I was a stranger at the party, unknown to all but my hosts, a generous older couple. Both fine patrons of the arts who often donated greatly to the local opera house. They surrounded themselves with the usual dull aristocratic rabble, and a sea of fine silk and expertly tailored cloth of every color swirled before my eyes. Taffeta and lace, golden epaulets and frilled collars, the assembled throng was dressed as lavishly as possible.
I did not care to make idle chatter with any of them, not until I saw him. A silver furred fox who had made himself at home by the buffet. He was younger than most of the guests, in his late twenties perhaps, and despite the fox’s finely combed hair and manicured claws there was a roughness to him that could only come from a poor upbringing. His suit was a deep green with gold trim, a white ascot tied neatly around his grey furred mane.
It was what this ascot rested upon, however, that drew my attention towards him the most. The buttons of his shirt strained around a ball of tufted silver that escaped from diamond shaped gaps down the front of this taught dome.
He looked pregnant, convincingly so, and when I realized he was now watching me just as intently my head darted away with all the subtility of an elephant. Out of the corner of my eyes I could see him approaching, the fox’s once graceful gate marred by a slight waddle that he was still learning to manage.
His eyes bored through me, deep green pools that almost glistened in the candlelight, and my heart began to pound with anxiety.
“My most humble greetings,” he said with a sweetly accented voice that was hard to place. “Lord Wilhelm is my name, and I couldn’t help but notice your wandering eyes. Do you like my new curves madame?”
