The air is warm, heavy, saturated with color scattered by sunlight and tangled in the crowd, dressed in brazen shades of crimson and scarlet, in crisp shadows of ebony. There is the steady murmur of voices, as the sound of slow waves, and the bright tinkling of glasses between bursts of gay laughter. Music wafts leisurely through the small spaces left between, the always elegant strings played quite well. Mephisto, of course, arranged for the music, his tastes in such are unparalleled - but it is Luce's party, whose else could it be? The space is filled with roses, grandiose bushes of them all around, lending their sultry perfumes. The blossoms are scattered over every surface, and so each step one takes is upon the silken petals. (This makes walking a slightly precarious process, but there is much more standing than walking, and certainly no-one need move in any hurry, so ample care will of course be taken.) The green of leaves and grass is scarcely to be seen, all is crimson and ivory and sable, the colors of roses and the shadows between their petals all-consuming. The men are dressed in dark tones, with tasteful touches of red and white; the women are nearly all in red, bold and daring, the tropical color inflaming them all with the undaunted flair of the flamenco, the tarantella. The shadows of jackets carefully cut, and hair just as equally coifed, are filled with the sultry promises of a summer's night; the highlights of scarlet skirts and incarnadine lips are suffused with the daring of a moment's surrender. All is bold shadow, saturated tones, intents made--- oh not brash, but confident, assured. No-one speaks in halting manner, no-one moves in hesitating gesture. We are a company of greatness, greatness kept apart from the ridiculous fluster of the world at large, a thing so beautiful and so powerful, that it should not bear even the glance of the uncouth masses. And those who are not of our company, but are allowed to visit among it, must of course be worthy creatures. Worthy of our interest, at least, certainly they should never be anything worthy of comparison with such as us! Nothing formed from dirt and aged exhalation should ever really account to much of anything, the very idea is quite laughable. But ah, there is amusement yet to be found in such strange creatures, made of earth yet reaching toward the heavens, a boundless thing caught up in mortal flesh...
        As we now find ourselves...
        "Meres!"
        Oh thank all that is beautiful for Veri. There are times his complaints grate on me, but oh, his interruptions can come at such blessed times.
        "Darling! Are you enjoying the wine? I especially recommended it to Luce, it is imported from some location so exotic I could scarcely get the trader to reveal its source to me, for fear I might tell some rival of his of the place."
        "Oh it is lovely of course," he answers distractedly, pushing his long hair back from his face. "But I am bothered by one of the cheeses, it is not at all agreeing with me."
        "You poor dear! You simply must lay down awhile, I know of an absolutely exquisite spot beneath the jasmine, there is a little nook with a cushioned divan and---"
        "No no no, jasmine only makes me feel worse, don't you remember?"
        I did remember - only last week it was the scent of lilies which turned his stomach. Strange, that after all this time spent in the mortal realm, we are still unaccustomed to its ever-changing trivialities. Our bodies have still not settled into constant form... but will they ever? To be in Time is to be always changing, perhaps our appetites and preferences will always alter in such rapid succession. I feel tired at the very thought. It is, of course, engaging, to have such novel experience from one day to the next, but--- "Of course, darling. I merely had thought of the divan. But we might always have it moved, shall I find a serving man for you?"
        He folds his long limbs into a nearby chair, sinking into it with a long-suffering sigh. "Do, please. I feel quite exhausted, perhaps it is the heat. My skin feels so dry..."
        I touch his cheek gently as I pass, and wander through the varied clusters of conversation. It is not long before I find one of Luce's attendants - they are discrete but omni-present, as servants should always be. The delicate young boys, who so often flit about fairy-like in the gardens, are not to be found today, for this afternoon is one of luxurious decorum. There are, instead, a number of young men, quite fine in their features yet sturdy in their limbs, the very embodiment of male strength and dominance, in the blushing flower of its first appearance in the limber forms. Ah, Luce! Your artistry and forethought are a constant delight to me.
        I approach one, and he instantly bows, with a grace of movement quite pleasing to the eye. "May I be of service, sir?" His voice perfectly suits the deep mahogany of his eyes, the ebony curls which slip mischeivously onto his strong brow. I like this one. Perhaps I shall find him again, at a later time...
        "The divan, near the trellises of jasmine? I should like it moved, to a shaded place... I think perhaps that little dell, with the birch trees, beside the pool. That would suit nicely."
