Ashes of Devotion

The Speechless Moment

The applause had barely subsided as Emilia stepped off the last marble stair, her fingers brushing the smooth banister. Around her, the air buzzed with murmurs, soft enough to blend into the music but just loud enough to catch fragments of conversation.

“Look at her,” one man whispered to his companion, a dark-haired suitor in a well-tailored navy coat. “She’s exquisite. Like something out of a Botticelli painting.”

“More than that,” the companion replied, his gaze unwavering as Emilia walked past. “She’s… ethereal. The way she carries herself, as though she’s untouchable.”

“Do you think she knows?” another young man, standing near the edge of the dance floor, asked. “How much power she holds in a single glance?”

Emilia caught snatches of their words but refused to acknowledge them. Each murmured compliment felt like a chain, binding her to the expectations that had been set for her. She steadied her breath, focusing on the cool touch of her gown’s silken skirt against her palms.

Stay calm, Emilia, she told herself, her inner voice as measured as she could manage. One step at a time. This night will pass, and you’ll find your way out of this maze.

She shifted her gaze toward her father, who stood on the dais like a monarch surveying his court. His speech had continued, but the words blurred in her mind as she walked. Her thoughts spiraled. They see a girl in a beautiful dress. They don’t know me. None of them do. If they did, would they still admire me?

Emilia’s heartbeat thundered in her ears, drowning out the clinking of glasses and the faint melody of the orchestra. She focused on the sound of her shoes against the polished marble floor, grounding herself in the rhythm. Breathe. Smile when you reach the dais. Keep your head high. This is just another performance.

Her father’s voice rose, cutting through her reverie. “And so, tonight, we celebrate my daughter’s grace, her beauty, and the promise of her future. Emilia,” he said, turning to her with a warm, expectant smile, “the floor is yours.”

Emilia froze. The crowd erupted into applause, but it felt distant, as though she were underwater. Her father gestured toward her with a sweep of his arm, and hundreds of eyes turned to her in unison, their anticipation palpable.

What do I say? she thought, panic surging. The weight of their stares pinned her in place. Thank them for coming? Mention my gratitude? But what if they see through me? What if they know I don’t want this?



The clapping subsided, leaving a hollow silence that stretched unbearably. Her father’s brow furrowed ever so slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his otherwise composed expression. Still, Emilia stood there, her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came.