Angel_Without

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The rain fell in heavy sheets, pounding against the window. Angella shivered, curling up tighter on the padded window seat. A soft meow came from the floor, and Chaos jumped up next to her. The wavering light from the fire made the silver and gray stripes of his fur blend together, and his eyes glow. Angella let him curl up on her chest and tuck his round skull under her chin, but she wasn�t paying a great deal of attention to the kitten. She was studying her face, dimly reflected in the window.
Cinnamon curls tinted with honey-gold fell past her shoulders, and hazel eyes flecked with vivid green gazed back at her. Fine, delicate features, rose-bud mouth, creamy skin, nose lightly dusted with freckles. And a dark, brandy brown birthmark spreading over her left cheekbone.
Thunder rolled, rattling the window panes and making Chaos jump. Angella felt wetness on her face, and angrily dashed the tears away. She set the cat on the floor, and unfolded herself from the pillows. Trailing one hand along the wall, Angella walked down the icy hallway to her rooms, where she crumpled into bed, making a place on the pillow for Chaos before falling asleep .

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there was a beautiful city. �The Queen of the Sea�, they called her, and she was. Her shining palaces raised lofty spires like crown jewels above the canals that served as her streets. Gracefully shaped boats glided on those waters, their red velvet seats bearing the rich and noble to an endless round of elegant parties and balls. In the grandest house on the Royal Canal, a rich merchant lived with his wife and their young daughter, Angella. The merchant himself was gone much of the year, when the winds took his ships east, to trade for spices, silks, and ivory. So Angella and her mother lived alone in the great mansion, and the silence of the marble halls was broken only by the parties Lady Kelvaeyn gave.

One such was being held tonight. Colored lights danced upon the water. Soft strains of music floated to Angella where she stood on her balcony. She leaned against the rail, gazing out over the city. Lifting her eyes up, she tried to see the stars through the bright lights of the party. They looked to her dim and far away. She gave up and leaned back against the delicate columns separating the balcony from her chambers. The sheer curtains surrounded her in a cloud of shimmering silk, and she sighed.
Laughter and talk spilled outwards from the rooms below her, echoing off the rippling water. More guests were arriving. Angella realized absently that she must go down soon. Turning away from the velvet sky above the royal city, the young girl stepped back into her rooms. As she moved, the blue silk of her gown swirled around her. She smoothed it carefully with her hands, then drew a steadying breath before forcing herself to turn towards the mirror. Even though she was prepared, she flinched at what met her, and her hand went automatically to hide her cheek. She reached quickly for her party mask. Careful of her hair, Angella slipped it on. A soft spray of white baby feathers hid half her face. Hid the damning mark. She smoothed her dress again, turning in a circle, letting the skirt swirl around her. A plain dress, perhaps, but it shimmered. And, drawing a deep breath, she left her room and prepared to face the evening.
Footfalls muffled on silk carpets, she walked across the hall, to the great stair that curved down to where the bright costumes of the guests created a kaleidoscope of color. On the top step she paused, one small hand tracing the patterns of the carved rail. And then she moved with careful grace, satin slippers silent on cool marble.

Francis stood near the water patio, where white marble steps vanished beneath the gentle rippling waves. The broad column on which he leaned was carved with delicate angels, and he traced a windswept curl with a finger absently. His costume tonight had no lace, a small blessing for which he was thankful. Still, silver embroidery climbed the dark blue sleeve, twisting into flying cranes for his family crest. Francis shifted his back against the pillar, wishing that the Grand Duke�s son needn�t attend such occasions. He shifted his mask, adjusting it for perhaps the hundredth time. And stepped further into the shadows when he saw his father searching the room.
As he slid further around the pillar his gaze fell on the curving staircase, lit with paper lanterns. Their soft glow enveloped the young woman who glided -- ever so carefully -- down the steps. He paused to watch in appreciation. He was too far off to make out the details of her face, which were obscured by her mask anyway, but he had a clear view of soft curls, and a slim figure surrounded by floating gossamer silk. She could almost be flying, he thought, watching her delicate, graceful steps. Francis grinned boyishly at that bit of whimsy, but his amusement was cut off when he felt his father�s hand on his shoulder.
�Francis��
He turned.
�Yes Father?�
�You have been avoiding your duties.� Francis bowed, ever so slightly, and kept his face impassive. �Lady Kelvaeyn has requested that you lead the waltz,� the Grand Duke continued. �You will do so.� Francis bowed again, and the Duke turned away, mingling easily with the other guests.