status: open
setting: social ball
Regina scanned the crowded ballroom, lazily fanning herself in a vain attempt to stave off the heat of too many bodies in a small space. This ball was felt like being a debutante again - Paraded about, cinched and pinched and prodded. The gray of her half-mourning gown felt weightier than the white of her presentation dresses had; Weightier, even, than her wedding gown. She felt marked out as different from the others twirling around her with abandon, which, she supposed, was the point of mourning someone. Or pretending to, at least.
She reached to accept a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, offering a smile of thanks before becoming aware of something in the corner of her eye. She turned to see someone who she thought might have spoken, and she directed her smile at them.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t catch that,” she said, taking a sip of her drink. “You were saying?”