The hall was brightly lit.
Crystal chandeliers hung high above,
layer upon layer descending.
Every facet reflected the light.
The light fractured,
falling onto the floor,
onto people's shoulders and fabrics,
breaking into countless tiny glimmers.
The air carried a slight warmth.
Not hot,
but warmer than outside.
Footsteps were absorbed by the thick carpet.
Only faint friction remained.
Occasionally,
a crisp clink of glass against glass.
Very brief.
Quickly gone.
People were scattered throughout the hall.
Some stood.
Some sat.
Some moved slowly.
Voices were kept low,
but numerous.
Layered together,
like a continuous undertone.
Elena stood to one side.
She wore a dress.
The fabric was soft,
fitting closely to her body.
Light slid across it,
following the folds.
Over it, she wore a coat.
The fabric was thicker,
draped over her back,
concealing her outline.
Her posture was steady.
Her hands rested lightly at her sides.
No extra movement.
Her gaze did not linger on anyone.
She simply looked ahead,
unfocused.
Only rarely did she come to places like this.
The air smelled different
from where she usually stayed.
Heavier.
Perfume.
Alcohol.
Fabric.
Metal.
Mixed together.
Her breathing was shallow.
Slow.
As if deliberately controlled.
Not far away,
someone glanced at her,
then looked away,
speaking in a low voice.
The sound was suppressed,
but not completely hidden.
"How did she get in with the upper ranks?"
The voice was soft,
carrying a hint of amusement.
The person beside him tilted his head slightly,
glancing at Elena,
a faint curl at the corner of his lips.
"Isn't it obvious?"
His voice was lower,
but clearer.
"It's that pretty face of hers."
Someone else gently swirled a glass.
The liquid shifted inside,
reflecting the light.
"I heard…"
The voice paused,
as if checking whether anyone was listening.
Then continued.
"She often strips completely for them to look at."
This sentence wasn't lowered.
It was even slightly louder than before.
As if it didn't matter whether it was heard.
The air did not change because of it.
The flow of sound continued.
Uninterrupted.
Elena stood there.
She did not turn.
Her shoulders did not move.
Her breathing did not visibly change.
Only her eyes blinked once,
slightly slower than usual.
A woman stepped out from the crowd.
Her pace was not fast.
Her heels touched the ground
with soft, rhythmic sounds.
Her gaze faced forward.
No avoidance.
No hesitation.
The distance closed.
Elena remained where she was.
Unmoving.
The woman approached,
shifted her body slightly—
and collided with her directly.
The force was not strong,
but the direction was deliberate.
Elena lost her balance.
Her step moved back.
She didn't steady herself.
Her knees touched the ground first.
The carpet was soft,
but the impact still existed.
Her hand instinctively reached forward to support herself.
Her fingertips touched the floor.
Fabric brushed lightly.
The sound was almost inaudible.
The woman's hand did not stop.
She grabbed the coat on Elena's back
and pulled.
Quick.
The fabric was yanked away,
slipping off her shoulders,
falling to the ground.
In that instant—
her back was fully exposed.
White wings unfolded.
Layered feathers.
Clear edges.
Light fell upon them,
reflecting a soft glow.
The hall fell silent for a moment.
Then sound returned.
Not conversation—
laughter.
Someone let out a soft laugh.
Very short.
Then more voices followed.
Unhidden.
Unrestrained.
As if something had been confirmed.
Gazes gathered.
From every direction.
Like observation.
Like spectacle.
Like looking at something that did not belong here.
Elena knelt there.
Her body did not move immediately.
Her hands still pressed against the ground.
Her fingertips tensed slightly,
but she did not rise.
The sounds in her ears began to change.
First distant.
Then faint.
As if covered by a thick cloth.
All sound was muffled,
reduced to vague vibrations.
Her breathing slowed.
Her chest movement became minimal.
This happened often.
She did not lift her head.
Her gaze remained on the ground.
The light there dimmed.
Edges blurred.
Colors drained away,
turning gray.
No contrast.
No depth.
Time stretched.
Each second felt endless.
At that moment—
a voice pierced through the blur.
Clear.
Direct.
"Miss Elena!"
Not loud,
but not suppressed.
Her shoulder moved slightly.
