by Mitzi Danielson-Kaslik
blush pink cocktail
And then I saw her; Camille. I do not know how I knew it was her but I knew it was her. She had flowing auburn hair to her waist and bright ivory skin coloured slightly by freckling. She danced. Beside Sylvester. Though I was not even entirely sure if she was there but at that moment in my life, nothing felt as real and true within my mind as this. In awe of my own feelings, I stared at the woman for a while, attempting to recollect who she reminded me of. As I looked at her, my thoughts swirled around my mind like delicate black swans in flight, scarcely halting for long enough for my intoxicated brain to make sense of them before they continued froth, along their collision course. For a painfully long moment, I so wished I could be that girl, dancing beside Sylvester.
I drank a little more and turned back to go back into the brothel. This scene; this vision; this apparition was not something I wanted to see anymore. Upon reentering the room – which had no door leading outside which perplexed me- I found myself a lot less shocked at the scene before me, it was almost as if I had somehow lost my innocence in the act of seeing Sylvester dance with that girl. She had been so beautiful. It was a strange feeling; everything about this world which had moved on with me clinging on dearly for life repulsed me – the drinking – the reckless lack of morality – the over liberality in pleasure – everything accept him. He had been the one that I thought of as almost a God, a man of such creative genius – and genius in general – that he actually left me in complete amazement of him: A man of such glamour, charisma and fascination.
Perhaps, I had been so intrigued by Sylvester Spence Palvine that I had forgotten the fact that he was only a man; he had faults as we must all do and I had always known that I could never expect perfection for a person who is less than perfect. And Sylvester was so much less than perfect, I could see that now. I had been blind to his shortcomings.