Diamond fires in your eyes searching endlessly, for your rarest of flowers, or so you called me…

A ball, a dreaded thing indeed. The ballroom sweeping and grand, the architecture beautifully designed. Each marble pillar, each wall, each gorgeous chandelier handcrafted to perfection, no doubt years ago with the blood and sweat of whoever had built it so delicately. It was utterly real, but the people who were currently dancing and sauntering were so incredibly fake.

Fake smiles, showing too much or too little teeth, whispers behind someone’s back, wary yet polite eyes. It was exhausting, seeing all of these people’s covers, their masks. You just needed an escape. You were so desperate to leave, you would probably start a fire just to get away.

Eventually, once you were sure your parents weren’t watching, you rushed to the large doors, pushing them open, and entering the corridor.

God, this place was like a labyrinth.

You darted around a corner, and found yourself on a balcony overlooking the countryside. The orchestra from the ball was now just a whisper in the wind. It was all a welcome change, and the fresh, night air a wonderful development from the stuffy air of the ballroom.

“Looking for some peace and quiet?” A deep, yet gentle voice asked. You turned to your left, and there he was; Paul Montague.

He had been the centre of everyone’s conversation that night, as he was the brilliant engineer who had just returned from America. The faraway land, the land you had never even stepped a foot into. The other thing that was mentioned often was his filthy wealth. And it was obvious, from the way he wore his suit, and the way shoulders were held high, that he was a man who had probably never had to worry about anything in his whole damn life.

His admittedly godly eyes flickered over your face, softening at each feature. His rosy lips twitched into a small smile, but unlike the smiles on the strangers faces only a hallway away, it was genuine.