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Bonsoir, Mademoiselle.

By: Sophie Yang

All eyes turned her way as soon as she stepped through the dimly lit doorway, wearing a black, slitted dress. It was a plain, thin piece of cloth. Yet, it captured her lean figure perfectly. Rather, it was because of her simpleness, and the way she carried herself, that made something that should have been invisible become glaring.

It was an unexplainable, mysterious aura that attracted others—both admiration and envy.

It was her slightly-hunched-over awkwardness, like a young child finally venturing out into society on her own, as she wandered aimlessly around the venue before finally settling on a quiet corner.

I couldn’t help but watch her lift a cocktail glass from the tray and place it down right after, the awkward feelings still lingering in the air.

She didn’t need extravagant dresses or looks, but the quiet subtlety with which she raised her head was beauty in its highest regard.

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