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The Ball
The Ballroom
She rode the ballroom floor, like opening a sliding door.
her dress was the Chandelleir, Flourishing and shining.
The design was nothing below aesthetically pleasing,
All frills and ribbons covering her own body,
Gloves of the softest silk. The most polite men asking her to dance,
Ones only of equal to a chivalrous, courteous, or honorable.
They look of evil and shaprened knives in their eyes,
Yet polite and gentle, Oh how the night was quite hypnotizing.
As she made her way through the day so gay, One of the gentlemen
simply stood out from the rest, Clean, Wise, Young. One of this status
was found only older than what he was, He simply swiftly swung that lady
off her feet. They danced and danced past from what all i could see other than light, the night.
They had retreated to her room, and the next morning as she awoke. This man this Mysterious Marauder
of Hearts, He was gone. Just as Mystical as his appearance he had vanished.
