Late afternoon had just claimed cerulean skies allowing the brightest star to hang overhead. Elongated rays stretched outward, in an effort to embrace a tired little world below. Some relished in its light as others strayed from it and then there were some like the pale maiden who could only tolerate so much of it. A soft, pink pastel-colored parasol rested against her right shoulder, both hands gripping its handle to assure a firm – or as firm as she could make it – hold. Her cheeks were already flushed a rosette hue from the morning escapades of menial errand running. “We should be startin’ to head back, Avvie.” Came a rough-aged concern by the elder senior. Hands were shoved in either pocket while ice-colored sights looked to a nearly cloudless sky. “Only gonna get hotter out ‘n you’re lookin’ a little more pink.” A lazy albeit apologetic grin tugged rugged features of the chauffer when he glanced down to the much smaller maiden at his side. 

Shoulders rose and fell following a girlish huff as she twisted her wrist in the grip of her parasol. “I am perfectly fine, Ira-Gula.” Came the soft retort. Her expression remained it usual illegible stoicism despite the evident wear the day had made. Early on, the elder had learned that arguing with the albino maiden never worked. She was just as stubborn as her mother, if not more so. He couldn’t fault her. Her health was never the strongest and there were some days that were better than others. “A’ight then, suit yuhself.” He mused, scratching his silver-blond beard. “But I think the cook is makin’ yuh favorite dish tonight – the one with the salmon.” He would cast a side long glance to garder her expression, Avarice slowing her walk for a moment her pale brows furrowing as she stared down at her shoes for a moment.

Ira-Gula fought back the urge to laugh, knowing well enough that would have won her over. “Oh, um… well then..” her cheeks flushed. “Just for a little while longer and then we’ll return home then.” He couldn’t tell if her cheeks and ears were reddening from the sun or of that bashful demure humility that he knew to steer her back home – safely. 

The duo continued, passing by a house or, was this a building in the way the windows were in display, allowing for all to see inside. The languid movement behind glass walls caught her attention causing her to come to an abrupt halt. “Look at them, Ira.” she hummed with genuine awe. “It’s like they’re floating.”

!

The idea of travelling beyond the scope of Rophuin and over the wide, vast sea had been all that the young Nethersole had ever dreamed. She was weeks away from the commanding grasp of an overbearing father and a forgetful, intoxicated mother. There were no rules to hold her, no social standards the young girl had to uphold lest she embarrasses the prideful Jothan Nethersole and the nature of his business. In every essence of the word, Ethel was free. She was free to curse, to speak like the pauper folk and most of all, she was free to dance. While it had taken some time at first to adjust to the absence of miss Lidget, Ethel began to make her earnings in the growing settlement of Sanctuary. It started out small, a dance here and there with weary miners, but soon she stood at the doors of her own personal studio. Beauté la danse. Ethel made her way to the small building and paused for a brief moment to admire the woman who, in turn, seemed entirely enthralled with the movements inside. A wide, knowing grin slithered to her rouge painted lips as she closed the distance between them. She'd approach the girl quietly, listening to the way she spoke as if awed by the dancers before she'd interject her own commentary. "Would you like to learn how to float?" A coy grin remained seemingly stuck to her mouth. "First lesson is on the house." Ethel reached out her hand in offering as she opened the door to the humble little studio. ‘All that we see or seem’, ‘Is but a dream within a dream.

Jahi

It was like watching a live performance within one of those grand theatrical houses but along the sidelines. Ira-Gula came up behind Avarice to get a better look, always amused by her odd little curiosities. This was not the usual route they would take home so neither of them were familiar of this building. “A dance studio,” the elder mentioned with a smile. Avarice turned abruptly to him causing her long albino curls to swirl in her movements. Would you like to learn how to float? Avarice was about to respond to Ira-Gula until another voice captured the moment.

They were met with a young woman – perhaps somewhere similar in age to Avarice as well. Cherry blossom eyes blinked while her usual blank expression made it difficult to read her features or even thoughts. It was possible to learn how to move like those women did in the window? First lesson is on the house. Avarice could feel herself begin to hesitate despite the friendly gesture by this stranger. In turn she looked to Ira-Gula as if searching for a response to give instead of herself. He nodded his head as if coaxing her to go inside. “Why not? Need to get yah out of the sun anyway.” He cast a friendly, appreciative nod towards the woman while Avarice considered her options.

