Stepping out into the hall, I closed the door behind me, making sure I had the room key I'd stolen out of Dean's pocket before setting off to find the stairs. Can I take an elevator when I need to? Of course. Do I avoid it whenever possible because I have a frankly laughable list of fears and phobias? Of course. Hey, at least it's good exercise.

It didn't take long to get down the three flights to the lobby—or at least it wouldn't have if I hadn't stopped to gawk at every little thing I saw between point A and point B—the scuff of my boots on carpet and clicking on tile the only sounds echoing in the cavernous spaces as I made my way down. Seriously, the place was huge, and absolutely fantastic. It was old, sure, but it wasn't hard to see under the layer of years to how magnificent the place must have been in its day.

There was still artwork on the wall, yellowing and faded, but beautiful. I still to this day would swear I saw what I'm pretty sure was an original Monet. Not that I know shit about art, but call it a hunch. Hell, even the stair railing was etched with delicate floral patterns worn down by the touch of thousands of hands over the decades.

How in the hell were we the only people around? How could they even afford to keep the doors open with no patrons? The electric bill alone had to be astronomical. Still, a little weird or not, it was kind of nice to have the place to ourselves (or at least the illusion of it).

At that point, I still hadn't seen a single other soul, a fact that was remedied quickly enough when I went looking for the day manager. It only took a few minutes to find him sitting in a small office tucked in beside the front desk in the lobby, the door open and the soothing sounds of good jazz spilling from an honest-to-God phonograph that was probably four times older than I was. As was the man playing it.

"Excuse me?" Rapping a knuckle on the door, I hesitantly caught his attention, reluctant to pull it away from the book in front of him. "I'm sorry to bother you, but um-but I had a question I was hopin' maybe you could help me with?"

"That's quite alright, young lady." With a warm smile, the old man pushed his chair back and stood, walking around the desk to greet me. (I swear to god, if Bruce Wayne was looking for Alfred, I now knew where to find him and I admit to being mildly disappointed when he didn't have an English accent. Seriously, dude looked just like Michael Gough.) "What can I do for you?"

I flashed him my best and brightest 'I'm-The-Sweetest-Little-Thing-Ever' smile and thickened my backwoods accent just a tad—which I have been told is very effective and I totally shouldn't do that—but what can I say, I do it because it works (even on people that should know better by now) and you should always be willing to use any weapon you've got in your arsenal (even if it drives some people up the wall). "Well, I don't want to put you to any trouble, but you don't happen to have a ballroom or somethin' somewhere, do you? Just a big open space...and maybe a radio lyin' around somewhere I could borrow? I promise I won't break nothin'."

"Indeed we do." I'd been worried that at best the old man would get irritated and brush me off (and at worst there'd be yelling), but he seemed delighted that I'd asked. He was kind of adorable in an 'I want to adopt you as my Grandpa' kind of way. "-and you are more than welcome to make use of it, if you'd like. Lord knows few enough do these days. May I ask why, though? Just out of curiosity."

"Well-Okay, so, this is probably gonna sound stupid but, see, I'm a dancer and I kinda always wanted to dance in a real ballroom, like somethin' out of the movies and I figure a grand old place like this has just gotta have one." It was nothing but the truth. "And I could use the exercise." (Yeah, I probably should have just gone with the exercise thing instead of rambling about childhood dreams, but give me a break, I was tired and stressed.)

My sweet-as-pie smile slipped and for a second and the weariness I'd been trying to hide leaked through. It had been a very long few days, after all. "Look, I've existed on nothing but gas station fruit and McDonald's dollar menu for like a week now-" Not to mention the enforced inactivity, which wasn't something I was used to (and I wasn't about to let years of training to go flying out the window for a few fast-food induced extra pounds, no matter the recent change in circumstances). Some people, I won't name names, might be able to exist on a steady diet of burgers (extra onions) and fries without dying of malnutrition but sadly I am not one of them. (Love you too, babe. -Dean) "-and I am dyin' to stretch my legs."

"I couldn't possibly think of a better reason than that." With a satisfied smile, the old man retrieved a ring of keys from a peg next to the door and stashed them in the pocket of his black slacks before offering me his hand. "My name is Charles and I'd be more than happy to open up the ballroom for you, Miss…?"

Charles. Almost as butlery as Alfred. My smile turned a little more forced but I managed to suck it up one more time and took his hand, steadfastly ignoring the purely psychological itch that was making me want to vibrate right out of my skin. "Bleu, but please call me Skye."

"Skye Bleu? What a lovely name for such a lovely and polite young woman."

(It really wasn't and I'm telling you right now, don't name your kids anything punny. Children are little assholes and they will rip you apart for something like that, especially if you're the quiet kid who's always sitting in the back with her nose in a book. Now don't get me wrong, I love kids, obviously, but I'm not going to sugarcoat it, they really can be evil incarnate.)

"This way please, Miss B-Skye." Correcting himself, Charles smiled as he led the way across the lobby, the heels of his highly polished dress shoes clicking against the dark, intricately-patterned marble floor. Lifting a hand, he waved vaguely to the far side of the room and a pair of matching wooden doors set within it. "We have a dining room as well, if you'd like to dine there. I'm afraid we no longer have a functioning kitchen, but it's a lovely room and I'd be happy to set a table if you'd like to bring your own meal." Glancing over his shoulder at me, very possibly to make sure I was still there as I don't think I'd made a sound the entire time, he smiled. "How long do you think you and your brothers will be staying?"

