{ ball }
[color= #7a8297].·:¨༺ ༻¨:·.[/color]
[color= #7a8297]“What a sh^thole,”[/color] he mused silently, entering the lavish room. It glittered with ostentatious displays of gold and breathtaking embellishments, meticulously crafted to distract everyone from the sickening, hounded truth looming over the school.
The boy was missing… and they were partying in full swing, indulging themselves in alcohol that was smuggled in their underpants. But they were dressed beautifully, those w^nkers… parading like adorned marionettes, devoid of genuine empathy, which was replaced by burnt straw shavings inside them.
But so did Floriano… like all those people, he came here. And like all those people, he was dressed in his costume. What a hypocrite, he rebuked himself in his mind. Eventually, however, he inferred that he had it all shoved deep where the sun didn’t shine. He breathed quietly, feeling the malaise overwhelming his being. Ah, the cleansing power of having everything up one’s a^se. Sensational.
He was late. Not because he was planning to make a grand entrance in the style of the mysterious bumbler who considered his biggest dark secret to be that he once sucked his sister’s hamster up with a vacuum. He was late… because it just happened. He was too busy not looking at his watch. He had no intention of enduring the monotonous sermon of the headmaster. His presence, or lack thereof, would scarcely register amidst the sea of inflated egos that were supposed to be his ‘new schoolmates.’ After weighing the two options… to come or not to come… his choice was obvious, to say the least.
Thus, he turned up fashionably late after the bash had already started.
The room swirled with a kaleidoscope of opulence as a throng of extravagantly attired guests cascaded in akin to shimmering, slowly spreading lava. Floriano, amidst this sea of masks and masked intentions, tried to stay in the shadows. He was also wearing a mask, a necessity dictated by regulation rather than choice. It would be foolish to get into trouble over such a triviality - that was, not wearing a mask at all. Even so, his mask was unlike the customary Venetian style. The one under which he hid his features covered his entire face, not only his eyes and nose.
Floriano’s mask, an embodiment of discord, was split down the middle, one half as dark as midnight, the other gleaming like moonlit silver. The metallic side emitted a soft glow amidst the shimmering dance of light. Floriano scolded himself internally for choosing such a mask. Instead of shrouding his identity, his half-silver mask only attracted people’s attention to him.
It seemed as though the two halves engaged in a silent struggle, the silver’s luminosity attempting to mask the depths of the other side’s blackness.
Unfazed by his less-than-impeccable attire, Floriano’s focus remained elsewhere, but others could not turn a blind eye to the clear signs of neglect. His jacket was under-ironed, and his trousers, pooling at his feet, covered his once-shiny black shoes. With a haphazard tug, he adjusted his turtleneck, covering even more of his neck.
Finally, after making his way through the maze of dresses and suits, he found respite at a secluded table nestled in the shadows at the rear of the hall. He positioned himself strategically, angling his mask so that the silver side’s glow was concealed within the shadows, while the black side was exposed to confront the onslaught of light. It was a small win against the hall’s brightness, as the dark hue absorbed rather than reflected the intrusive beams.
As he settled into his seat, he allowed his body to relax, the vents of his suit jacket melding seamlessly with the back of the chair, draping the boy in a cloak of anonymity amidst the dazzling ball.
Despite being physically present, Floriano felt detached, a mere observer of the spectacle unfolding around him. It was as if he wasn’t really there, and only his corporeal form was now sitting at the table, sweeping its bored gaze over the tangible guests. However, his ethereal essence lingered elsewhere.
With a sigh, he shut his eyes, silently counting the hourly seconds, yearning for a merciful end to this pathetic farce. Each moment stretched agonizingly as he awaited a perfect opportunity to retreat to his sanctuary. There, accompanied by his skilled hand hidden in the abyss of the duvet, he would finally feel something for at least a brief, fleeting moment.
[color= #7a8297].·:¨༺ ༻¨:·.[/color]
{ approachable }
""
look at this stuff
doesn’t it s^ck
wouldn’t you think my post’s complete?
wouldn’t you think I’m the girl
the girl who knows how to write?