Re: Edge of the dance floor; Grand Staircase
She acknowledged the tilt of his head with a smile that was beyond his range of vision, but it was there all the same. She did not stop him from reading, because there was no shame in the written words that covered her. The papers kept her together, and should they be torn away she was not sure that she would remain whole. The words were the strongest glue, and the some of the sheets of yellowing pages were so old that they likely hearkened back to her childhood. But she did not mind if he saw the words. Words, those did not embarrass her. If anything, they emboldened her, bolstered her, made her capable when she was not, not beneath their surface where the warm red pulsed.
The thing in her gaze when he said that he doubted the masses would approve of his methods was not cruelty. There was a dulled understanding in the eyes that stood out among the vibrant red. Things were as they were. Power was the only currency, and he clearly had it in spades. Hers were eyes that had not known kindness beyond the page, and that was no effect of the evening. She was bereft of that concern for others, yes, but he was wrong in one thing: she would have been as interested in a benevolent ruler, if he was unique, a character, someone worth reading about. Her litmus was not good or bad, because there was no true sense of that in her person.
"You already believe yourself to be everything," she said, uttering the simple truth with a knowing smile. "I cannot possibly make you think yourself more than you already do." She paused here, the hand on his shoulder sliding over to where shoulder met arm. "Or so you believe. I contend that there is always something to be gained from adoration, even if you think yourself the most adored thing to exist."
When his gaze dropped again, her smile was in plain view. "I wish to recall all nights worth recalling," she replied, and she paused there, as if she would allow him to decide what to make of it. But she spoke again a moment later, a touch of whimsy entering her voice. "Balls are always worth re-reading, your highness, especially if one's gown and slippers earn them a dance with a prince before the clock strikes midnight." Her free hand had found his hip, and she let it drop to the paper that lined her waist. "But this, this holds me together until I can find a better glue."