        He bows again, his eyes turned graciously to the ground, then strides off, his paces long and measured, but retaining the easy grace of boyhood. My gaze lingers on him a moment, taking in the measure of his well-proportioned form. Yes, I do think I shall seek him out... but later.
        "Veri, dear, I have had the divan moved to that charming spot beneath the birches that you like so much. Shall we go there now, or would you like a few minutes to recover yourself?"
        He leans back in the chair, passing a hand over his pale brow. "Oh... I suppose I should like a few minutes. But do send one of the girls over to me, will you? I should like some company. But one of the quieter ones, if you please, I haven't the energy for a boisterous thing pawing at me."
        "Certainly, my dear. I do hope you feel better, it is such a lovely afternoon."
        He only sighs again in response, and I hide a smile as I turn away. This mood of his shall pass in moments, I am sure by the time I return with some pretty little thing he will have already changed his mind on what sort of company he desires. But no matter, I am in quite good spirits this afternoon and do not mind the... well I suppose it is hardly a distraction if I hadn't anything in progress to begin with. Oh but the serving boy! I ought to find him, once I have found someone for Veri.
        Oh but really, should I even bother? He will certainly have changed his mind, even by now. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to keep an eye open. So many of these women today are loud! The color of their dresses seems to have gone right to their heads, they are all flaunting and all flirting, fluttering long lashes and caressing with light, teasing touches. They know the afternoon is all for them, the roses, the most lush and beautiful of all flowers, ones never to be overlooked. And so they revel in the attention lavished upon then, drinking in the praises and admiring gazes of all beneath the golden sun, the flush of their cheeks reflecting the dresses, growing bolder with the continued attention, as well as from the warmth of the wine flowing through them.
        I find myself nearing the edge of the gathering, where the rounded area hedged by the tallest rose bushes opens for a brief space, allowing passage into a fairly open area of grass and small ornamental trees. There are only a handful standing there, in a small cluster by a plum tree, which is blossoming out of its usual season. (This is little surprise to me - I regularly have my gardeners produce such effects on my own grounds. The delicate flowers of fruit trees are far too lovely to have appear only once in a year.) The colors seem almost washed-out, after the flurry and over-saturated of the bold tones present in the rose garden. There are a few men standing about, talking intensely in low, private tones. And---
        And there is a girl. She can hardly be more than fourteen, she looks so young and innocent! It is little wonder she has come into this side garden, she would be sorely out of place among the rose coquettes. And she is the only one I have seen wearing white among all the party...
        Yet it suits her far better than the red ever could. Her form is slim and delicate, her hair a soft gold, as early sunlight. Ah, yes, it is morning that she embodies, instead of the glowing sunset the rest personify. She is pale and just awakening, fragile, delicate, as fresh dew scattered upon a rosebud - oh but a white rosebud, certainly not a red one. The dress has a much simpler silhouette than the others I have seen today, with hardly any real shaping to it. Lace upon lace, a warm, soft white, with bands of subtle ruffles to wrap gently around her small form, revealing the womanly shape which is only beginning to show.
        I catch a glimpse of her eyes, hiding shyly behind the long flaxen locks of her hair. The lashes are long, but cannot hide the stunning pale violet of the pupils. Periwinkle, they bring to mind. Yet something in them makes me tentative about drawing nearer---
        Oh what ridiculous fancy is this! She was invited by Luce, she is one of our sort, or will be soon. Whyever would I have qualms about speaking to her, or being seen by her? Should I send her to--- no, she is too delicate for Veri, he needs one who will nurse him, I think, not one to be shy, as this one looks to be. Dear Veri is delicate enough in himself, he needs another to balance that. Ah, my darling, I truly believe I know you better than you know yourself... and I suppose someone ought to look after you, if you have not the strength to do so yourself. I refuse to yield to the mockery of the others, it may very well be a completely frivolous and unhealthy unconscious clinging to a life I chose to leave but I will not be swayed by the opinions of others! I shall do as I like, and if I should choose to dote on you as a pet then I shall do so with no heed of what the others may say.
        It is not as if I am as weak as Mephisto. The way he lets his emotions be so overtaken by the slightest whims of whatever over-dramatic singer or actor he has chosen as consort for the week or the hour is quite ludicrous.