The night of the ball has arrived. All the invited lords and ladies have confirmed their intent to arrive, and it'll be quite the lavish event, especially on such short notice.
It's being held at Isabelle's houses in town, including a large dancing room and several smaller rooms for quiet conversations. Her gardens have been freshly prepared, though this early in the year, most of the plants still look to think it's the winter.
Isabelle and Ulricht, with Hannalore are waiting anxiously in the main alcove. The event doesn't start for another half hour yet, but they've done all they can do, and so they wait. Isabelle is pacing quietly, still looking exquisite in her formal gown. Ulricht's suit matches hers exactly, though he manages to maintain his calm better, and is lounging in a chair. Hannalore is picking up on Isabelle's nervousness, but doesn't want to muss her perfectly arranged hair or gown. She is standing very still, watching Isabelle flow back and forth across the room. Even in her uncalm state, he exudes a sense of happiness, tinged with fear, at the prospect of being presented to the city tonight.
