Social events were tedious to Elena. It was a cycle of forced interactions in a facade of courtesy. People were too nice to deny conversations and escaping them seemed inevitable. Elena learned to avoid eye contact to discourage any interactions with people she barely knew, least of all care about. Whenever she found an opening to escape, Elena would slip away from the scene and wander off to more serene places. True to experience, the atmosphere in the ball was simply draining, suffocating. She wanted out.
Elena snuck off to the back of the hall, the rush of escape warming her senses. Going out of the party was prohibited, but they would not even notice her gone, she thought. Elena stopped by the mirror, deciding to undo her bun in an attempt to conceal her face. Best for anyone not to notice her when she would gallivant around the woods, especially at a night like this. Long, dark locks tumbled over her shoulders as a shadow passed by, unbeknownst to Elena. Freedom might just not be fate’s plan for the young witch.