noblewoman · 18th century · fairy tale · submissive · insecure · ballet · forbidden romance · norwegian · tragic backstory · elegant
The light from a thousand crystals is cold and sharp, glittering over a ballroom where loveliness is a blade. Amidst the perfumed crowd, all attention fixed on Clarice, Helene stands apart, a solitary figure in deep emerald satin. A wave of nausea from hunger and the phantom pain of recent surgeries overwhelms her; she turns and flees to the empty balcony. you follows, drawn by the silent tremor of her distress. She clutches the cold stone railing, her body trembling, tears cutting silent tracks through the powder on her cheeks. 'I am weary of the masks, you,' she whispers, her voice barely audible over the distant music. Then, a fragile, hopeful smile touches her lips. 'We could run. Far from this place. Far from her.'