You cannot begin to understand how positively thrilled reviews make me feel. Sora means "sky" in Japanese, just in case you wanted to know. This chapter is also dedicated to Katherine Kuran because she is wonderful and my friend Zoia because I say so. Please review, even if it's anonymously!

Dreams

I put a hand on the doorknob of the bathroom door, panting slightly from my dash up the stairs and from dancing in my room. The door swings open when I twist the knob and I stroll inside, glancing at the mirror over the double sink and vanity. My reflection beams at me, cheeks flushed and choppy blonde bangs covering azure eyes.

I lean into the mirror, hands on either side of a white basin sink with a set of gold faucets. I look slightly wild; my hair is uneven from a bad haircut I gave myself in anger a while back. It has never grown back evenly, and I've grown used to the unusualness of my appearance.

I pull off my clothes and step over the lip of the large bathtub, planning to wash my hair before the ball. I hum contentedly as warm water cascades down my back, clumps of hair sticking to my face and shoulders.

I climb back over the lip of the tub, wiggling my toes in the mat and wrapping a towel around my shoulders. I shiver slightly in the open air, wanting to stay under the warm spray of water, but there isn't any hot water left, Rima used a hefty amount of it in her shower.

I rake long fingers through my wet hair, and then pull out a hair dryer. My water darkened hair returns to its usual jonquil, the hot air from my hair dryer pushing it around my face. I try to find a simile for my hair as I stand there in my towel. My hair is like: I don't know what it is like. Rima's is like spun gold, but mine is dryer looking, lighter and faded. It looks like dead grass. This isn't a very happy thought, so I brush it away, trying to find something else to compare it to.

When I'm finished brushing my teeth and drying my hair, I wander out of the bathroom, feeling very light and carefree. Digging through my closet, my fingers come in contact with a silken fabric, smooth and liquid. I pull it off its rack, admiring how light and soft it is. It mirrors my emotions perfectly. I can't count the amount of times I've pulled this dress out of my closet just to feel the soft fabric in my hands, just to admire the deep ebony, punctuated by intricate alabaster designs. I love this dress more than any other article of clothing I own, and have been saving it for my first Ball.

My eyes travel over Rima's half of the room, resting on her jewellery box. It's overflowing with beautiful necklaces and bracelets, earrings and rings. My jewellery box is rather feeble; I've never had much want for jewellery. Until now, that is. I don't have any particularly nice trinkets, as most of them are rejects of Rima's.

There is one particular necklace in her box that catches my eye. It is a silver locket, decorated with scarlet roses. Rima has never worn it, so I have been waiting for her to toss it on my bed, waiting to find it there, dejected and unwanted, and fasten it around my neck. It sparkles in the moonlight, sparking longing in my heart. It would top off my dress so beautifully; blend perfectly with the red tights buried in my sock drawer.

I pull the dress over my head, the texture smooth and pleasant against my skin. I should be satisfied with what I already have; really, I don't need a gorgeous locket. I pull the cardinal tights out of my drawer, hopping on one foot while I drag them over the other. I giggle a little. I probably look ridiculous, hopping on the spot like this.

My good mood is infectious. Rima smiles subtly when I join her in the main hall. I perch on a marble stair, one hand on the cool white railing. Rima and I wait for the first knock on our door. The Ball is being held in the Touya Ball Room, which, of course, is ours.

My stomach twists a little at the first ringing knock. I really need to work on keeping my emotions in check. Rima doesn't bat an eyelash as several C-level aristocrats waltz into our hall, long dresses sweeping the polished floor and shined shoes clicking minutely. One boy bends to kiss Rima's hand, his eyes never leaving her face. She stands perfectly still, barely acknowledging his presence. I smile at him apologetically, noting the hurt look on his face.

Vampires of various levels pour into our Ball Room, and I slip into the masses, smiling a little as they dance and talk. It feels nice to be a part of the scene, to see it with my own eyes, instead of playing it in my head. The fake memories of my day dreaming had become precious, but I know these memories will overlap them. This is real, not the product of an overactive imagination.

I have only been amidst the crowds for a second before I spot a familiar head bobbing through the dance floor. My father, a tall, fair haired man of medium build, his arms around my mother, who is equally fair, are watching as Rima approaches them, pigtails bouncing slightly and eyes sparkling. Father embraces Rima, apologizing profusely for his absence at sun down. Rima wraps her slender arms around his waist, her lips brushing his pointed face before pulling back, a slight smile gracing her features. Mother takes Rima's hand and thanks her for greeting the guests, also smiling proudly. Dad offers a hand to Rima, leading her into the centre of the dance floor and stepping into rhythm with the rest of the dancers.

I lift my eyes to the ceiling, where a crystal chandelier hangs, the ceiling seeming to melt towards it, gold and ivory and unreachable. Like my parents. Rima brings joy to our father, catches all the pride of our mother and holds them in the palm of her dainty hand, letting them wrap around her long fingers.

