This is based off of a concrete poem I wrote last year for English class with the same title. I actually based the pose of my woman on the covers of The Selection and the poem was written in her dress. It was beautiful and I kept it to this day.


Photo #33: The Belle of the Ball

Eadlyn has heard the stories of her mother at royal parties. She's heard them all.

Her mother was a woman of whimsy and grace. She always dressed classy yet still presentable. She always wore the right amount of sparkle and tulle; and her makeup was never too dark or too light. Her skin, even though pale, was always crystal clear. She would walk as if she was on a cloud, in charge of the whole sky (despite the uncomfortable heels). And in response, all eyes would turn to her, shimmering like stars.

The next photo shows Eadlyn's mother at one of those events, radiating her light and proving to her that she truly was the belle of the ball. Her mother is dancing with her father and Eadlyn can see an everlasting passion in the eyes on her father as he looks down at his beautiful wife.

-o-

"Now announcing the arrival of the King and Queen of Illéa," a noble duke announces to the patrons of the ballroom at the bottom of the staircase.

Many guests below turn to look at America and Maxon since this is their first public appearance since their wedding and coronation. All of them raise their glasses in honor and respect for them. Maxon, with arms linked with America's, starts leading her down the grand staircase towards the ball.

"I can't breathe in this dress," America whispers to Maxon, keeping a smile on her face for the cameras.

"You should've gone with another dress," Maxon whispers back.

"Oh please, Maxon," America teases. "You love this dress."

Maxon grins at his wife just as a camera flashes in their faces, capturing their lovestruck expressions just on time. He did agree that his wife looked spectacular. America wears a sparkling dress in the color of champagne gold. It has a tight bodice to show her curves which slowly transforms into a flow at her feet. Her heels are silver, complimenting the metallic theme she has for herself tonight. Her red hair is pinned into a tight bun on top of her head, forcing her to keep her head up at all times. Her maids did a wonderful job of helping her get ready and she couldn't be more grateful.

Once they reach the gala, many other royals and people of high status attending immediately begin to swarm the two. Maxon receives friendly handshakes as America gets two-cheek kisses. Conversations start with condolences for the two of them on the loss of the former king and queen as well as any other lives taken during the rebel's attack. Then, they congratulate both of them on their marriage and coronation, Maxon on his initiative to remove the castes classifying system in Illéa, and America for her spark to the project and compliment her for jeweled necklace that shines brighter than any star in the night sky.

After the welcoming conversations to warm up the night, the orchestra starts a new symphony. Maxon puts his empty champagne glass on a passing waiter's tray and holds an escorting hand out for his wife.

"Shall we dance?" Maxon questions.

America smiles as a way to accept. She does the same with her champagne glass as Maxon as she accepts his free hand. He leads her onto the center of the gala which was reserved for dancing. The two of them begin to sway back and forth gracefully in rhythm to the steady music and in coordination with the other couples. As America looks at all the other people, she sees their eyes on her. She closes her eyes and lowers her head into the crook of Maxon's neck to avoid direct eye contact. Maxon notices her sudden timidness and grins a little.

"What is it?" He asks a tad playful.

America doesn't answer. Instead, she looks up at the crystal chandelier above her, seeing a tiny, moving, red dot in the reflection representing her. Maxon spins America around and her golden skirt flourishes beneath her. America almost laughs at the sudden excitement as she places her signature on the cheek of her lover, signing with her lips.

Her blue eyes travel around the ballroom and see that no other eye has left them since they arrived.

"Everyone is staring..." America mutters to herself.

"They're all looking at you," Maxon whispers into America's ear, slowly spinning her around.

"They're not looking at me," America replies timidly, blushing a little.

"You're so modest, my dear." Maxon grins, kissing her hair.


Guys, now that I think about it, I wrote this poem because of The Selection.

Stalk Me! Links are in my bio!

Reviews, Follows, Favorites, and Recommendations are always accepted :D