Begin with the base. A light colour, as the pallour of the skin only needed to be accented, perhaps marbleized. Rouge, equally light, applied to the not-to-high cheekbones. A crystal green thickness of eyeliner, a thickness to hint at a soft spot for Goth, left over from days of younger glory and less complicated battles, and green to bring out the hue of the stern emerald contacts that were to be the focus of the eyes. The lashes are lush and dark, as they should be, and beg no greater attention than that. The eye shadows are a gamut ranging from jade to olive to lime to the colour of the sea, all in perfect contrast and perfect likeness.



Above them the arching brows are tinted fiery red. Red to match the blaze of hair above that seems untamed as if in fury, yet knows its place and measure, encircling the jewel of a face like a crown of flame. The only thing matching its burning intensity are the countenance's ruby red lips.



Within each delicate earlobe is placed the hook of a small silver teardrop earring, each bearing a single emerald in the center. Not an overly large jewel, so as not to be gaudy or too affected. It is, as intended, very becoming. Upon the neck is positioned an equally becoming choker of the same nature with its equally unpretentious stone.



Then, most carefully, a silver tiara bearing exactly five of the gems, the foremost being slightly larger than the others, is placed with the utmost diligence upon the brow. This does tame the furious hair somewhat and makes for an absolutely striking figure in the looking glass. It seems now that there is nothing left but the dressing.



First comes the petticoat, custom-made as per special instructions for the perfect fit. It is easily enough gotten into and the straps on the waist tightened, but not to the point of no breathing. The instructions had seen to that. And now it is time for the dress.



To say it is beautiful insults the costume and exalts the word beyond its station. It is immaculate. Emerald green, of course, but one could not tell if it is sequined or donned in the coveted jewels themselves. How it sparkles! How it dances with light!



Quickly, it is swept up and attired. The light puffed sleeves fall just off the pristine shoulders and hold on gently until just above the elbows. The neckline plunges invitingly, but not enough to offset the mystery that is considered sensual to persons of taste. The back, however, allows plenty openness for the men to caress, within the limits of propriety, of course, during the dances. The trail of the dress is floor length, the slender legs and delicate ankles will be a delightful surprise for later. The gloves are sparkling silver, as are the ballroom shoes, each of which bears the trademark single emerald. On the left hand is a silver emerald ring.



The limo soon comes, one of the perks of being born into a wealthy family. The ride is quick and uneventful, and she is quickly at the Hall. It is obvious to anyone that the drinking has been well underway for quite some time, and a fashionably late entrance was well planned and suitable. Everyone is laughing and carrying on and patting each other on the back. Out of the corner of the eye is noticed more than one licentious look. But mingle, schmooze, converse, entertain, enchant, flirt. More than a few dances are danced with more than a few handsome, available men... doctors, lawyers, CEOs... etc.



Shimmers of green and red and silver swirling through and about the crowd; entrancing and enticing all. Stares of amused wonder, murmers of enchanted glee. The talk of the ball. Then, abruptly, a halt.



"No wonder I didn't see you here!" An angry hushed whisper. A tightened vice-grip on the forearm. Being drug away from the heart of the party toward a darkened side hall. A throwing out of the door into a filthy alleyway with dumpsters, puddlewater, rats. The beautiful gown is torn.



"You get out of here, and you don't come back!" The voice is yelling, now. "No son of mine is gonna behave this way! No son of mine!"