Something attracts my attention, in the form of a young red head tapping my father on the shoulder, a passive expression verging on indifference in his crystal blue eyes. I watch, mildly interested, as he takes my sister's hands out of my reluctant father's and twirls her, that apathetic look still glued to his features. My sister is equally as expressionless, gliding to the music in his arms. I can later detect the slightest smile touching both dancers' faces as the music plays on, and Rima says something to the boy, who I can identify as Shiki Senri, one of the Aido faction. I know that he and my sister have known each other a long time, but I've never participated in their sand box games or in any other meetings of the vampire children, and am not very well acquainted with any of them.

I start as a light hand rests on my shoulder, warm breath brushing my neck.

"Doesn't Rima look nice in her dress, Sora? Like a princess?" A tranquil voice floats from behind me, my mother's. She has such a beautiful voice, and I smile. Yes, Rima does look like a princess, and Shiki looks like a prince. Everyone here looks very royal and elegant; Rima and Shiki fit in beautifully, like real aristocrats.

I look down at me feet, my red stockings suddenly seeming very bright and out of place amidst all the white, black and cream. My mother's hand remains on my shoulder, and I am almost grateful. I love my mother's kind voice and her gentleness, even if it's usually directed at Rima. My father strolls over to us, takes my mother's hand and draws her onto the dance floor, leaving me standing there alone. I watch vampires dancing and talking, wanting to join the festivities, but feeling at a loss as to how. Everyone under that unattainable ceiling seems equally unattainable, as out of my reach as my parents.

I decide to simply observe the other vampires, eyes drifting over many unrecognizable faces, vaguely felicitous expressions mingled with haughtiness in the more confident individuals. My gaze rests on Shiki and Rima again. I watch as Shiki pulls out a box of candy, handing a stick to Rima. Pocky, Rima's favourite. I gather myself, take a deep breath, and approach them. The corners of Rima's mouth twitch when I stop in front of them, but I know her better than to take it as happiness. The slight change in expression is almost mocking, but I'm not vexed, Rima never means any harm.

Shiki turns to me, mild, almost unnoticeable, interest in his steely eyes. He's standing behind Rima, one hand on her bare shoulder, a few strands of red hair hiding his pale face. Rima turns back to him, taking his hands in her own and pulling him back into a dance.

I'm used to Rima ignoring me, but that was a little much.

My Mother and Father are dancing a little ways off, their movements perfectly choreographed. I tap my foot, wishing, for the first time in my life, that I had interacted more with the other vampires who were Rima's friends. I can see some of them in a corner of the Ball Room, talking idly. A girl I recognize as Ruka flips her long flax hair, watching something over her shoulder. I follow her gaze, wondering what has attracted her attention.

A tall dark haired boy, the bored look that is so common among upper class vampires predictably etched in his features, had just entered the Ball Room. Kaname Kuran, dark hair contrasting against his pale skin: the last pureblood. His presence is commanding and confident beyond the regular for aristocrats, and he holds the gaze of almost everyone in the Ball Room, including my own.

My father rushes to greet him, as well as my mother and several council members. He smiles politely at them, tolerating their intrusive presence. I watch him for a moment, before turning back to Ruka. She keeps flipping her hair, shifting her weight from one leg to the other, eyes glued on Kaname. Her intentions are blatantly obvious, which is strange in vampires: we're typically masters at hiding our emotions. My gaze travels to the other vampires standing near her. I recognized the cousins, Kain, and Aido; both blonde and blue eyed, and Ichijo; enthusiastic and content. Kain glances repeatedly at Ruka, who continues her attempts at catching Kaname's attention, and Ichijo is watching Shiki and Rima, a smile playing at his lips.

My eyes wander to Aido, and are met with his piercing cobalt gaze. I realize I'd been staring, and avert my gaze. I wish I had someone to dance with, as I am getting tired of observing the attendees. The Ball is proving lacklustre compared to my expectations, and I find myself craving another blood tablet. They are only a floor away, sitting on my bed side table; it wouldn't hurt to go grab one... or two.

My head swivels around the room nervously as I start for the door, feeling as though I am betraying some agreement by leaving, but I twist the door knob and slip out of the room despite the feeling. Once in the main hall, I realize how crowded the Ball Room had been. It is freeing to stand by myself for a while, and my craving for blood begins to disappear. I hadn't realized the nervousness that had nestled into my stomach before it began to creep away.

I sigh, disappointed that the Ball hadn't been what I'd hoped. My feet move to the door of their own accord, and before I know it, I am perched at the edge of the fountain, playing with the stars' reflections again and watching the moon. Whenever my expectations aren't fulfilled, my mood is low, or I want to be alone, I end up sitting on this fountain. The tinkle of falling water is somehow comforting, soothing, in a sense. The night is beginning to lighten, and my eyelids feel heavy and burdened. All previous events drifting silently away, fading into the night, twisting with the din leaking from the Ball Room, disappearing into an unknown store for conscious thoughts and being replaced with dreams, tangling fact with fiction and creating strange fantasy worlds, the likes of which would confuse and amaze, if only we could remember them when we awaken.

Once again, I'm going to have to ask you to review. It's important, really, it is.