but I am here for Writing Prompt Wednesday. :D
A rather provocative phrase:
"So it has come to this."
Intriguing and titillating all at once. ;)
Same rules apply:
He was a man of honour.
She, a gem.
Often, at these social functions, she would pass by him in the narrow hallways. Her perfume would intoxicate him. He would try his hardest not to look at the curve of her neck or the way she balanced the strap of her purse on her tiny wrist. He wondered what it would feel like to have her eyes on him--wondered if he would melt like Icarus' wings from her gaze. Yet, it was not meant to be.
She was above.
He was below.
The men of high society buzzed about her like bees. This one offering her another drink. That one laughing too loudly at her joke. He tried hard not to watch--not to care. But he did. He imagined hovering around her eating the tinkling of her laughter as if it was ambrosia. But his feet wouldn't take him to her. His thick hands clasped the glass too tightly. He watched the seconds pass on the grandfather clock. Soon, it would be time to go home.
But first the dancing.
He held up the wall as he watched her. Now, her cheeks were flushed pink as she glided across the room. Her lips parted slightly with excitement. He wondered what her ebony hair would smell like. Would she trip over his large feet as they waltzed?
Then it happened.
The dance ended and everyone clapped politely for the small quartet. The woman stood back from her partner, scanning the room. He tried not to react when her eyes lighted on him. Her lavender ball gown swished quietly as she strode over to him--so bold. She grabbed his hand and he dropped his drink.
On the floor he tried hard to remember the steps.
"So?" Her voice was as smooth as chocolate.
He nearly tripped over his feet. "So..."
"So it has come to this." This she whispered so he had to lean closer.
Her hair smelled like joy...