“Oh, I don’t know..” New things were a hit or miss but cold feet was not as uncommon as one may think. Her palms twisting into the handle of her parasol, lowering her gaze to her boots. And for free? All she did was just simply pass by the building in chance. Though she would have been lying if she said she wasn’t the least bit intrigued. “If it is not too much trouble for you, but I do not wish to leave you empty-handed.” She looked to the woman then back to Ira-Gula, back to the woman once again, seeking for her reply.

!

When it came to the tumultuous affair of dance and rhythm - of teaching the people in Sanctuary its art - Ethel had all the patience in the world.  So, too, would it be prone for the outlandish woman whose appearance intrigued her all the more.  Customarily it was the withered elders boasting a full head of ivory locks,  yet this woman seemed no older than herself.  Ethel had to admit that she was a lovely thing, porcelain-skinned with uncertain pink iris'.  Even her voice seemed to hold an elegant chime that pulled Ethel's lips into a symbolic smile.  Compared to the vast faces of Sanctuary, this one seemed so... out of sorts, out of place, yet a welcomed sight. It almost reminded her of the aristocracy back in Rophuin.  The woman spoke with vivid uncertainty and wholly adopted it in stance and nature by shifting the parasol in her hands.  Like a worried child seeking the approval of their elders. A single fingertip tapped at the pert tip of her chin, a contemplative moment spared towards the stranger's parried offer.  It wasn't often that Ethel took in such clients, often entertaining the poorer folk that ached for the return of their noble days.  Since the fall of Dunmeath, many housed here attempted to regain their sense of normalcy by any means.  Dance - to her great fortune - happened to be in high demand.  "Twenty-five crescents for this first lesson."  She held a finger out in preemptive protest.  "Not a cent more."  ‘All that we see or seem’, ‘Is but a dream within a dream.

Jahi

A gnawing sense of doubt festered at her nerves. Like mother like daughter, or so the saying goes if anyone decided to take a dive into the family tree. Or – perhaps not to save her from the scrutiny of others. While Avarice was secretly prying into the threshold of daring adventures, much to her care-takers worried digressions, there were moments when the opportunity provided itself that took her off guard. Was it truly alright, she wondered? Something – something wanted to whisper otherwise. Force an apology from the pale maidens’ lips for troubling the owners’ time and to move on about her way despite Ira-Gula’s assurance. Twenty-five crescents for this first lesson. Not a cent more.

Pale features were drawn to a perplexing blank until Ira-Gula had gently nudged her back to the present. “O-oh—” her cheeks flushed. “Of course,” she then began to shuffle search for the small satchel which carried her allowance. The elder was nothing but amused as he tugged on the strap which had – this entire time – been resting on her left shoulder. Avarice huffed when she finally retrieved the currency, extending a slender arm to offer the payment. “Do you really think I can do that too?” she asked the woman while pointing to the class within the window. Avarice had never danced before. She knew what it was – but as far as the bare basics, was beyond her. Most days, depending on how she felt weather permitting was either confined to her room or accompanied more than likely with Ira-Gula for daily errands.

Only recently did she brazenly take her horse Envy out to the wilds without word of her departure. Sometimes it grew rather tiring to constantly have watchful eyes even if intentions were meant out of concern.


!

