Debutante - Attn: Nyssa, Gabriel, Leon...

[Winter Mist]

~Toulan~

 

The absence of light blends all shadows into one large shadow, and where a ray of light does quickly land on an unfortunate surface all colour and life seems to be bleached in the encompassing darkness.  Should there be any trace of warmth, it is taken by the shadow and washed to a ghost of it’s former self. A back, as straight as a poker, surrounded by curves that would similarly adorn a stringed musical instrument such as a viola or cello, is picked out by the moonlight.  It casts shadows over the curves that play as she moves, slowly, sinuously, rising from the bedclothes to walk to the window.

 

Up here, no one can see her nakedness.  Up here there is nothing but the shadow smothering the brilliant moonlight, almost painful to her eyes.  At the window she stands and looks out over the garden.  She stretches again; lifting her pale arms to the very edges of the window frame and rises onto tiptoe.  Down the backs of her ivory thighs the light falls, down to where her ankles seem swallowed by the shadows of the floor.  It is as though she is shadow herself except for where the light touches, and even that too is absorbed.  It is a beautiful sight, slender and graceful, and the silhouette outline ripples before that poker-straight back is covered by a sheaf of night-dark hair.  It falls to her mid-thighs where it obscures most of her outline except her arms and the faintest touch of shoulder.  The moonlight dances on the flowing locks, now unbound, like on a sunless sea.  She turns to the side and walks away to her dresser, picking up a hairbrush to tame the dark mass so that it lies in sleek waves. 

 

She considers herself in the mirror, taking in the shadow-lit contours of her body and how each caress of the light is swallowed by the shadow.  She deems it fitting indeed.  The Great Lord of the Dark has blessed her with this body, and she will use it to get what she can to serve His purpose.  She is aware of how her body appears to others.  She knows that if she were to crook one pale finger towards a man, he would be placing his foot into a very sticky trap indeed.  The clouds in the sky, dimly visible against the curtain of night, shift slowly and inexorably across the face of the moon.  The night is progressing, and tomorrow will be a complete new day, full of shiny new hopes.  Hopes that would result in a stronger position for her in days to come, and that would mean she will no longer seen as merely a child. 

 

There is a crème on her dressing table.  Rumour purports it to contain crushed diamonds that would make her skin sparkle like sunlight on new snow.  The briefest dab on her finger is swept across her elegant cheeks as she remembers her mother’s words “waste not, want not.”  The crème was expensive and should be cherished, as all beautiful things should.  Replacing the lid on the crème, she crosses back to her moonlit bed, too bright for her dark eyes to remain open for much longer.  Tomorrow will see her radiating like the darkest sapphire, but only if she sleeps now.  Drawing the thin gossamer-like sheet across her, she closes her eyes to wait for the dawn.  After a day of preparations ready for the celebrations and she will be ready to be presented as Toulan Daemeau.