passion
do all (lovers) feel helpless and valiant in the presence of the beloved? — j. winterson ( @crsunmi )
♚
it was getting to that part of the night---when rather than being at a party, one seemed to be living inside it; consumed by the bright lights and champagne bubbles that decorated the hall, the intrigue of anonymity kept partygoers bolder than usual.
the vivacity of the masquerade reminds him that it was, though unseemly as such, a beast of its own, snaking and heaving in upon itself, where one had to keep moving or risk being caught in the coil---or, even worse, spat out---and so move elliott did, lips dawning a more saccharine grin than usual.
he was the kind of content that was tolerant of the unexpected but begging for the familiar; his lady in red was vacant by his side, mingling with those he was well unacquainted with (considerate of his disdain for strangers and small talk), so silver mask and black dress shoes led him to the perimeter of the room in search of hues of purple and white, of someone who entertained loneliness far longer than needed to this evening.
( ravenclaw reminded slytherin of how he needed to dance with hufflepuff at least once, painted a picture of her attire and demeanor for future reference---as if he’d ever forget. )
outstretched hand reaches through the crowd---manages to find her, even with half of her features obscured in the darkness---and exaggerated bow before her makes his jaw surrender, letting light laughter loll out before his throat clears and his back straightens.
“may i have this dance?”
