In a world where everything seems perfectly logical and pragmatic. The thought of anything existing outside of the realm of what one already knows seems impractical.
That is how Melinda Morrison sees life.
The very life where she has shared nearly e...
"And two three, four five... one, two, step three... and four, five and six... Spin! And drop...bow to the side and, drop....no!" The dancing instructor stopped her rhythmic clapping at once to let out a harsh sigh at the disaster that was laid out in front of her.
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The disaster was Lady Muirine and I dancing to one of the traditional Vesnesian ballroom choreography that was basically the staple in any formal setting where nobility would be present at. Our instructor made it clear that before we would debut into high society, it was imperative we learned the multitude of dances young so we could perfect them by the time we reached an older age.
"Dancing is the key to success and finding a suitable partner. When one dances with a lover the chemistry of the future you hold is clear as day to onlooking spectators." This is what she would say when the clear boredom and frustration were expressed heavily on my face.
Who cared about dancing? Nevertheless, perfect it? It wasn't as if the act was life or death, but the people here sure treated it like it.
So no surprise this was one of my least favorite classes I had to take on a daily with this instructor, Delphina was her name. She was the Viscountess of Meaver, a well-bred noblewoman with a great sense of fashion but an even greater sense of pride in her dancing skills. It was one of the reasons she was chosen to teach me.
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Her hair was the color of egg-shell white and it fell into a gradient of a Turkish blue that covered the bottom half of her strands. Her eyes were a mystical mix of cobalt blue and yellow-green; intermixed they were lovely and reminded me of fancy upscale drinks that could change colors or maybe even the very blue ocean of the old world, but oh was she so strict with her teachings.
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