@for-remembrxnce
A ball thrown by the Prince. It was not exactly something a Montague like Rebecca was permitted to ignore. No, she was dressed in her finest dress as she had been instructed. As much as it grated her. Rebecca was never one for instructions or playing nice, and it had been quite the wrestle to get her to agree. Paris and Benvolio at least would be here as well, and Rebecca had no doubt they would find fun among the politics of the night once she found them. A celebration though it was in name, there was no doubting of the games that lay just beneath the surface. Nor of the tension that hung in the air as Montague and Capulet danced in the same ballroom and drank from the same cups. The Prince, it was said, was trying to broker a peace. Neither house could turn it down first without becoming the villain.
In the mean time, Rebecca walked alone at the edges of the room, watching the dancers, keeping an eye out for those she recognised behind their masks. As she walked, she came across another lone figure in a beautiful dress. Rebecca smiled, curtesying slightly as she approached. “Good evening,” she said, coming to stand beside the other.
