Grand Staircase
This should have been the last place he would ever want to be, and indeed it had been until he caught sight of himself in a nearby shiny surface. At first he'd thought it was a trick, some sort of cruel farce, but each reflection was the same, and he saw their truth mirrored in the eyes of the other attendees whose looks lingered as their eyes fell upon him. They wanted him, wanted to be him, and how this had become reality in the first place no longer mattered. He drifted through the foyer, muscles rippling beneath smooth, unblemished skin, jewels that would make the wealthiest king salivate with want glinting round his throat and on each curved finger. To call him handsome would be an insult, for he was far more. He was god-like, gleaming and beautiful beneath the lights, covered only by a pair of loose-flowing pants. His hair seemed to be made of gold itself, spun delicately into soft curls, and while a silk blindfold shrouded his eyes it did not seem to effect his own vision in the slightest. His stride was confident, sure, as he brushed past women and men alike and cut a path to the steps of the lavish grand staircase.
Tonight he was the sort of man who could dance without a thought for how he might look, and he stole dancers away from their partners with no hint of apology for interfering. Whoever he had been, whoever he was beyond the doors he'd entered through, was a gladly discarded memory. This was who he was now, as it should be. The man smiled, his laughter like music in the air, and he spun as though he moved on air, lithe and free. At some point he paused on a stair to catch his breath, leaning against the bannister to look upon those below, the flickering candles casting shapes and lines on his skin as he stretched.