The doors to the ballroom swung open with quiet ceremony, revealing a room that seemed to exist outside of time. It was breathtaking.
The ballroom stretched upward through two full stories, transforming what could have been a grand reception hall into something befitting an old European château. Three immense crystal chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, their warm golden light cascading across polished parquet floors until the room seemed to glow from within. Rich burgundy draperies framed towering windows, while gilded moldings climbed cream-colored walls in elegant flourishes. Every detail seemed devoted to preserving another era. Someone had decorated the room as though the Roaring Twenties had simply continued uninterrupted, leaving no room for modern sensibilities to intrude.
Encircling the ballroom was a second-floor gallery that overlooked the dance floor from all four sides. Ornate wrought-iron railings ran the entire perimeter, allowing guests above to observe everything unfolding below without ever joining the crowd. At either end of the room, graceful spiral staircases curled upward to the gallery, their dark wooden steps worn smooth by generations of formal gatherings and family celebrations.
The upper level served as more than a viewing balcony. Four sets of double doors broke the gallery's symmetry. The first opened toward the château's foyer, allowing guests to move between the grand entrance and the balcony without returning to the ballroom floor.
The second led into the public lounge that connected the estate's guest suites, making it easy for visitors staying overnight to slip away from the festivities for a quiet drink or conversation before returning unnoticed.
The third set of doors was different. Fashioned from darker oak than the others and adorned with understated brass hardware, they led into the private upper wing of the La Lune family itself. There was no visible handle, only a discreet electronic keypad mounted beside the frame.
The door was locked.
Opposite the entrance from the foyer, tall French doors opened onto an exterior balcony overlooking the vineyards and lake. Tonight they remained firmly shut. Rain hammered relentlessly against the glass while wind tugged at the wrought-iron railings beyond. On another evening, guests would no doubt gather there with glasses of wine beneath the stars. Instead, lightning occasionally illuminated the abandoned balcony before darkness reclaimed it.
Below, the ballroom floor mirrored the organization of the gallery above. Three sets of doors connected it to the rest of the château. The grand entrance through the foyer stood behind the arriving guests. To one side, broad swinging doors led directly into the kitchen, where the steady rhythm of cooks and serving staff could occasionally be heard between musical phrases. Across the room, another pair of heavy oak doors disappeared into the library beneath the La Lune family's private wing, their carved panels depicting twisting vines and grape clusters.
Finally, flanking the small stage on either side, elegant French doors opened onto a covered stone patio overlooking the rear gardens and the lake beyond. The lanterns outside cast pools of amber light across rain-soaked flagstones, though not a single soul ventured into the storm.
Music floated through the ballroom from a quartet of musicians seated upon the stage. Two violinists, a violist, and a cellist performed beneath warm stage lighting, dressed impeccably in black evening attire. Their bows moved in practiced harmony as French waltzes, timeless ballroom dances, and jazz standards lovingly arranged for strings filled the enormous room. The soaring ceiling carried every note effortlessly, allowing conversations to flourish without ever competing with the music.
Gabrielle watched the musicians with a look on her face that spoke volumes of desire. To be them. To play like them... To play at all.
Scattered throughout the ballroom were round tables of two distinct styles. Some were traditional dining tables draped in crisp ivory linen and surrounded by upholstered chairs. Others stood at bar height with matching stools, encouraging guests to stand, mingle, and drift naturally from one conversation to the next. Every table was circular, ensuring no one occupied a place of honor and everyone remained part of the discussion. Or at least, that seemed to be the intention.
Each table was dominated by one of Elenore La Lune's elaborate handmade centerpieces. Towering arrangements of twisting grapevines, dried lavender, blown-glass grapes, antique silver candelabras, pressed flowers beneath crystal domes, miniature vineyard scenes, tiny wine barrels, and painstaking recreations of the château itself transformed every table into a work of art.
They were exquisite.
They were also spectacularly impractical.
Some climbed high enough to obscure the face of anyone seated opposite, forcing guests to lean left or right simply to maintain eye contact. Others spread outward in intricate circles that left only carefully measured spaces for plates and wine glasses.
Several members of the La Lune family had already arrived, dressed impeccably for the black-tie affair. Conversations drifted lazily beneath the music as tuxedos and evening gowns caught the chandelier light.
The household staff matched the occasion perfectly. The butler, immaculate in white tie and tails, stood near the entrance greeting arrivals with practiced dignity while maids glided silently through the room carrying polished silver trays laden with exquisite French hors d'oeuvres. Delicate gougères, smoked duck on brioche, miniature tartlets of caramelized onion and chèvre, escargot in puff pastry, and truffle-scented pommes dauphine disappeared almost as quickly as they were offered.
Outside, the rain continued to batter the estate.
Inside, surrounded by candlelight, string music, crystal, and centuries of family history, the ballroom remained every inch the setting for an elegant celebration.
Only the day's events seemed to mar the carefully crafted scene. Elenore, for her part, looked as calm as could be expected. She too had changed and wore an elegant backless dress. It would have looked lovely on someone ten years her junior, now it seemed... desperate. As if she was trying so hard to hold onto a past that was slipping through her weakening fingers.
Ralph
Location: Château de La Lune
Skills: N/A
The clock chimed the hour and Ralph, not wanting to be late, urged the others to head to the ballroom. In the hall he saw Constance and Tony. Ralph forced a smile. He was irritated with their clear lack of concern over the situation, but also couldn’t entirely blame them. They had a lot to think about, and more time to ask questions of the family and staff. This ball would have everyone in the same room for several hours.
Ralph didn’t bother going down stairs. He had started to gain his bearings of the place and went directly from the foyer through the doors upstairs to the gallery of the Grand Ballroom. He blinked. A little dazzled by the place. It had been transformed over the last few hours. Had Elenore done that by herself? Surely the maids had helped, and Felix.
Speaking of, Felix greeted him. He had apparently anticipated that they’d be coming directly from the upstairs entrance. Felix held a platter of champagne flutes, and said, “Before dinner, may I offer you a glass of our 2020 Cuvée Vorace? Produced exclusively for the ceremony, it is made in the traditional method from estate-grown Chardonnay and Pinot Noir. Madame La Lune hopes you'll enjoy it."
Ralph nodded and took a glass. He had tasted wine before this trip. It wasn’t uncommon to get wine’d and dinned in his profession as a pilot. Especially since he often did private flights. He wasn't a wine expert. He knew enough to tell when someone was trying to impress him with a label rather than what was actually inside the bottle. He knew enough not to swirl the glass dramatically just because everyone else was doing it, and he knew enough to be suspicious when someone claimed a wine had "notes of a dozen different things" that he couldn't possibly identify.
Ralph lifted the glass, letting the ballroom lights catch the wine. The Cuvée Vorace was a pale gold, brighter than he expected, with tiny bubbles rising continuously through the glass, so fine and delicate they looked almost like strands of light floating upward.
He brought the glass closer and took a breath. The first thing he noticed was citrus. This was not the sharp smell of lemon juice, but something softer. Lemon peel. Green apple. Something fresh and clean. Beneath it was something warmer, a faint nuttiness like almonds. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to notice all of it or if he was simply being influenced by everything around him, but even without the right words to describe it, he could tell there was something special about it.
He took a sip. The first thing that struck him was how clean it was, like biting into a cold apple on a warm day. Then the flavor shifted, softening into something smoother and richer. There was a creamy texture beneath the freshness, followed by hints of toasted nuts, honey, and something faintly sweet. Maybe vanilla. Maybe something else. He couldn't name every detail, but he knew what he liked.
