“Why the hell should I?!”

The shout rang out in the resplendent ballroom, cutting harshly through the chamber music and quiet, polite conversations that were had been going on, disrupting both, bringing musicians and conversationalists alike to a discordant, awkward silence.

Prime Minister Lewis, his beautiful and well spoken wife at his side, winced at the sound of the voice and, asking to be excused from the lively banter that had been gracing their small group moments before, turned to stare across the hall, his mouth set in a strained grimace of a smile, his wife petting his arm, do her best to keep him calm.

The regally dressed attendees were men and women of high authority and class, the aristocracy of their day, and this was the grandest social gathering of the year. Many a political deal was being struck in these polite, quiet conversations between peers, many a political alliance being brokered between families, often with young couples bartered as marriage partners for collateral. Really, anyone who attended this soirée without a life partner was almost certainly on display for that exact purpose, a lure for those with useful connections and services, alliances of blood far outweighing contracts and legal guarantees amongst the elite.

Indeed, the more powerful and connected the partner and their family, the more in demand taking such a hand in matrimony would be—and none should be more in demand that the family of Lewis, both as the host of this prestigious ball and as the longstanding Prime Minister of their state.

But not so when it came to his sister, “Though I might have to work harder in seeking a husband for her; She could certainly use some mellowing out and a firm hand to encourage her to be less…bombastic, he supposed was the polite term.” That said, he could little more see his baby sister with a mild personality than he could a imagine running into a wolverine in the mood for cuddling!

Quick brainstorm: What would cause a debutante to be unwilling? What qualities or experiences do they anticipate that make them shirk from what is meant to be a coming-of-age ritual of great import?

• Affectations of rank and file
• ~Bad food (or great food, perhaps)~
• Undue or unwanted attention
• Uncomfortable clothing
• Family expectations; failure of such
• A desire to remain a child (out of love of fun or dislike of adulthood)
• Social anxiety/introversion/misanthropy
• Some weakness that will be revealed by attending
• Bad at a core event/skill
• Distain towards the monarchy/court/their family

---

“I would rather eat puce-colored rutabagas, find them putrid, and toss my guts for the next fortnight than attend to this drivel!”

His father sighed, but simply shook his head and continued to walk before him along the grandly-furnished hallway and, protest though he might, the boy continued to follow him closely.

Plush woven rugs and finely wrought scrollwork made of exotic textiles and woods ensured that the eyes of those marching their way on through would never lack for interest to rest upon—even if one’s gaze intentionally avoided the glassy stares of the numerous vibrant paintings and prominent busts that lined the corridor, as did the boy’s with remarkable dexterity and fortitude.

“Father, it was you who has regaled our family with endless stories detailing just how drab these affairs are, how the only redeeming quality is being able to observe just how vastly ‘these young dandies muck up their introductions’! For what earthly reason must I subject myself to scrutiny and ridicule…”

His father’s voice was stead and unperturbed. “For the same reasons that each of those children stepped forward and met their fates, as you are now; to show one’s metal, to honor Queen and family. To be a man, son—and a man is what I know you to be.” Kenan’s pride stirred to life, overcoming his ire for a moment. Then, his father continued. “Whether any will see that man this day…” He trailed off uncertainly and Kenan’s jaw set.

“We will see indeed, Father.” His thoughts were accompanied by a kind of grim satisfaction. He was ready for this, but doubted that the court would feel the same once he was able to get things started. “You, and the rest of the court, will all see!”

I heard laughter. Laughter, in response to that dry, monotonous anecdote? I was aghast!

My eyes focused in on our interrupted speaker, the department VP, and I did a double-take. Turning, I scanned the individuals around me, staunch old faculty and dyed-in-the-wool buy-ins mostly, and those few young, abitious individuals who, like myself, were trying to get ahead by seeking out more face time with the boss, even when bored to tears; they weren’t bored right now. They were all looking, staring, at me, gaping like they had collectively swallowed a live codfish.

‘…that laugh wasn’t me…was it?!’

I hadn’t felt like laughing, hadn’t planned to react in any way but with an appropriate somber nod. I knew the gravity of this occasion, knew that VP Steve Erwin was trying to inspire and inform, not entertain. Nothing within me should have lead to this outcome—yet the echoed shrieks of joyful, unrestrained laughter still hung in the air!

I hurried to put on a contrite face, to apologize for my lack of restraint, my failure of decorum—only to feel my mouth twist upward into a huge, shit-eating grin!

‘What the hell is going on?!!’

All I was feeling was embarrassment and fear. The emotions I wanted to convey were chagrin and regret. Instead, my face chose happy, even proud and defiant?! I reached up to feel my mouth, nonplused at the unexplainable expression I felt there—my feelings and intentions be damned.

…then the peals of laughter started once again. And I couldn’t stop them.

‘?!?!?!??!??!!!’

I felt confusion, horror, fear—yet my face would show nothing but abject glee!

As I wreeled about, taking racking breaths between shrieks of seemingly hysterical joy, my gaze caught on a young man in the corner, a new hire whose name escaped me. Unlike the others around me, whose shocked looks were rapidly morphing into those of discomfort or, in the case of my manager, Harold, concern, he was staring with an oddly intense, evaluating gaze.

He was fiddling with something in his hands, invisible behind the person sitting before him, but never once looked down. His gaze, fixed on me, felt predatory, threatening in a way that even with almost ten year in this cutthroat business seemed novel—like a cat observing the mouse held between it’s unsheathed claws.

The laughter ramped up; my face was hurting from how much the smile muscles were straining; I just couldn’t get enough breath. Even as the blackness began to close in around my vision, the young man continued to hold my gaze with his own. Slowly, his mouth twisted into a smirk and he mouthed something at me, something I was too foggy minded to even attempt to get.

That predatory smile, teeth bared and shining, was the last thing I saw before the darkness overtook me.

Oh cloudy day, oh starless night When lights are off and all is quiet The power’s off, the chores all through And words have left my thoughts to brew

My senses inward turn, to me My thoughts they wander aimlessly My weary soul has space to breath My heart can slumber in reprieve

Peace, peace, my toils cease I’ve energy to seek release My past examined, fears unbound A chance to build on solid ground!

These fleeting moments, rarely grasped They touch upon a Truth so vast It fills me with a guiding Light To lead me through the darkest night

So why, when daily toils are done And night arrives, am I the one Who without fail will choose to fill That precious, Holy void and will

Instead choose false, un-lasting hope Distraction with out earthly scope To fill the endless void within Avoid the wrestling, choose the sin

The void is Holy, the cause is just The darkness drawing us to trust Not in a path or being unknown Not in our strength which ebbs and flow

But in the Truth we’ve tested, tried With sinful hearts we’ve opened wide To shine the Light upon our souls Then find “I’m worth far more than gold!”