XXVIII
The Donor’s Ball was held at one of the premier venues in the city, a glass crystal of an event center that looked like a wave of flames.
Cars filled the large, circular parking ramp, and the valet parking spilled onto the streets.
The press lined a silver carpet extending from the porte-cochère up a long stone staircase to the front entrance, a wall of glass with a Crafter-shaped chandelier that burned with magical, blue candles.
Every car that stopped was an event of photoflashes and name calls. For the world wanted to know who was coming to the Donor’s Ball, and to whom they were lending their support for the upcoming election. Dapper elven men stepped out of limos, wearing tuxedos and pledge pins; on their arms, elven women in sequin dresses, their hair hanging down to their
