Chapter Text
The ordeal of a ball scares Ilsa. Having to squeeze until her organs are deathly close just to fit into a corset, then to be covered in layers and layers of tulle and chiffon just to stand around and try to look pretty for the better half of the night simply doesn’t sit well with her.
Her mother’s attempt to sweet talk any man within a two meter radius into dancing with her doesn’t help either. They’re all either too sweaty, too short, too dumb, or too uptight to be of any interest to Ilsa.
Plus, they’re men.
At this particular ball, Ilsa has been shoved into a pastel yellow corset with a big flouncy skirt, her hair in an elaborate updo that took upwards of two hours to make.
I could have just piled it on top of my head if I wanted to and it would look the same, she grouses as her mother greets another vaguely familiar looking man with an overly cheerful looking expression.
As the quartet in the center of the ballroom strikes up another song, Ilsa chances a look around. There are many girls her age, most of them looking starry eyed and hopeful at the prospect of meeting their future prince charming, but there are a few Ilsa notices who appear to have the same bored looking expression that she wears. She’s about to risk trying to make friends with one of them when her mother greets another woman and gestures to her.
Ilsa immediately turns, her perfectly practiced smile stretching across her face as she takes in the woman her mother is talking to.
“...and this is my daughter, Alanna,” the woman says, and all of a sudden Ilsa registers the girl next to the woman, dressed in a pale blue gown that brings out her striking ice blue eyes. Her blonde hair is up in a style similar to Ilsa’s, but she somehow manages to look utterly dignified while Ilsa feels almost lost in the sea of tangles piled atop her head.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the daughter, Alanna, says with a small smile, and Ilsa’s heart does a bewildered little flutter at the way that single sentence comes out of Alanna’s mouth.
“Likewise,” Ilsa manages out, her smile still pasted across her face. Her mother says something else, but Ilsa is too busy sneaking glances at the admittedly very pretty newcomer to register any of the words coming out of her mother’s mouth.
Alanna has the kind of poise Ilsa knows any girl in the room would kill for, but also the soft edges of her face that give away her youth. She looks like her mother, Ilsa observes. They have the same eyes; catlike and hard set. There’s an air of confidence to her that Ilsa almost envies, and the way she manages to look so comfortable in someone else’s ballroom in clothes that are almost certainly too tight just makes Ilsa wonder how she does it.
Ilsa watches intently as the string quartet begins to play the opening notes of a waltz, and almost immediately, Alanna’s face lights up with one of the most beautiful smiles Ilsa has ever seen.
“I love this piece,” she says, almost shyly, and before Ilsa can compute what she’s doing, she’s held out her hand to Alanna, a genuine smile playing on her lips.
“May I have this dance?” She asks, and Alanna’s eyes go slightly wide. For a moment, time seems to slow down and Ilsa worries she’s made an incorrect assumption, but Alanna just takes her hand after a stunned second, eyes lighting up with a happiness Ilsa wishes she could bottle and keep forever.
“Yes, I would love that,” she says, and Ilsa barely hears her mother hissing something to her about how inappropriate it is for two ladies such as themselves to be dancing together. Ilsa leads Alanna into the thick of the crowd that’s gathered, and stops when they’re facing each other.
Wordlessly, Alanna places one hand gently atop Ilsa’s arm, ceding control of the dance to Ilsa. Ilsa vaguely remembers watching her brother take a lesson on waltzing, and she pulls Alanna a little closer to place her hand flat on the middle of Alanna’s back, standing up a little taller as they begin.
Alanna is, unsurprisingly, a very good dancer, and Ilsa actually begins to enjoy herself as she turns Alanna under her arm for the second time. It begins to turn playful and more people begin to watch; Ilsa keeps up with Alanna’s rhythm perfectly as the music heightens and Alanna does a little swooping step around her.
Sometime around the halfway mark of the song, Alanna leans closer into Ilsa and stays there, her lips only a few centimeters from Ilsa’s ear.
“Everyone's watching,” she whispers, her third sentence spoken to Ilsa of the night, and Ilsa chances a glance at her as they spin together.
“What do you want to do?” She murmurs. Alanna is silent for a moment before breaking out into a small smile that makes Ilsa’s heart flutter.
“Let’s give them a show,” she says, and Ilsa smiles at that.
“As you wish,” she says, and the speed of their steps increases as Ilsa maneuvers them around the room, Alanna gracefully stepping around her in time to the music. Their skirts move together, Ilsa’s pastel yellow swirling around Alanna’s baby blue, and Ilsa can’t help but think about how well their colours seem to compliment each other.
The steps become more and more elaborate until they’re almost the only ones on the dance floor, taking swooping steps around each other as Alanna’s hand rests lightly on Ilsa’s shoulder. They slow down at some point as more couples flood back to the floor, and Alanna’s eyes have a new light to them, her smile alive.
“You’re a very good dancer,” she says, a newfound respect in her tone. She’s moved unconsciously closer to Ilsa again, and Ilsa’s hand has slid just shy of her lower back. Ilsa can’t stop her shy smile at the compliment.
“Thank you,” she says, her cheeks colouring a bit. Alanna smiles at her timidity.
“I’d like to see you again,” Alanna says after a moment, and Ilsa is startled by her forwardness. “If that’s alright with you, of course,” Alanna adds, her expression becoming adorably worried. “I don’t want to have misread the situation.” Ilsa dips her gracefully low to stop that train of thought.
“I’d like to see you again as well,” she says, trying hard to bite back a smile as she brings Alanna upright again.
“Wonderful,” Alanna says, almost shyly, as the song nears its end. She moves to step back before thinking better of it and with the last notes of the song ringing out in the air, she spins into Ilsa, smiling as she looks into her eyes. The couples all around them curtsey to each other, and Ilsa lets go of Alanna just in time to mirror them. She holds out her arm to accompany Alanna to the edge of the floor where their mothers are no doubt waiting, most likely some shade of mortified at their show.
She chances one last glance at Alanna, who is glowing at her side, and Ilsa is struck by the confidence she carries herself with, even as whispers float around, people staring at the two of them. She feels shy all of a sudden, the urge to bury her face in Alanna’s neck making itself known as they approach the edge of the floor. Alanna seems to steel herself for the inevitable, but before they part ways, Ilsa squeezes her forearm lightly, a gesture of comfort.
“Thank you for the dance,” she whispers, her small smile the most genuine of the night.
Alanna looks over at her, smiling back, and it’s like Ilsa sees the sun come out.