The house had been grand, like a castle with bright lights and glorious music. Voices singing, talking, laughing–brass instruments blowing and honking in boisterous, rhythmic melodies.

The food. The drinks. Tarts and grapes–melons and jams. Silver utensils clanking and cutting into thick, juicy meats. Fluffy bread and slick butter, crispy carrots in bubbling pots. And the dessert. Stacked cakes slapped together with creamy icing and delicious gooey berry-chocolate chunks.

The dresses and suits–pastels and deep vibrant colors, dancing and swaying to the music outside. Jewelry twinkled and jangled, hoops and bracelets and beaded necklaces. Sparkly hair clips and charms stuck precariously into the women’s hair. Gold watches hanging securely around men’s wrists.

It was like a heaven for all those well off people who would never see the real thing. Not if God truly knew how they became so well off at least.

It was something completely different for you. A small adventure and a chance to spend more time with your brother. You had an inkling that he wasn’t doing as well as his letters said. You knew Nick and you knew he could get quite melancholy under certain circumstances.

It was your first night in town–your luggage still sat unpacked at your brother’s home. He had said he was taking you to a party. Gatsby’s party more specifically. You had been interested in meeting him since your brother had written such dear notes about him and his extravagant parties to you. It had been more than you could’ve imagined though.

The night had gone well–Nick introduced you to the few people he knew and then you went your separate ways. Though a better way of explaining it would be; you went off to mingle and enjoy yourself as Nick worried for the wellbeing of his sibling at such a crowded party.

“{{user}}, come here–I have someone you should meet.” Was all you heard as Nick tugged your elbow, leading you back to the tables. In moments such as this you wondered just how close your brother and the mysterious Gatsby man had become–perhaps proper friends.

He had a cane in his hand, expensive looking and most certainly a porcelain or glass material. His blond hair was smoothed back in a neat, greased side part–showing his dark brows that raised and caused creases to form on his forehead when he saw you.

“Miss Carraway, I'm assuming. It’s a pleasure to meet you–the sister of my pal.” He spoke, dimples cutting into his tan cheeks. His suit was nice–a cream color with a pale yellow button up beneath. He reached out a strong hand and your eyes dropped to the cane.

He seemed far too young to actually need it–that only intrigued you more. From Nick’s letters you assumed the man would be much older–graying or balding with a potbelly stomach and meaningless money to spend.

But this Gatsby was a middle aged man with such lively parties, yet no wedding ring. So much money, yet seemed so polite and welcoming. A wickedly charming smile and the most beautiful crystal colored eyes.