Here she was again.
Another ball, full of vultures ready to swoop up their prey. This one was no different then the last fifteen she had graced with her presence.

Scarlet was, for sure, growing so bored at these events. If it was not for the simple fact that she truly needed to wed this year or be named a sinister old lady, she would march right out of this old plantatation and never look back. She hated to admit it. She needed this night at this ball to find her knight and shining armor or for him to find her. Either way, this was the last ball of the year, and her last chance to choose her husband to be. After tonight, her fate would be in her mother and fathers hands. No longer would she have a say in choosingxhim, he would be chosen for her. Oh, the thought of being a bride to someone that she had no feelings for sent her walking across the dance floor, in search of that one special man. You see, Scarlet was a sight to be seen. Beauty was very kind to her. At the age of 25, she was the most beautiful woman in all of Charmington Hill. When Scarlet walked into a room, everything and everyone turned to admire her. She always held her head straight ahead. Not down, as if ashamed. Not up, as to say she was a snob, but looking directly ahead, as if she belonged. She was the daughter, a princess, to the Duke of Charmington Hill, and she wore her title as princess like a second cloth. She was regal and elegant, with hair as black as a smoky night, skin of milk white, flawless, with a small but noticeable mole at the corner of...