Love is a game meant to be played between two equal characters and all are invited.

If she had a sense of humor, Sayori Wakaba would've laughed. Her life would play out as everyone expected, as she expected and as fate decreed. Love was no game to conquer and no force to be conquered by. Not even once had she met her fiance, but she had no doubt that he would be her only one, after all, her parents had picked him out of all the suitors. What did it matter if he was 20 years older and a two time divorcee? Her parents were a prime example of an arranged marriage that boiled over fine, sure there was adultery but as long as the papers were kept certified then what did it matter? She didn't intend to marry for a false hope like love, it didn't exist for humanity.

"Yori are you okay?"

The daze snapped away and Yuuki's face was all that could be seen.

"Sorry, I'm fine. Just a little tired today."

She smiled at the worried brows and gave a small yawn for effect. Yuuki bought it, the prefect had known for awhile that her roommate hadn't been sleeping well for weeks now. What she didn't know was that although sleep had escaped her, Yori never felt so bundled with energy. Nightly musings had straightened out the fleeting unconscious dread and filtered out the unnecessary considerations that a normal 17 year old girl would struggle with. Normally Yori would've never even bothered with such thoughts, preferring to let time pass and moments flow. It all started with that letter from her father. She had six months left before her birthday and the wedding.

It was funny really. When she read the first portion she had laughed aloud earning stares from several students. She never trusted the calculating presence of her father, or the subtle nature in his actions, but never had she suspected a direct warning.

"Do not fall beneath the Wakaba name and engage in the frivolous activities that define the youth of this country."

In short, if she messed up, there would be no family and no home to return to. Charming example of fatherly affection. Prime example of the falsehood of Love.

"Maybe you should head back to the room...Yori...Yori?"

Yuuki tapped her shoulder lightly.

"Hmm, yes yes."

Yori stood up and brushed invisible dust off her skirt and cautiously gathered her belongs before skirting out the classroom. Although she hated to admit that the future scared her, she was letting it affect her too much. When Yuuki noticed something was up...well it just wasn't good. With the engagement party only a week away, well her acting had better be perfect by then.

Aidou leaned against the couch as his cousin read the invitation for the engagement party.

"Hideo Fujiwara and Sayori Wakaba. The woman sounds familiar."

Akatsuki's eyes narrowed as he willed the name to produce a face. Aidou flipped his little marble staring into the depths before assisting his cousin.

"Cross Yuuki's friend. The quiet one."

"I'm surprised you noticed her."

It was Aidous turn to furrow his brow as he cracked a finger or two.

"I'm observant."

Akatsuki left it at that.

"Well lets leave now. I don't want to be late."

Aidou grumbled as he arose. Unknowing as to why he felt so agitated.

4 hours later...

It was the fact that she had never been led like this before. The movements were fluid and graceful as if she was dancing alone to the sound of the music. Alone without anyone else watching, but the hand on her lower back proved otherwise as the smirking figure pulled her into a tighter turn willing every ounce of passion from the woman before him. And that's what she felt like, a woman.

They forgot to mention that during years of endless classes, how all the pains of perfection are erased in one five minute moment. Between the dance floor and the chandelier lights, they were secret lovers spinning palm to palm and nose to nose as the dance refined itself. Faster and faster the movements became one, her feet and his feet spoke through their eyes and not once did the golden brown part from its icy blue companions.

Yori found herself a paradise on the dance floor, a fleeting romance without words and the unspoken agreement that such a meeting was so perfect it was wrong. Some stopped to watch the twirl of dresses amidst the gaiety of such a party, but eyes always found their way to the pair in the center. Even as the music died down in preparation for a new song, the two dancers were no less beyond the reach of societies cruel judgement.

But judgement doesn't take long to find a crack and as the violinist finally dropped his instrument as a signal to the others, the dance was discontinued. They bid a silent adieu, each unsure how to address the other in such a situation. They were too different people, from different class and of different races. Sometimes there was interaction and sometimes there wasn't. This was their one moment of interaction and it was over.

"Wakaba-san you never told me you could dance like that."

The freshness of the dance wore off as a warm hand laid itself on her suddenly weary shoulders. Strange how she found this natural warmth to be suffocating now.

"It never seemed an appropriate topic. I dislike the idea of bragging."

Hideo straightened his tie anxiously as his arm slid down her shoulder to the base of her elbow to steer her with frightening accuracy away from the dance floor. There was something in the way his fingers curled under her arm that was unnerving, and even the slight lisp of his words made her skin crawl. This new found possessiveness over her being was taking on an antagonistic approach and her eyes dulled. At one point her fiance glanced down at the woman he commanded and briefly wondered why she had been so attractive under the lights in comparison to the grayness of her mask.

Then he looked away with a mask of his own as the people around them began to comment.

"Oh my you two look so good together."

"Why thank you Duchess," the bow caught Yori by surprise but she was quick enough to catch up.

The blur of aristocracy was a simple repetition that she had prepared for her entire life. A bow here, an overdrawn compliment there, and yet not one person mentioned the age difference or the clearly purple marks he was leaving on her skin. Those unnecessary comments were avoided as if discussing her problems would manifest problems in their own lives.

A disgusting mold.

Yori felt sick.

The color of her green dress could not match the green of her face. Hideo's grip tightened as if he too noticed the change in her complexion, but no what he actually noticed was in fact the small shaking of her arm. A twitch here and there from the pain of his grip. The floor had begun to slope lightly and the peoples faces blurred together until she forgot who they were interacting with, but then again it didn't matter. The exchange of false pleasantries had been the same so far. As long as she looked every part the petite trophy her fiance wanted her to be then why worry. At one point he actually leaned over and mocked her in his own cutting way.

"You may dislike bragging but acting seems to be your forte." Was he calling her situation an act? His breath smelled of the imported wine so many others had praised throughout the party. Personally she had thought it bitter and refused more than a sip for show. Maybe it was that one sip running through her crimson blood. Or the contrast of such a cooling atmosphere to this choking warmth. Again Yori wondered when she had begun to dislike the natural heat of the human body. Regardless his words tipped her and that smile plastered her face like the smallest of imperfections on her wall. If he wanted an act, then Yori would simple outdo herself.