The most beautiful girl had the saddest eyes. It was 1987 and we were at the Lochness Palace, gracing the annual Liechtenstein Queen’s Ball. I, my wife and about a hundred high profile guests. A healthy division between family, royalty and celebrity.
“Now remember, Clarington darling…” my wife, Evanna, began, gathering up her beautiful blue dress and holding my arm. “Mingle. You need to come out of your shell again. Every human needs a social life, writer or not”.
Ah, my pious and lovely Evanna. We had gotten married last year February under a blue orchid tree in our garden. No expense was spared and we had gotten the grandest wedding. She had been the nurse assigned to guide me out of my amnesia after my accident three years ago. All she or anyone would say is that I was a top shot writer who had lots of money and had had suffered an accident, losing of my memory. They must have been right because I’m rich, I still write and I keep having weird conversations with people I do not know asking or telling me about things I have no idea of. So, we moved from England to where no one would know me. Lochness, a quiet but wealthy kingdom. As a newly initiated member of the King’s Socio-Cultural cabinet, I was given an invitation to the ball. The King and I turned out to be quite good friends, but I had never set eyes on the queen before. I was here to cordially thank her for the invitation which I still deemed a great honour. I brought Evanna because the invitation had a plus one and because she was as social as they come. It was hard not to like Evanna.
Hand-in-hand, we walked through the brightly lit and beautiful ballroom. Actors danced with Princesses, Princes danced with singers, Actresses danced with Artists and Painters. It was a merry-go-round. One of the most elaborate soirees I had attended since my accident. I was still appreciating the event when I saw her. Everything seemed to fade away in that moment. Gray eyes, crafted perfectly in a beautiful face. They held so much melancholy, I was attracted. Her body was well defined, the curves and edges of the vixen stood out in her long flowing purple gown. She caught me appreciating her body, turned away and climbed up a staircase. Now, I love Evanna with all my heart and I haven’t regretted marrying her for one second. But this enigmatic beauty had me hooked.
“Dearest heart, I think I just saw Roger Moore. A good person to start mingling with, don’t you think?” I asked Evanna hopefully.
“Why yes dear,” she replied. “By all means do go say hello.”
I let my hand slide off her tiny waist. I began pursuing the mystery mistress. The flight of stairs she had taken, led to a decorated corridor. Rows and rows of doors lined up each side. I wondered desperately which she had entered. After a second’s thought, I figured it would be wrong to start opening doors randomly in another person’s palace, so I made for the stairs. My Evanna was waiting for me. Just then a door on the far right side of the red-lighted corridor, creaked open. A force pulled me towards it and I obliged. Stepping into the room, I saw her. Sitting cross-legged quietly on a King sized bed, she sipped red wine eloquently from her glass and stared at me. Red liquid slipped seductively from her lips and I felt stern rigidness in my loins. How could such an act excite me so? I had to say something, I had to say anything. Always nice to start a conversation with introductions so I prepared some cocky writer line that I felt would get her interested in me. But just before I released a well-structured introduction she said in the sweetest and darkest voice I’ve ever heard.
“I remember you well, from the Chelsea hotel” and then I remembered her. Elizabeth McKeLana Foresthill, third of her name and Queen of Lochness Kingdom.