Faces aplenty appeared within the studio.  Some boasted their chests with brazen pride as if they knew all to know about the more nuanced art of dance.  In truth, they were some of the worst dancers she'd ever seen.  Others were delicate buds who had yet found their time to bloom until they'd waltzed for the first time beneath rehearsed guidance.  They were one of Ethel's favourites to teach; their thirst for knowledge was unmatched.  At the window now was such a flower whose youth and beauty were a breath of fresh air.  These days it was mostly older men seeking audience with the younger teachers or judgmental crones aching to return to their lives of normalcy - a regency dream. Ethel reached out her hand to accept the white maiden's coin and promptly tucked it into her pocket all the while listening to the girl's question.  "Of course!"  She offered a light-hearted chuckle and a warming grin.  "With a little practice, I bet you can do better than that."  Bells rang with a soft clamour as Ethel pulled open the French inspired door and held it open for her latest customer.  The patrons inside continued to glissade across the soft pine floor as if nothing had changed.  A teasing aroma of earl grey tea permeated the air - its delicate scent accompanied by the faint traces of scones and fruit that had sat on a table earlier that morning.  While Ethel couldn't completely recreate the atmosphere of Lidget's establishment, it didn't mean she couldn't try her best.  The lighting was low in the resting area where the dancing girls took their breaks.  Seats with padded, floral designs cradled those gossiping with their customers or - if they allowed - a light flirt here or there.  Where the dancers danced, however, was littered with hanging lights - a replication of the night sky - and elegantly sewn silk flowers.  Each tediously sewn by her own hand.  Ethel attempted to lure the young woman to the dazzling floor where their lesson would begin. "My name is Ethel, by the way.  Ethel Markai."  She spoke with a flare of pride.  "Have you ever danced before, miss...?"  ‘All that we see or seem’, ‘Is but a dream within a dream.

Jahi

Self-criticism and doubt were ugly little creatures that would fester without word or warning. It could have easily been the nerves in the way she hesitated. Ira-Gula had simply assured and suggested she take that theoretical leap, in order to grow a little more, to blossom a little brighter – it could be good for her, for all he knew. For all, either of them knew. Avarice inquired of the routine the dancers moved to, wondering if she too could potentially learn something of the sort, or of any dance really. Humble laughter befell the stranger then with further reassurance as if there could be any more to give. With a little practice, I bet you can do better than that. Avarice’s cheeks flushed a rosette hue hands clasped together, resting against the skirt of her dress, while shoulders rolled upward in sheepish demeanor. “Oh,” Came the only quiet sound. Eyes casting downward, shyly.

The bells tolled in the agitation of opening doors, entering into what felt of an entirely different world. Movement swept upon the well-polished floors within the light hums of gossip rang from the sidelines. Earl gray was the first scent to waft by. A comfortable, inviting scent that was enough to provoke skin to crawl. Hints of phantom fruits underlaying the tea and accommodating other sweets heightened the aroma. The lighting was dimmed which provoked an ambiance of starlight. Ira-Gula did not hesitate to scavenge for the sweets though dared not linger too far from the albino.

My name is Ethel, by the way. Ethel Markai. Avarice tuned her focus on the woman, the owner of the dancers boutique. Taking in all of everything at once was proving to be overwhelming for the pale maiden though she dare not make a fuss. Expression remaining unchanged. Have you ever danced before, miss…? It was then it dawned on her that she hadn’t given her name. “Ah—” she stumbled over her words briefly. “Avarice.” Throat cleared. “My name is Avarice Rue, my apologies.” Avarice sighed, digits digging into her fabrics as if to brace for some kind of invisible forced contact for her carelessness.

“And, no.” Answering the following question. “I—I do not know how to dance, admittingly.” She almost sounded ashamed, embarrassed even to admit. “I am rather clumsy.” Avarice would then tuck a stray loose strand of her alabaster hair behind her ear before returning her hand to clasps over the other and rest at her waistline. “It’s rather pretty in here I think, from what I can see. My sight isn’t the most reliable.” She mused half-hearted. Though that was with anywhere, regardless of the lighting.


!

