There was a heartbeat of a moment where I questioned what it was to be beautiful when I glanced upon the figure, bathed in a shower of moonlight, the pale blue reflecting off her ivory skin in a way that seemed to keep it retained. Her long brown hair draped over her shoulders in elegant curls, shaping her face in a perfect diamond. I could have gasped, yet if I did, neither she nor I noticed.
Her body flowed in a dance of rhythm, creating its own dance with every graceful step. Her dress skirt spun around her in every twirl, her shoes clicking against the ground with every flick of the heel. Her eyes were hidden by that mask, the one reoccurring at a ball like this, and though knowing her identity would be nice, I cannot say I am not provoked by the charm of it.
This girl, the girl in the moon’s glow, is a total mystery that I’ve completely devoted myself toward deciphering. I can only see a spark of green through that constricting mask, but the green is enough to grow a forest of trees and grass, and every plant that you could find beautiful.
She spun in the light,
And then she was gone. Captured by the light, faded into mist, the girl in the moonlight disappears forever.
Perhaps she was never there anyway.