She drew attention to herself, for once.
Elsie considered herself a shy, timid sort of witch. Undue attention more often than not made her uncomfortable, and being in the centre of attention usually led her to act or feel, or both, foolish.
Though of all occasions for all institutions, she should have avoided this one at all costs, she didn't care. Tonight, the stares and whispers—and given those who might remember her time at St Mungo's, there well may have been—did not faze her. In
siren red, Elsie slunk across the room and relished the feel of the smooth fabric. Borrowed or not, the red silk fell no less lovingly on her figure. Once, she caught the eye of an appreciative wizard whose gaze swept her from alluringly coiffed head to painstakingly painted toes.
No blush bloomed across her cheek, as Elsie merely inclined her head in a cool acknowledgment of his notice and moved on without a second glance. She was, after all, on a mission.
Her destination lay not far ahead, strewn with colourful bottles and smoke. The throng seemed to part for her like the seas, and without having to do much at all, Elsie soon sipped from a glass filled with something as vivid in color as her dress. She took a seat on a stool recently vacated (hurriedly vacated, for her express use), and waited.
(Read comments)
Post a comment in response:
scribbld is part of the horse.13 network
Design by Jimmy B.
Logo created by 
hitsuzen.
Scribbld System Status
