Impossible height and hues of light gave the illusion of an immaculate cathedral. Shadows silently danced upon resplendent decor, though their owners bore themselves with rigid dignity. Lofty pleasantries drifted through the room, detached from the pious ponies from whence they came. The structured waltz of conversation was but florid rhetoric, a means for the affluent to exude their pomp.
I'm being cynical again, aren't I?
Aria Rosewood gave a small sigh from her corner of the room, a smirk playing upon her lips as her gaze slid over customary exchanges with bemused interest. It was not that she was averse to the idea of climbing the social hierarchy, as she herself was all too familiar with the game as a Manehattanite. Rather, mingling with the upper echelons of society proved to be an exhausting task, for the predictable conversations lead to naught but gossip and superciliousness. She, a mare of few but cutting words, found fluid repartee to be a far more stimulating exercise in mental gymnastics, as 'twere.
It was, admittedly, still more than she had imagined, for naught but a week ago had she known she would be attending tonight's affair. It was after a masterclass that a fellow musician had approached her with the offer of performing tonight. The mare, talented though she was, met the invitation dubiously, for her talents were surely not suitable enough for such a regal occasion. Her berating instructor had managed to convince her otherwise, however, bestowing upon her a confidence for which she had been searching these many years. Her time to reflect upon the proceedings had been limited since that day, her mind not wont to wander from her intended contribution. With the night now finally upon her, however, her nerves seemed to fray with each passing second. This was no standard music hall, after all.
Deciding that she would rather not be considered furniture, lest the weary should mistake her for a well-upholstered davenport, she floated through the crowd with unassuming poise. Mindful, she allowed the sounds of reserved revelry to wash over her, losing herself in its discordant rhythm. It allowed a certain isolation that could not be found in isolation itself, for though she drifted in this sea of life that refused to live, she felt as separate from it all as the sun was from the moon. Through the crowd she continued, stepping in time to its ebb and flow, subject to its perpetual will.
One two three, one two three, one two three...