In the next instant,
a hand entered the edge of her vision.
Wearing a white glove.
Clean.
Without wrinkles.
The fingers were steady.
No tremor.
That hand grasped her wrist.
The grip was not strong,
but firm.
Her body was lifted.
Not a sudden pull—
more like being supported by something unseen.
Her center of gravity returned to her feet.
She stood.
Smoothly.
Without pause.
The surrounding sounds rushed back,
though not completely.
Still slightly distant.
"May I have this dance?"
The voice was low,
carrying a trace of warmth.
No pressure.
No command.
Just direct.
It reached her ears.
She looked up.
In that moment,
the gray fractured.
Light returned.
She saw him.
A young man in military uniform.
His clothing was precise.
Clean lines.
The shoulder insignia reflected faintly under the light.
His posture was steady.
His gaze fixed on her.
No deviation.
Handsome.
Sharp features.
No unnecessary expression.
She did not respond immediately.
Her breathing paused for a moment.
Before she could form words—
music began.
From the other side of the hall.
Slow.
Clear.
As if it had always been prepared.
His hand was already raised,
waiting in front of her.
At the perfect height.
Her hand was guided upward,
resting in his.
At the moment of contact,
her fingertips were slightly cold.
The glove was smooth.
His other hand settled at her back.
Precise.
No misplacement.
She was led.
Her steps began to move.
First step.
Landing cleanly.
Second step.
A turn.
Fabric swayed lightly with the motion.
Her vision shifted.
Light entered from different angles.
Reflected.
Moved.
The hall rotated in her eyes.
The crowd blurred into the background.
Only light remained.
The rhythm was steady.
Her breathing began to match it.
Her chest movement returned.
The suppression from before
slowly dissipated.
Her fingers were no longer stiff.
They rested lightly.
Her movements became natural.
This was the first time
someone had invited her to dance.
Not arranged.
Not procedural.
Just an invitation.
Her steps began to respond.
Not just follow.
Turn.
Pause.
Advance again.
Each movement connected smoothly.
No interruption.
Light appeared in her eyes.
As if it was lit from within.
No longer gray.
With each step,
it spread.
Becoming bright.
Her breathing shifted slightly.
Lighter.
But smoother.
The corner of her lips moved faintly.
A small motion.
But real.
Halfway through the dance—
her back moved subtly.
Muscles tightened,
then released.
Her white wings unfolded.
Feathers spread,
layer upon layer.
Under the light,
they became more defined.
The air stirred slightly.
At that moment—
the hall fell silent again.
Not suppressed.
But halted.
In others' eyes,
a young man in uniform
and a girl with unfolded wings
stood in the light.
Like two entirely different beings.
Reaper and angel.
The image froze.
But in their own perception,
there were no such labels.
Only movement.
Rhythm.
Breathing.
Like a hero and a beauty.
No extra definition.
No one spoke.
All eyes were fixed on them.
Unmoving.
The dance continued.
Turn.
Approach.
Separate again.
The rhythm remained steady.
No mistakes.
Until the music ended.
The final note fell.
Their movements stopped at the same moment.
Perfectly aligned.
The hall did not immediately regain its noise.
Silence lingered.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
As if they had not yet stepped out of that moment.
"Applaud this young couple!"
A voice came from somewhere,
carrying a hint of laughter.
The next second—
applause erupted.
At first sparse.
Then rapidly spreading.
From one side to another.
Until the entire hall was filled.
The sound echoed.
Unbroken.
Young men and women approached first.
Their steps quickened.
Some drew closer.
Their gazes had changed.
Some admired Iosef.
They stood nearer.
Posture straight.
Eyes steady.
Some had been saved
by Elena's healing ability.
When they looked at her,
their gaze lingered longer.
Their breathing shifted slightly.
Someone reached out a hand—
then stopped.
Not truly touching.
The crowd kept shifting.
Some watched for a while,
then turned away.
Their steps were not fast.
They did not look back.
Some remained where they were.
Not approaching.
Only watching from afar.
As if confirming something.
Or comparing.
The hall regained its sound.
But the rhythm had changed.
The lights were the same.
The air was the same.
But that moment just now—
was not completely erased.
It lingered somewhere.
Unfaded.