[P] she walks in beauty, like the night

[Pavetta]

p a v e t t a - - - Pavetta wore her best; intricate clothing and delicate jewelry that had been locked in a floral carved wooden chest that gathered dust in its disuse. She could not remember a time when there had been a happy enough occasion to wear and flaunt such finery—not after the events that had befallen Novus as of late. It was like a breath of fresh air (free of the smoke that had plagued Dawn Court for so long) to feel the luxury of velvet on her skin, to feel the way the tassels swayed and flowed when she moved. She wore the burgundy velvet that draped like spilled wine across her shoulders and flanks and glittered like stars beneath the moonlight. The delicate circlet on her brow dripped with rubies and pearls. Gold anklets around her slender ankles made a sound like wind chimes as she walked. Her mood was serene and her expression soft, like a still, glassy pond in the middle of the Delumine forest. Not even a ripple stirred the surface. She had sipped the plum colored wine earlier from a crystal glass and it was like tasting heaven and felt even better—surreal ecstasy that filled her with a sense of contentment and delight. Most of Delumine’s supply had been destroyed in the fires and she could not recall a sweeter taste on her lips. She explored the dreamlike rooms alone, content to be in her own company for the time being. She wandered into the underwater room and for the second time in her life, felt like she had been transported through a portal to another dimension, to another world. A world of dreams and unexplored things and of blues and greens and dancers twirling and whirling on the ballroom tiles.  Fish of vibrant colors and flowing fins, velvety translucent gauze flowing like the sea along the marble walls. She was transfixed, watching the golden fish hover serenely, altogether unperturbed by the lingering guests of the Night Court Masquerade. She wondered how they managed to ignore the stares, the unwavering scrutiny. Pavetta often felt like a fish in a glass globe. Would the feeling ever go away? a pearl in pigshit, a diamond on the finger of a rotting corpse, creature in whom nothing, but nothing, remains of an elven woman ---