At his compliment Lucille’s smile brightened into genuine happiness. “Thank you.” She murmured, feeling her cheeks turn ever so slightly warm. She glanced down at the glass in her hand and took a sip.

“They’re not very kind, are they?” Lucy, who had always seen the best in people, had been seriously shaken by her recent meeting with Miss Zabini. She looked around the room with a thoughtful frown, as if this were the first time she was admitting it to herself. Most of society, their society was like Miss Zabini and her father. Even Lucy’s father, whom she had never met, had been rumored to be that way. Much like her deceased uncle. High society looked at where you came from and who you tied yourself, not who you were, or what your dreams were. Mr. MacMillian’s engagment had hammered this in. Once upon a time she had dreamed of seeing him in ballrooms, waiting for her prince charming. He too had faded like a memory not often thought on, or fae dances when the morning dawned.