She

She was the most beautiful creature anyone in that room could have ever laid their eyes on. A waist to die for, curved out like a perfect hour glass, with skin as porcelain as the dolls that came right out of a story book. Her hair was a flowing sea of auburn that reminded me of the leaves in fall. Her makeup was on point, and to the naked eye, done precisely by a professional.

That night she wore a very bewitching gown of gold sequins. As it fell upon her skin, it hugged every cranny that it possibly get in touch with on her. The sleeves were capped wit h tassels hanging from both sides. The dress opened at the bottom flowing outward to allow her legs room to walk.

The ballroom lights slowly came back up, but not at the full blast they had been as she made her entrance. She gracefully walked down the stairs into the room and I noticed something peculiar. For a woman who was known only to me as the “Countess,” and her obvious wealth, she was not surrounded by body guards.

I'm sure they were there, waiting in the rafters like something from Al Capone's era. I took a glance around and finally spotted them all, honing in on any would be fan boy or girl. They were all very difficult to spot, but as the night moved on, so did they, in very specific harmony with the crowd, making it a point not to be noticed.

We all waited in silence. A pin drop would have made that room explode with the intensity coming from every heart beat. Everyone wanted to hear her voice, just once, and we all strained our ears impatiently.

She stood in the middle of the steps and lifted her hand up, stretched out to her side, with a flick of her wrist, her hand was palm up and the music blasted from every corner of the room. Her red lips smiled as she watched the party-goers cheer in excitement, and the dancing resumed.

Three of her guards were instantly by her side at that point, assisting her down the rest of the stairs. They led her to a private table and held her chair for her.

I watched on, admiring them. They loved her. They would die for her. And it was written clearly on their faces that not one person would ever get near her without permission. Their adoration towards her was intense. Every few minutes, a new guard would pass by. She would give them a smile and a nod, and they would place their hands over their hearts and nod back.

Not one person in the entire gala tried to approach her. It was like everyone knew, don't touch the countess. Don't speak to the countess. Don't rush the countess. It was a peace that I had only known once in my life.

Suddenly, that peace was interrupted by a loud speaker.

“Ladies, split.”

The room parted like the waters of Moses. It was incredible. And she was coming down from her table into the center of the room. Surrounded by seven of her guards, they encircled her like a precious diamond at a museum. A microphone had been attached to her dress, and finally, after longing from every person in that room, she spoke.

“Thank you, everyone, for accepting my invitation. As you know, this gala is held once a year. I may or may not choose someone tonight, as is tradition.”

Choose? What?

Her silkened voice continued. “There are a few here that I have been watching. There is one signal, and should you avoid it, you will be disallowed. You will know what that signal is, if and when, it comes to you.”

Just like that, she returned to her table, and the guards disappeared.

“Oh my God! Isn't this exciting!” Sheila shouted, bursting through the crowd.

I turned my head for a moment to her. “What does she mean, choose?”

Before my lovely sister could answer, there was a tap on my shoulder. It was a guard. He smiled at me, looked me up and down, and pointed to her table.

I turned to the Countess' table, and walked over, quietly, in a trance. I don't know what came over me. It was like, I just, knew.

My sister stood behind, gaping. Her jaw had bounced a few times, I knew that. I had been “selected,” and I had no idea why.

As I slowly approached her table, I saw a small line of selected ones beginning to form. Grateful not to be the first in line, I stood back, watching how each one of them had approached her. A bow, a curtsy, never making eye contact.

Interesting.

There were half a dozen of us when I got into line. Three more joined the line, anxiously waiting their turn. No one spoke in line. The music blared in the background as everyone kept their eye on her table. They danced, they drank. They worked each other's bodies like a giant college orgie.

The silence was intensified by the music seeming to tune itself out in my head. Out of nowhere, I could hear the conversations clearly at the table, as if sitting in a lone diner with an old friend. I could hear the animosity from the Countess with each passing person. As she dismissed them, one by one, they screamed. They cried. The begged her to choose them. One of the ladies who had been selected got on her knees and crawled back to the Countess. Her makeup was spoiled, running down her face as she sobbed for forgiveness, although I was pretty sure I didn't think she had actually done anything wrong.

It was ambiguous.

And it was my turn. But I saw her hold up her hand to stop the procession of selected ones. She pulled one of her guards' ears to her, and whispered to him, looking at me while she did so.

As she stopped, I was grabbed out of the line and moved to the end, behind everyone. One of the three before me now was a lady, who sneered at me. “Serves you right,” she said to me, her tone scrutinizing.

No sooner than those words left her lips, she was pulled from the line and cast back into the crowd. Her selection was over.

Okay, I thought to myself, Don't be a dick. Got it and don't say a word.

The countess kept looking over at me as she spoke with each initiate. As she motioned them off, She watched me, her eyes keeping mine. She didn't gawk over me, look over my body. She certainly wasn't undressing me with her eyes.

Once again, it was my turn. I slowly walked up to the table, hands at my side. I quietly bowed my head, keeping my eye contact with her. I never let her eyes wander away, nor mine.

She smiled, broad and bright.

“Yes, Wyatt. I know you, and you are my chosen.”