Dancing to a Tune in Her Head, Dreaming of Things Undone

Illisandria walked into the ballroom and spun around, admiring the architecture. She hummed a small tune that had been dancing around in her head for quite some time and began to spin and twirl, swaying this way and that. Soon she began to sway to some inaudible orchestra and began moving her hands as she spun, keeping time to a 3/4 beat. She leapt this way and that and pranced, toes pointed and her curves in check. She could feel the spotlight on her, her ball-gown glittering in the ambience of the chandelier, that is, were it visible. Or real.

She could almost feel the gaze of envious students watching her, wishing they were her, knowing that the prom queen was more elegant and beautiful than any of the other girls. She could hear the muttered insults of the female population who were so mad that her dress, her hair, her entire being was radiating beauty. The orchestra swelled as she spun and spun and spun again, catching the butterflies in her stomach and setting them free into the air around her. "Be free...," she whispered, "Be so free...unlike me..."

Suddenly the reality hit her like a ton of bricks. This was not her senior prom; this was not a high school she never went to; this was not real. The song, the crowds, the dress, her--it was all in her head. She slumped down against one of the bannisters and sighed deeply, head in her hands. Them she got up and walked over to the drink bar and perused the selection. Picking up a small glass of chardonnay, she walked over to the door leading to the terrace and stepped outside, sipping her wine. She hung her arms over the balcony and stared at the beautiful, star-filled Scotland skies. She sighed again and deemed it a worthy time to drown her sorrows in wine. She finished her glass and set it on the balcony, "Well damn...I am so messed up..."