She could still hear the slow, twisting strains of the violins, could still see the forever turning, turning, turning glory of a thousand blazing ball gowns and the softly, softly shuffle of four thousand dancing feet, four thousand near-silent scuffs multiplying, entwining, deafening.
But only in her dreams.
The band played on, as she woke into the harsh, grey dawn. The city stirred already, awakening with the early-morning metropolitan songs – the grumbling roar of garbage trucks, echoed in the droning of uncountable cars, taxi cabs, motorbikes, buses. The whistling shriek of the spider-web train lines, already transporting the anonymous masses, dragging the horde, there and back again.
Sighing, she collapsed back into the bed, allowing the soft mattress to embrace her.
Someday, her prince would come.
Until then it was better to just blend in.
Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers. Let me know what you think!