the Great Hall fell away. For a beat, there was only the dainty woman in red. Not red; crimson. Like his favorite coat. Like the ruby on his ring. Like the color of blood on its way to the heart. His mouth went dry despite the brandy. With her light hair, she was fire and ice. An evil genius had attached a gauzy, crimson cape to the back of her sleeves, the fabric so fine it gently lifted up around Lucie at every step, giving the impression that she was floating down the stairs on a breeze like a creature with wings. She was a phantom of delight, When first she gleam’d upon my sight A dancing
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