The midsummer ball soon becomes a dizzying blur of sweet wine, the discordant tunes of a whole chorus of violins and dissonant unsteady dancing. The lights of the chandeliers seem to dance along with me, as I feel myself somehow twirling from one dance partner to the next. I hear myself laugh a wholehearted laugh of pure joy and ecstasy, but deep inside I want to break down and scream. I feel like a ballerina in a music box, dancing with fervor and desperation as a toddler pulls on the wind up to make me dance. But I do not want to dance. Dear god I do not want to dance anymore. Yet just like that ballerina in a music box, I am a mere toy now. What I wish to do does not matter. My current partner, whoever he is lets go and I twirl and pirouette into the arms of another. His touch is steady, as he takes a firm hold of my waist and a much gentler hold of my arm. My mask falls off and clatters onto the floor with the force of our impact. Thankfully by now, everyone here is a little too tipsy to notice or gossip about this loss of decorum I seem to have.  

“Lady Emmeline, how lucky I am to have finally caught you. Your speed, grace and elusiveness tonight very much remind me of a rare hummingbird.” He chuckles as he gently guides me to an upright position. A slight redness of the cheeks seems to be the only effect copious amounts of wine have had on him tonight. I gaze up, attempting to recall his name trough the haze of every other sensation coursing through me. Blue eyes, soft brown hair and strong masculine features. His suit is immaculate, featuring a silver heron pinned to the left pocket. A distant memory begins to push its way to the surface. It pushes and pushes, but only a single detail manages to penetrate the fog. A name. “Lord Thomas.” I gasp out, as awareness washes over me like a cold breeze and I feel myself suddenly stiffen in his hold. He picks up on the sudden change in my demeanor and pulls me closer, changing our dance into a slow steady waltz. I sway alongside him, wishing my earlier state of delirium would return. Now, all I'm aware of is his hand on my waist, the feeling of his chest against mine and the soft subtle scent of his cologne.  

Lord Thomas Edwards, youngest son of the almost mythically rich oil magnate Harrison Edwards. Their grand manor stood in the middle of a massive hedge garden which was kept in condition by their countless servants. And even that was not enough of a display of extravagance and wealth for a man like Harrison Edward, as the center of the grand garden featured a hedge sculpture of a heron taking of in flight. The largest hedge sculpture ever made, if the stories were to be believed. Apparently, herons were a symbol of patience and good fortune, both things' Harrisons grandfather displayed and highly valued when starting the business. He was out of the picture now of course and with Harrisons notoriously poor health, it was only a matter of time before Thomas would inherit it all. For the first time ever, I wished I had paid attention or shown interest in gossip, since the presence of Thomas here was a complete mystery. He had wealth and looks and had been eligible for a while now, yet somehow here he was, still a bachelor and dancing with ladies.  

In his arms, I almost feel like a little girl again. Like a little girl being coddled and rocked to sleep. I lean into his chest, closing my eyes and breathing in his scent. His heartbeat is steady as ever and he simply lets me do it, keeping the pace of our slowing dance the same. I feel my past fantasies of moments like this shifting and chancing shape. The specter of death dissolves and Thomas takes his place. I always thought that that specter would be the only being to hold me and comfort me in this way. This ball seemed to be a fairytale after all, and I had just stumbled into the arms of my prince charming. Thomas would see me, all of me. And he would still love me. He would understand why I did the things I did. He would keep candles lit to keep the darkness at bay. Perhaps he would even be able to see and chase away the specter of death.  

“Would you like to step outside with me, lady Emmeline? You seem to be growing tired, and the chill night air might rejuvenate you.” He asks and I feel myself nod before his words even fully register. The trance like state from before returns. Yet this time it's different. This time it's a comforting haze, like being submerged in warm water while getting a massage. He leads the way, and I glide behind him, my steps light and airy. Even the sudden stifling coldness of the night air does not cause me discomfort, I simply breath in deep and let Thomas lead me to an old gazebo nearby. Its white paint was flaking and the rose bushes around it had not been trimmed in a while. Thomas takes off his suit coat and sets its aside. I step back, confused. His breathing is heavier now, his movements frantic as he hastily unties his tie and throws its aside. His gaze is hungry now and the realization hits in. I am a hummingbird, and he is a heron. I have no time to react. He pounces, pinning me to the railing.