The ball began.
It was the third one Lydia had hosted in just a week. No one in Svetlana could remember such a thing happening before. Three lavish balls, one after the other, as if the rules and whispers meant nothing to her. Of course the whole city was talking about it. And now, everyone wanted to see her with their own eyes.
The first ball had been gold-themed. The nobles still could not forget the shimmer of her dress and the rich, glowing decorations. Some swore it had looked like the whole ballroom was dipped in sunlight.
The second ball had been stranger. It was meant to be in honour of the royal family, but it had felt like a mockery. She had come dressed in pure black, her gown flowing like liquid shadows. It was not ugly — in fact, it was breathtaking — but it looked like she was mourning someone. Many said it was as if she was attending a funeral. The gossip had been endless.
