The elegant tiered gown of watered silk taffeta in a deep wine color with an empire waistline called to mind the fashions of Erte's art deco fashion plates. A dull golden, telkari ring on her right hand highlighted how very petite her hands were, far to small to wield the weapons of her trade. The delicate gyre was authentic and in no way costume jewelry work. The bold letter "C" in its center was undeniably forged by intaglio and insinuated a precious signet of European aristocracy. A bun of midnight colored hair contained half of the wild mane, permitting gentle curls to lick at the slender of her pale neck in a divine yet imperfect coif. The rise of her chin and the slight arch of her shoulders as she presented herself attested some amount of noblesse that further confirmed the origin of the ring that she brandished.
However, it is her eyes that implore you notice. Those endless orbs unintentionally displayed a wealth of lore within. Foremost, they are as deep as the abyssal pools held in the bosom of the Duat. An inferno lay in hibernation just beneath the reflective surface. Still, inferior to the sleeping fires of her soul lays a ponderous amount of morose sadness.
Leisurely she continued her stroll amongst the divinely dressed with her company on her arm. Dr. Miller had graciously placed a goblet of fine crystal in her hand. Effervescent bubbles popped and fizzled at the mouth of the glass filled with champagne from the house of Henriot. Nineteen ninety five if her seasoned pallet was correct.
Her attention wandered from face to face until a single set of eyes held her gaze. It was the face of a confident man. Confidence that did not come from the dapper suit that hung perfectly from his heavy frame nor the crisp tie that circled his neck. From his eyes and eyes alone he carried confidence.
Selene had been provided warning about the man who now stood at her side, though she could not convince her ego of the danger. The symmetrical prose of her heart beat would make Béla Bartók seethe with envy. Casting a willful glance at the doctor who carried her arm that pale hand adorned with the jewelry of old patted his hand. “If you will excuse me, Doctor.”
Though there was no warning in her words her forceful eyes projected all he would need to know. With a kiss place softly on each of her cheeks Dr. Miller excused himself wandering off into the gathering of wealthy Los Angelino’s. His booming laugh and regal tone picking right back up as he was immediately engaged in conversation.
Still holding the flute with a touch one might use to hold a butterflies wing her lips parted to imbibe the bubbling liquid. “Good evening.” Turning to meet the eyes of the dapper dressed man a cascade of black curls fell from her shoulders down her bare back. A talented quartet of stringed instruments filled the botanical gardens with music that stirred the soul and elevated the senses. Romance, anger, peace, all blended together in one harmonious cry of music. Not with out manners she gave a slight nod of her head, “Thank you.”
A waiter breezed past with a silver tray of champagne filled flutes. Reaching out she retrieved one for him. “Tell me, what do you think of Mr. Sekula’s Herkules?”