• Brightly lit by specially carved overhead lamplights, the room sparkled as bodies flitted left and right in the rhythmic stanzas of the dance. Women were dressed in long, puffy dresses and men in pitch black suits, excluding the higher status couple sitting in a corner. The Duchess, face covered by a ruby red feather mask, slumped in her chair as she eyed the crowed, searching for her daughter. In her fingers was a wineglass filled with a cherry wine that only she and the Duke made, themselves. The Duke on the other hand, sat straight up with his back against his chair and his fingers thumped against the armrest. His head shook in a swift movement and his lips were curled in as he licked them with his tongue, fighting back the urge to bark out a command to his son. “What is it darling?” Her sly, smooth voice breaking the silence. The Duke looked down at her, meeting his eyes with her dark brown ones. “I just don’t get what’s with him, being such a fool.” The Duchess’ brows came together tightly behind her mask. With a sigh, she finally sat up and smoothed out her gold glittered auburn dress. “What did Mark do now.” Her voice holding a whine. “Over there, Maria, look.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pointed his fattening finger over behind the dancing folk in a corner, where his son stood talking with a pauper. She seemed to be a youngster, about the age of sixteen, with bright brown eyes and a golden set of curls trailing down her back. The son, about nineteen, nodded as she spoke and she giggled at his responses. The Duchess let down her mask and rested her head against her hand which held the wine, nearly slopping out of the glass by the sudden movement. “Stop! Please be quiet!” The violinists and cellists jumped at the order and stopped immediately. Soon the immense chatter ceased and everyone was waiting expectantly at the Duke and Duchess. “Junior-” The Duchess started, but the Duke hushed her with a raised palm. “You’ll only embarrass him.” He whispered. She crossed her arms and looked away, frowning. “Mark, due come ‘ere please.” Mark’s smile faltered and he turned to look at the girl he was talking to, but she was already waving at the door with her mother. The Duchess gave a short chuckle, praising herself for her work, that sinister glare she always gave to the lower leveled beings that ‘littered’ the world. With a shake of his head, Mark made his way over, brushing his fingers through his course honey brown hair. His footsteps made small, brisk tapping noises against the marble floor, and was almost the only noise in the room. Women held their breath, awaiting a reprimand, which they’d all seen the son get time after time for being with the ‘wrong crowd.’ “Continue.” The Duke said as soon as Mark arrived, and some groans were heard as the musicians began another piece and the flutes now added themselves in. The chatter lifted once again and a result of the buzz was dancing, twirling and twirling again.