#((THE WAY U TALK ABT L'ARA'S DRESS AND WEAVE IT INTO MEMORIES OF HIS DEATH IS SO GOOD...))

[aglaean]

It’s as if they are the pole on which the rest of the Earth twirls.

 L’Arachel had a habit of attracting things. No doubt an inevitability of her own startling magnetism, she couldn’t help it! Like moths, pilgrims to a holy flame they came, why, even the walls seem to lean towards her! Such were her charms.

She draw in the lights smudged at the edges, the piano, an ashen blot against streaks that were once a ballroom, the mural above which seems to dance along with them, tracing each step with painted eyes. L’Arachel is feeling exceptionally... floaty. Like her high heels - nay! - her feet themselves, had taken wing, disappeared. He was good! Perhaps too good, she had to be careful not to be outdone! Rennac would never let her live such a lapse down… 

A dip, and she is almost face to face with the floor. A beat, and she is back upright, the only sign she had ever been otherwise a swooping feeling in her head. There was something quite miraculous about dancing. A partner throws you to the brink, and just as you think you’ll never be released from the hold, you are brought back. A cycle of deaths and renewals that just keeps going. A dance can’t continue forever, but L’Arachel almost finds herself wishing this one could, just a little longer. 

‘Hmm, a veritable rouges gallery!’ Her eyes land on the chandelier. ‘It would be apt to keep one’s guard.’ 

rubies are a girls best friend