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[img]http://i.imgur.com/mz17ktB.jpg[/img]---[color=2e2c2c]don'tlook[/color][img]http://i.imgur.com/yHuAN4S.jpg[/img]Sun Room[color=2e2c2c]don'tlook[/color][img]http://i.imgur.com/zGdA6NL.jpg[/img]--- [img]http://i.imgur.com/XSpF7YZ.jpg[/img][/center]
Franceska seethed at the proceedings, her impatience swelling with every called name that wasn’t hers. Long waits were an annoyance that an esteemed Vrodiskovich rarely had the displeasure of dealing with. Any peasant worth their salt would know not to keep someone of her status waiting. 

And yet…

The scion rubbed the material of her silk gloves between her fingers; partly to pass the time, partly out of displeased trepidation. Had she known that the ceremony would be preceded by a history lecture as pointless as croutons in bouillabaisse, she would have passed this pathetic farce in favor of another fencing lesson.

She brought her gaze down to her gloves. So she was to [i]make physical contact[/i] with the undoubtedly disappointing second-string that was to be her partner for the next year, then ‘accept’ the other into her soul. Franceska shuddered. As if any plebeian in this hall had the right to even breathe the same air as a Vrodiskovich, much less receive the prestige that was to be her constant presence in their life.

Had her father been present, that deranged oaf Loyola wouldn’t have dared kept Franceska waiting so long. But he wasn’t and she could do nothing but glare furiously at the proceedings. So she waited.