's sudden presence drawing Cecilia from her thoughts with a short start. Eldarian smiled down at the smaller woman with warm expression in his eyes before turning his attention to the crowded room before them. A bow and curtsey is given with opposite hands, all smiles as the couple take their steps along the red carpet toward marble dance floor as expected. As the previous melody draws to a close, another takes flight in it's place. A waltz. The feathers of the younger woman's exquisite mask bristled and she dipped in curtsey once more, the resplendent cloak of her male partner draping slightly over shoulder as he bowed. Under the watchful, judgemental gaze of the Al'maire family and attending guests, Eldarian's gloved hand finds it's way to her waist. The two paladin's hands entwine, chest to chest in close proximity as others take their places on the dance floor.
That first step throws Cecilia into a world of past, present and future. Layers of red skirts swish around her ankles, golden hair swaying with each turn and swirl. For all her clumsiness in chasing rats and pigs, Cecilia could only be described as graceful when it came to the art of performance. Despite this, the paladin's heart beat rapidly praying to the Just God that she would not make a fool of herself. Especially now. Whether it was divine intervention, or more likely years of practice, each step was perfectly placed and it wasn't long until a radiant smile played upon her exposed lips. The two of them spun and twirled in their extravagance, the back and forth of their chemistry igniting sparks as they danced. All too soon, the world around them seemed to slow and still as Cecilia was lowered into the finishing dip. Lifting her gloved fingers to brush over the Dawnknight's neck, she swallows and draws in a sharp breath. Their lips move closer. . . ever closer. . . and suddenly a rush of cool air; they're back in the present, broken from their tender moment with the start of a new song and the realisation of location.
Dragged in opposite directions by those wishing to share a dance, Cecilia's fingers curl longingly after Eldarian as the distance between them grows; snatched away by a dark-haired beauty and she herself paired with an auburn haired young man.
"Don't go. . ." she murmurs, barely a whisper quickly overwhelmed by the surrounding atmosphere. With a quick glance in the direction of the Al'maire's, she notes the approval on their features as Eldarian's new partner is chosen. Little time is given to ponder as the dancing resumes, however. Forcing a smile and an easy laugh, Cecilia chatters away with her own partner as they dance. He is soon switched out with another, and another after that - each of them wishing to dance with the foreign Cormyrean beauty. It was a situation she was used to, yet the opposite side of that same coin.
Though her partners were numerous and quite delightful throughout the eve, her attention wavered and often drifted in the direction of the golden-haired Dawnknight whom shared only but a few. The dark-haired woman, dressed in a shimmering golden gown had stayed by his side for much of the eve and the two seemingly conversed easily over the hours that passed. Beneath her own mask and engaging conversations, Cecilia could not help but feel slightly alone in these moments - left to the company of strangers in a city not her own despite the expectancy and unintentional witness of such acts she had been privy to already.
Regardless, the evening continued in it's extravagant cheer and was truly a joyous event. Some of the locals warmed to the Tyrran's presence, and she to theirs. The night was not without the game of masks, however. The blonde shared stories of her homeland and the Sword Coast, careful to choose those devoid of armor and blade. Though she could feel the eyes of the patriarch and his wife on her occasionally, watching her every move she smiled evenly, daintily partook of offered edibles, laughed as appropriate and complimented as expected. Between the eating, dancing and conversation, however, Cecilia's much smaller form and subtle gestures from across the room went unnoticed in her attempts to see the final dance shared with her courtship. After many hours pass the strike of midnight, when make-up had began to lose it's luster and curled hairdos had began to drop, the final dances were had and the masquerade began to wind down. As the crowd began to dissipate with thank yous and farewells, the Lady Paladin made her way to the much less crowded fountain benches.
There was a small measure of irony found in Cecilia's thoughts as physical masks were removed and replaced with those less identifiable; metaphorical. It was a topic that she and the Ilmateri priest, Ameris, had talked about often before given their ancestry.
"Perhaps it is during circumstances in which masks are worn, that those of noble birth are most unmasked . ." the paladin muses to herself, well into the early hours of the morning as she is wrapped in the cloak of the approaching Eldarian.
