The Tigress

Standing in that hall, are two men in clothes of the fanciest sorts across the oceans and lands, speaking to one another, but not really talking, just arranging words, adding ones that are deemed unnecessary, not for a definite purpose, but rather, just to distinguish themselves, their status, and their names from the rest of the folk.

Standing in that hall is a woman, proud as can be, proud as a deity, for that hall, is her territory, and everything within it belongs to her.

But proud as she is, she neither sat on a throne, nor did she stare at the gods above, her sharp eyes met her other guest, who also happened to be a woman of a title, and naturally, the hall of Eleanor Thornwood’s mansion was divided into groups of nobles, sustained by their everlasting manners, that is the mask of nobility.

“I heard she’s so close to her majesty, she even was granted the title of a countess,” whispered one of the men, not mindful of who may hear him. To be one of the nobilities in England at Victoria’s age, one must feel like god’s angel, whose words are the messages of God. One must thoroughly believe that whatever they speak is absolute, and when it is not, they make sure it becomes.

“All due respect Viscount, but no one in the continent hasn’t heard so… Eleanor Thornwood, only the Lord himself knows what makes the queen interested in her.”

“Lords and Ladies,” speaks Eleanor with a strong voice, better words could serve, but it was undeniably strong… that matters, her voice wasn’t that of a man, it was a strong woman’s voice, it could set the souls of losing armies ablaze, but it could also send an unprepared man’s imagination in a long journey.

One he would awaken from only to meet the two blue pearls set in her face, and the dark hair, dark enough to stand out, but also light enough to reflect the lighting of her surroundings, adding an extra layer to her beauty, one that a painter would only add for exaggeration.

“O’ wonderful company, I have gathered you here today to celebrate the grace of her majesty, I invite you on her behalf to enjoy this night as much as you wish.”

And like that, the ball has begun.
Everyone knows each other in the noble society, all the faces are familiar, and intruders are easy to notice. As if that has not already been the case, one stranger stood out in one of the corners of the giant hall. He wore a brown cheap leather coat, and put a matching hat on his face, and sat on a chair, his silhouette loose as that of a dead body. “Is he… dead? Asleep!?” they did not need to see his face to confirm he should not be here.

To keep their manners, the nobles ignored him like one would ignore a silly child, no, a harmless wild animal, but as it kept going, their patience was falling short. Shortly after, Baron Percival Greystone, an old man, with a physique like that of a goblin –a short and hard posture, stepped on the sleeping man’s leg, it might have seemed like a mistake to no one, but it was called a mistake, again, because it is only right for it to be that way, besides, they all grew annoyed by the presence of a commoner lacking any sign of manners in such a place.
Now that the Baron Tripped on the young man’s foot, he found himself an excuse to wake him up, and the method, although it should ideally be an elegant one, there was no precise restriction, and the Baron having already lost his temper, decided to take the matter into his own hands, and took his black cane ready for a swing, luckily, he felt a hand on his shoulder, turning out, he saw none but Eleanor’s face, charming as ever.

“Baron Greystone, I can see you are well as ever. No signs of slowing you down, are there?”

Catching the irony in her speech, he answered “No, there isn’t –or so did I think Lady, until this unusual guest of yours almost made me fall over.”

“Oh my, I couldn’t allow that,” she switched her gaze to the sleeping man, and the charming Eleanor suddenly disappeared from her face, replaced by a deeply thoughtful one, she walked a handful of steps towards the man, kneeled, her breath hot in his ears, and said “Theo, wake up.”

And just like that, the man straightened in the seat, not startled or surprised like someone who has been awakened from a deep sleep, he was… indifferent.

Eleanor stood back up in an almost acrobatic movement, wearing her charm once more and introduced her guest, “my apologies dear company, this is Theodore Wycliffe, a commoner, a professor of mathematics and my friend.”

Theodore stood up awkwardly, “my name is Theodore Wycliffe, as Lady Thornwood just illustrated, I’ll join you tonight occupying the humble status of her friend.”

Both almost laughed at the word “humble.”