Avarice Rue.  An outlandish name.  One that was quite unusual here in the growing populace of Sanctuary.  There were Mary's aplenty, Emma's and Anne's as far as the eye could see.  It seemed that every other woman seeking to learn here shared a name with another.  It was pleasing - Ethel quietly admitted - and it only fueled the fires of curiosity that illuminated her musings.  Did the young lady Rue come from overseas, perhaps?  Was she from a land far away much like Ethel's homeland of Rophuin?  Had her home been one of the unfortunate losses in the battle of Dunmeath?  Regardless of her origin, Ethel offered a subtle simper.  "A pleasure, Avarice."  And indeed it was. She listened to Avarices' abashed admittance with a well of great patience and a soft, melodic chuckle.  If only she knew the number of times her toes had ached from the abrupt assault of a great oaf's foot or the countless times she'd witnessed one of her students trip over the hem of her dress.  Anything for a bit of class - to feel like the wealthy, to live outside of ones means if only for an hour.  Everyone wanted to pretend they were the nobles of Lavalles.  Some, however, had different intentions.  Learn to dance for their partner or just simply to interact with another living soul with a pretty face.  "You can't be much worse than the brutes I get from time to time."  Ethel teased.  "They're barn animals in suits."  Then there was a flare of pride bursting throughout the lofted puff of Ethel's chest, a sense of accomplishment from one demure compliment.  They weren't here to admire the scenery, however proud Ethel was of it.  She'd paid for a lesson and Ethel sought to begin it. "It's proper etiquette to begin the dance with a quiet introduction.  Men will bow while a lady curtsies.  If they're more intimate, though, he'll take her hand and give her knuckles a kiss."  Ethel gathered either side of the plum dress in her hands, lifting it slightly as one leg crossed over the other in the familiar dip of a lady-like curtsy.  She patiently waited for Avarice to do the same.   ‘All that we see or seem’, ‘Is but a dream within a dream.

Jahi

Ethel Markai. A feminine name that sounded all the more powerful given the face that possessed it. Yet, Avarice’s focus loomed over the interior decoration of the studio. The dimly lit lights that hung from the ceilings looked as if the very stars were stolen from the skies and brought here to live. And while mesmerizing it may be, Avarice would have been lying if she had said she wasn’t the slightest overwhelmed. Distant whispers crawled along her ears of that festering doubt and the misplacement of her being present – as if she shouldn’t be here in this lovely studio. You can’t be much worse than the brutes I get from time to time.

The pale maiden returned her attention to the curly-haired brunette; They’re barn animals in suits. It was a figure of speech to most but to Avarice she simply would lean to the side slightly to look past Ethel as if to observe herself firsthand that these people were truly these barn animals she acclaimed them to be. When all she could see were the practicing dancers and the occasional socializers, Ethel's remark simply made her all the more confused. So, did she also teach…barn animals to dance also?

It’s proper etiquette to being the dance with a quiet introduction. She wasn’t able to ask the lingering question and instead, the lesson began. Men will bow while a lady curtsies. If they’re more intimate, though, he’ll take her hand and give her knuckles a kiss. Avarice watched Ethel with attentiveness. She watched the fold of the skirt of her dress rise and expand, her upper torso bend slightly in unison of arching legs. Avarice looked to her own dress, hands digging into the fabrics, “Like this?” she hoped to follow along with the curtsy.



!

"Like this?" Ethel watched Avarice's form and posture with an eye of appraisal that did not mistake the fine silk and expert stitching of the noblewoman's dress to be anything less than just that. Lace was not a commodity that came cheaply here in Sanctuary nor was such silk readily available and this craftsmanship - it could make one absolutely green! Was it bold for the teacher to assume that all wellborns knew of proper greetings regardless of their nationality? That all young girls were taught the elegant nature of the curtsy while gentlemen learned to bow in the presence of a lady? Perhaps it was rude of her to surmise that Avarice was a healthy child capable of such learnings. A sudden twinge of guilt preceded the quiet, cerebral chiding. "My sight isn't the most reliable." One shouldn't be so quick to judge. Ethel let the hem of her dress fall around her ankles while observing her student's side stance in one of the mirrors lining the wall. Perhaps it was a case of low confidence rather than inadequate teaching. Regardless, Ethel continued their lesson. "Quite lovely, Avarice." She hummed with praise. "Not too stiff and not too low." A single digit was lifted to gather the albino girl's attention. "Before we begin learnin' to dance, we gotta learn the foundation. Dancin' is about tempo, patience and passion. Your body is an extension of the music around you." She swept her arms out as if gathering the classical strums that played around them. Ethel's silver eyes closed, briefly, while she drew in a deep breath. "Feel the melody with your heart and play it with your feet." Dainty hands clapped with the rhythm, synced in perfect time. "Listen for the keystrokes and how often they chime. That's your tempo. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three." She shot Avarice an encouraging smile. "Follow my lead and listen." Her hands continued to clap to the rhythm, the speed that the piano played. ‘All that we see or seem’, ‘Is but a dream within a dream.

Jahi