"Thank you, that's a very kind and generous offer." Brothers? Ha, in Alabama maybe. Roll tide. "Unfortunately, I don't think we'll be able to take you up on it." Hands clasped firmly behind my back, I followed Charles until he stopped in front of a truly massive set of wooden doors. Digging his keys back out of his pocket, he produced them (and the doors) with a flourish. I can't blame him, they deserved a flourish, or at least enough of one that my train of thought derailed for a second. Kind of like it's going to do right here, right now, at this very moment—

—Like I said, they were massive wooden doors, arching high above my head (no short jokes), dark and deeply etched with intricate designs, that, looking back, I'm pretty sure were all based around a bas relief of an Archangel. I'm going to take a shot in the dark here and say it was probably the Archangel Gabriel. Why do I think it was probably Gabriel? ...no reason. No reason at all.—

Clearing my throat, I turned my attention back to Charles and smiled, trying not to look like the poor country cousin and probably failing miserably. "I'm afraid Sam, my um-my youngest brother, is going through some things right now and we likely won't be venturing out much for a couple of days."

"Now that is a shame." Separating an ornate iron key from the others, Charles smiled at me over his shoulder as he unlocked the doors, pushing one open before taking a step back as it swung open on well-oiled hinges. "I think you're going to like this."

Stepping into the ballroom was like stepping into a movie, or maybe like the library from Beauty and the Beast. Every detail—from the vaulted ceiling high overhead, to the intricately laid parquet floor—was straight out of a fairytale. The sunlight streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows painted the hardwood floor in warm honey tones, lighting up the motes of dust in the air like tiny fireflies. I'll admit, I was more than a little impressed and there's really no way I can do it justice here.

"...holy shit." Coming to a dead-stop, I couldn't help but stare like a slack-jawed yokel. (Let's be fair, though, that's kind of exactly what I was.) "This is-this is-" Turning around to find Charles looking at me, beaming like he'd just given me a gift. Okay, so he kind of had. "Are you sure it's alright?"

"Of course it is. Besides, who's going to know?" Walking over to the wall beside the door, he flipped a couple of switches, turning on the twin chandeliers that graced the room and myriad pieces of crystal lit up like stars. "And you said something about a radio?"

"Yes, I did. I mean, I don't have one and music would be nice but it's-it's not necessary." Still a little awestruck, I was having a hard time focusing on the man in front of me, my eyes too busy taking in everything around me and filing them away for later. No way I'd ever have an opportunity like this again. "This is all more than enough, thank you so much."

Charles seemed thrilled with my reaction and shook his head at me, grinning from ear to ear. "Well, aren't you the most well-mannered little thing. Just as sweet as you look." Yeah. Right. Ugh. "I think I can do you one better than a radio. Come with me, please."

"…you had your maps drawn, you had other plans to hang your hopes on. Every road they led you down felt so wrong, so you found another way…"

Music flooded the room, spilling from the partially opened doors and filling the lobby, pulling my attention over as soon as I stepped off the elevator. Violins and piano, I think. Not really my style, but pretty, and more than enough to catch my curiosity.

Making my way over, I stopped just this side of the double doors, one of them propped open just enough for me to see in. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, lighting up the room and the lone figure dancing in the middle of it.

"...you've got a big heart. The way you see the world, it got you this far. You might have some bruises and a few scars, but you know you're gonna be okay…"

I still remember exactly what she was wearing—plain black tank-top and leggings that left absolutely nothing to the imagination with some seriously retina searing socks—and she was…

Look, I'm not a writer or an artist or anything and I'm not great with words—and I can't remember the last time I stepped foot in a museum to save my life—but I damn well know a work of art when I see one. (Now you know why I put up with his bullshit. Well, aside from the fact that he puts up with mine. -Tink)

"...sometimes the past can make the ground beneath you feel like quicksand. You don't have to worry, reach for my hand, I know you're gonna be okay…"

I couldn't tell you how long I stood there watching her or even what I was thinking at the time. Hell, I don't think I was actually thinking anything at all. You ever have a moment—rare and maybe only a handful of them in your life—where everything just stops? You can't explain it and you can't describe it, but the whole world could stop right then and you'd be perfectly happy to live in that single memory forever? As shitty as my life gets—and trust me when I say it's gotten pretty damn bad—I'm lucky enough to say I've had my fair share of them and this definitely tops the list.

"...and even though you're scared, you're stronger than you know. If you're lost out where the lights are blinding, caught in all the stars are hiding, that's when something wild calls you home…"

In retrospect, there's not a doubt in my mind that that's the moment I fell head over heels. I didn't realize it then, of course, and likely I'd have denied it if I had, just like everything else. I have to say, though, it is kind of nice to be able to look back and pinpoint the exact minute my entire life changed into something I never dared to imagine.

"...if you face the fear that keeps you frozen, chase the sky into the ocean, that's when something wild calls you home..."