I survey the party and feel so many eyes on me. I am not tall, but I have an air of confidence about me that makes me seem taller than I am. I have long dark curly hair and my lips are blood red. I have porcelain skin and have been told I look like a doll. I don’t blame them for looking, for I am beautiful. It is a decent party, but I am growing tired. It has been almost a year. Almost 365 days since I last found eyes worthy of mine, although it didn’t last. My violet eyes have been called many things, beautiful, hypnotizing, striking, my best feature, the list goes on and on. I sometimes sit and stare at them. They are so unique and exceptionally beautiful. I never tire of them, but I cannot always see them. I long to gaze at them always, but it seems that is not an option. I turn my thoughts and my eyes back to the party.
People are milling around. There is only word to describe my huge room, extravagant. The ballroom has marble steps coming in from the left. The floor matches the stairs and it is so shiny you think you are dancing on the stars. There are huge windows throughout the room covered by blood red curtains that hang from the high ceiling and touch the floor. Hundreds of men and women, in their formal dresses and tuxes, mill around and dance. Chandeliers hang from the ceiling and a symphony plays across from the stairs. Waiters and waitresses in black sweep the room handing out drinks in tall goblets and appetizers. The music of the symphony follows if I walk out to the balcony and towards the fountain that seems to reach the moon. I won’t walk to the balcony though until I have looked at each pair. I look around my party and then I begin. I plaster my irresistible smile on and start the task at hand. I have become an expert at this game. A party every night in my house has made me very practiced. I start at the stairs and make my way across the outskirts of the room looking at each set of eyes as I go. Each set is too typical. I don’t want the typical. I want mine.
I continue on. I grow more and more tired. Men and women try to start up conversation, but I do not have time for those with regular eyes. I search faces from a distance. I feel my body freeze. Those eyes are stunning, Violet and sparkling. I am not even looking at them straight on and I know I have found them. I will not mess up this time. I make my way towards the carrier of the eyes. He is tall and rather handsome. He has a robust jawline and his smile has more than likely made many girls swoon. I can tell he is confident and one who likes to be in control, but so do I. I have this down to an art. I continue staring at him until he feels my striking eyes. His eyes meet mine and I shiver taking in a sharp breathe. His eyes, they are mine. His mop of brown curls is covering them a bit though, and it displeases me. I want to push it away. I don’t let my displeasure show though.
I smile and look at him through my lashes. I wait still looking at him. He walks towards me and I know I have him. He sticks his hands out, I place my small delicate hand into his and he kisses it, the whole time my eyes never leaving his. I can tell he is getting uncomfortable with the eye contact and with a wishful heart I look away to put him at ease.
“You are the most beautiful creature in this room, pray tell me what your name is?” he asks me. I look back up with a blush on my cheeks. “Cosette.” I breathe out so he has to lean in closer.
“Cosette,” he pronounces slowly, “Lovely, I am Wesley.” I give him my heart stopping smile. His eyebrows raise and Wesley asks if I would like to dance. I want to say no, but I have to be patient. I cannot ruin this. It will not be like last time. I nod. He takes my hand and I am swept into the crowd.
The music is too loud for talk and all we can do is stare into each other’s eyes; the same eyes. I feel my heart beating faster and with every second the enchantment his eyes have over me cultivates. I must have them. The song ends and he pulls me close whispering how beautiful my eyes are. I just smile and pull away taking his hand. I lead him to the staircase and up to my library. There is a shiny black leather couch next to the window and I push him down.
“Let me get us drinks,” I whisper. I walk to the table on the other side of the room, pulling out a bottle of expensive wine. I pour the glasses. I feel his eyes on me the whole time. I turn and walk back to him, handing him a glass. Quick make him smile I think.
“You are a delightful dancer,” I state batting my eyes and giving him a half smile. He smiles, his lovely eyes lighting up, “Thank you,” he says taking a sip of the drink. “You are not so bad yourself.” I then just sit and smile at him, not touching my glass.
I watch his breathing slow and become nonexistent. I sit there. This was nothing like last time. No blood, no noise, and most importantly his eyes don’t hold the fear that tainted the last pair. They’re my eyes now.