Love Lace

i. Party on Bosch Street

DIANA

ROMANTICISM was a pass time that kept her ever raging mind at bay, and it had also admittedly tampered her nerves when she showed up to one of the older houses on campus. Its large oak doors, old with age but maintained with care and polish. Piano music was seeping out from the cracks beneath the door and the many old windows, drowning the street in a bliss she had yet to indulge in.

She bounced on her feet as she built up the courage to knock, though she worried they wouldn't even hear her and she feared the doorbell would be too jarring. Looking down at the envelope clutched to her chest, she held it out so it could be seen underneath the warm glow of the overhead porch lights. Even though they were old, housing flames instead of bulbs. She wondered if they were oil or gas but she shook her head and looked down at the expensive paper.

Diana Hart was written in an elegant scrawl with blood red ink. The font looked both manically rushed but equal parts lazily done. No address was found anywhere nor was there a postage stamp. Meaning it was left in her drop off box by hand. There was intent behind the invite, an invite that led to this very gathering and a door she currently stood outside of.

She still hadn't knocked and thunder rolled overhead. The heavens grumbled a warning she elected to ignore. Biting her lip, her fist raised to enforce a sharp wrap on the door. Before her bones could collide with the wood, it swung open just as it began to rain.

A man with the whitest hair she had ever seen stood there with roses dusting his pale cheeks and a glint in his eye that could be taken as amusement. Though if one were to inspect closely his silver gaze also gave the impression of immediate criticism. Not that it could even be studied given the way his face melted into a pleasant smile and he stepped aside. Gesturing an arm into the house full of people holding martinis and smoking.

"Please, come in."

The expensive paper crinkled beneath her fingers and her heels clicked sharply on the wooden floors before becoming muted by a massive elegant rug that ran through the entirety of the front hall. The door shut behind her, drowning out the storm and instead piano music filled her ears and tobacco smoke fought its way lazily into her lungs.

The blond man offered to take her coat as she shrugged the heavy wool off her shoulders, immediately feeling as if she was being burned with the way people were tearing apart her dress with their eyes. Not in a lustful way, which was appreciated but also made her feel wary, but in a way that felt dehumanizing. She felt like a shop mannequin that customers were judging to see if they wanted to buy the product or not. To determine if they wanted to be seen with it- her, or not.

Diana forced herself to keep her hands at her side and not shrivel up as if she was fruit left out to rot.

"You must be Miss Hart, yes?"

Shaking his hand, he tugged her slightly forward and placed a kiss to her chilled skin. He came across as charming but in a brusque way. It was practiced, éttiquette learned down to a precision one could only learn in school.

"I am."

"I'm Montgomery Moore, pleasure to meet you. We've been anxious to finally extend an offer. You're quite the odd ball."

A laugh escaped her though it was filled with hesitancy. "Am I?" An odd ball didn't seem like something a society would want. An oddball was the one put into exile, not given a pedestal to stand on. She began to worry if this was some cruel trick to humiliate her but assured herself she had no enemies.

Not that people had enemies. That would be absurd and a bit too fairy tale.

"Oh yes," Montgomery said and urged her to follow him. "But don't worry, it's not all such a bad thing. It makes you interesting, which is the best thing of all." He laughed, the sound warm on her ears but in a way that nearly felt demeaning. "We do get bored."