On the top floor of The City, in a manor lit under the artificial starry sky, a banquet was underway. Under the delightful chandelier, all the idiosyncratic individuals of the high society had gathered.
Bellies protruding from buttoned-up suits, older gentlemen dined with younger ladies. Fancy were their conversations, and as vain as their appearances.
Though they enjoyed it, the soft orchestral music in the room wasn't without its detractors.
"Our music pit produces better timbre."
"Our players know the strings, keys, and everything else in between."
"Classical is too old-fashioned for me."
It was a battle of impressions and airs.
The new age of nobility mingled together, denouncing the obsolete practices. Predictably, the old stuck to their ways.
But no matter who, no matter the gender or age, their gaze constantly searched left and right for the lady of De Roschillians.
