There was a sad taste in the air that night, that night you broke my heart. We had danced, many times, circling round and around, my face tired from laughing at the weightlessness I felt in your arms. We found our way to the balcony and stood, breathless, looking out on the moon-soaked gardens. The flickering lights played across your face and I smiled at the way you were smiling, one corner of your mouth up. I told you how much this night had meant, how much I needed to just laugh. You took my hand, intertwining our fingers while I spoke of the way my heart felt every time you were near, every time you were away. You seemed to care, your eyes searching for the truth in my face, and something helped you find it.

You didn't say anything, just stood as I poured out the contents of my heart and soul, searching your face in return for acceptance and love. I found none. I thought, dreamed, imagined that somehow you would understand. But you turned away from me when I questioned you, mumbling something about duties to your family, how you were promised to someone else, and though our time together had been magical, the fairytale had to end. That this was the final night we could be together, laughing, loving, being us. I felt my stomach roll as you turned, and walked back into the ballroom; your back tall; straight. A soldier that couldn't stand to see the look of hopelessness in my eyes, my eyes that were clouding with tears, choking me as I turned and ran down the my dress tear, but holding nothing back, knowing that now, nothing mattered, because the only person I had dressed for had been you.

Everything in that night seems bittersweet as I stand now, watching you holding her, as your father announces your engagement. I don't doubt that we were in love, I loved you and I think, regardless of your refusal, you did love me and you still have feelings, but now you are smiling, painting on a mask, as I am, trying to act like you being married makes me happy. You should have been married, yes, to me. We were in love, but you gave it up for money and your family's approval.

I sit now in the gardens, the rest are inside, twittering and eating with happy smiles, for they are happy for you and her. They do not know what you did to my heart, they think that you have fallen in love and isn't it sweet? She is sweet, sickeningly so as she stands beside you, giggling and falling against you as if you are her light, her world. If only she knew what she took from me, if only she knew that you used to be my world, not hers. I hate her, because she has what I cannot. And I hate you, because she is not what you want, but you are too cowardly to try to refuse your father. You want me. You love me. I saw it in your eyes as I entered with everyone, your eyes sought out mine, and yours were filled with pain. They should be, you should feel pain for what you have done. Yet, I would take back all these angry words if you were to admit your feelings.

You will be married, her in a white dress, lace and silk, cascading downwards. She'll be a vision with her blond hair curled perfectly and her crystal eyes filled with tears of excitement and joy, as a bride's eyes should be. She'll be speechless, pale, with wonderment at the ceremony about to take place. Bashful, her eyes cast downward as the veil is placed over her face, her painted eyes and perfumed lips. She'll walk down, last, everyone's eyes on her as she makes her way to you and your new life together. Gracefully, she'll kiss her Father goodbye and your father will watch on with satisfaction. Then, you will be joined in marriage, a bond that even our love cannot sever, my love will not. You are too controlled by your title and by what he has mapped before your feet. And then the night will come, and you will make her your wife in body, as well.

Soon, she'll be the perfect wife. Your children will be blonde and have gorgeous sparkling blue eyes. The boys will be strong and eager to help their Father and the girls will be dainty and proper according to their Mother. I will be somewhere, alone with memories of a time where you were not afraid, not scared, not reined by honor. Remembering our kiss in the orchard, our dance in the rain, barefoot and for once, not caring about my petticoats, or trekking up the river, not caring about getting freckles.

But this is what your Father fears in me, my reckless nature, my mother's past, the gypsy that runs through my blood, my music and even my laughter. My olive skin, which your lips have brushed over. My dark eyes, cocoa, to hers the color of the sky that can see every step you walk, and my figure. My thick lips and my flowing black hair, it was braided when your Father first saw me, when he first marked me trouble. I listen to music, I dance, I laugh, I enjoy laugh. This frightens the aristocrat society in, which we live. It's what captured you, the way I wink when the other lower their eyes, the way I laugh, when the others smile politely, the way I sing, when the other hum quietly, the way I raise my skirts to wade in the water, while they wouldn't dare be alone on a shore with you, the way I swing my hips, while they focus on their posture, the way I dance, my eyes sparkling, while they make sure to keep the proper inches away from their partner.

I sit now, still in the gardens, thinking over what has come to past. You and I seem now a dream, a fickle dream. She has everything your Father wants for you, and I have everything you want for you. But now I sit, smelling the fresh jasmine and listening to the water trickle in the fountains, trickling, slowly. They have music now, streaming out, a faster dance, new. I stand, beginning to move my feet, to dance away from these thoughts of you. I'm spinning now round and round, laughing, kicking my feet and twirling. The air is thick, I pull my skirts so my feet can soak in the sun, as they pound into the ground, and my shoes are off now. A twig cracks and I whirl to find you standing, alone, staring at me, your eyes smoldering.