Vision, part I

The air feels light and travels with a hint of warmth, like a summer breeze as it washes over you like a memory yet to be made. The pulse of the city and its nightlife can be felt in her soul. The music is faded; unimportant, yet casts a subtle nuance of atmosphere. She strides down the hall, and gracefully makes her way down the stairs. Guests are everywhere; few faces can be matched with names, yet all of them know her. Every man is an eligible bachelor, if he were co-ordinated enough to find his druthers; other men, if they could finance a decent enough divorce lawyer. All eyes are on her. The champagne is in endless supply as jaded waiters scurry their way through the city that calls itself a mansion. She sees them as men, not just employees. She sees more than we know. Fate has a twist of itself in store for her.

For those who associate with her, the moment is perfect. The long-awaited arrival of a rising star, an heir to the fortune and fame of her family, an aristocracy of betrayal that she reluctantly has the power to control. Only she knows of the true intent of everyone here. Only she feels the pain looming in the near-future. The irony of the beauty in this place does not escape her. The place, stunning; the food, irresistible; the feeling, unforgettable. "What's missing?", she must wonder. Why does something so grand seem so hollow? Reality; so subjective nowadays.

She shrugs off the views, the tastes, the feeling of a soon-to-be unforgettable night, and makes her way toward the dining room, where hours of slavery and years of discerning perfectionism have created masterpieces of sustenance fit for royalty, yet consumed by the well-dressed and well-spoken scum of her society. She walks, as gracefully as she always does, further down the endless maze that she calls home.

That's when time stopped. Her glance is returned by a guest she didn't remember inviting, sitting by the fireplace. Moments like this are few and far between; one is left to wonder if they even exist. But as her eyes met with his, neither time nor life itself could pose so much as a distraction. Amidst the fog of this moment, her heart pounding in her chest, it seemed as if they could look upon nothing else. He was everything she could want; she could feel a sense of virtue in him, like the black sheep of a group of unfeeling egotists. A kindred spirit walking amongst the living. Then, as surely as she smiled genuinely for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, she is rudely awoken from her fantasy.

"This is some get-together, isn't it...............Cindy?" slurs a generic guest, unworthy of a name.

"Sandra."

"Sandra, yes. Well, I hope you enjoy the rest of it!"

"Thank you", she replied, mustering all the dignity she could to waste her breath on him. She had more important things on her mind. Her sultry black hair is softly blown as she turns back toward the fireplace. Her heart dropped as she saw that the chair was now empty. In the blink of an eye, he was gone. Was this a dream? A dream is but a vision; a fantasy too deep to perceive in reality. As surely as he was seen, he was gone.

She feels as if she is in twilight. Was it real?

Was any of it real?