The footsteps of a hundred dancing elven partners swirl around the room. The music swells with them as they seem to float. I watch the hall, awaiting the perfect moment to join into the fray. To make an impression in the Elven court, one must stand out.

The music softens, the rhythm of feet stop as they prepare to swap partners. I step out, my sliver foot lands so gracefully upon the marble floor.

But all eyes stare at her, a dazzling center of attention. Like a vase covered in mirrors. She steps out barely faster then I. Her gold laden foot steps out onto the ballroom floor and a hush falls upon the room. Her somber expression so vividly plastered upon her face, I swear I could see her pink lips twitch into a smile.

Blonde hair so bright it could be white wraps around her golden long ears and falls down past her feet. Her opalescent eyes like tears in starlight, haunting.

She floats down into the center, her golden dress blows behind like the wing itself.

Elvren, I swallow that name like bile down my throat. Oh how perfect she is, with her far too symmetrical face, her short fingers and too long ears. Perhaps her father was an orc.

Half the elven men approach her, wishing for the first dance. They each kiss her hand.

I turn and walk silently towards the back once more, where all the young elves wait patiently for their turn. I will have to wait again, for a chance when she and her nymph like face are not there.