Triangle Park

Is this a Party or a Morgue?

At precisely 8 pm, the Knighton family's butler, Chick, gave a satisfied nod that the family's position and spacing was resplendent. He had lined them up himself, posing them and placing them like dolls on display. They were, of course, on display. Each year, their vogue party was the capstone of the season, declaring the new fashions and styles for the next year. Only the exceptionally privileged were invited to partake.

At this same moment, the singularly breathtaking Triangle Park Estate opened its' enormous oakwood doors. Guests of the highest social stature, bedecked in an astounding array of satins, silks, colors, jewels, filigree and finery poured inside and were allowed to marvel once again at the peculiarly ravishing spectacle of Triangle Park's interior. The floor of the foyer scored a mosaic of turquoise, green, dark blue, yellow and red tiles that spanned the entirety of the grand foyer--and although worn with age, were nonetheless brilliant in their designs. An enormous crystal chandelier hung overhead that boasted 86 glittering candles that flickered the room into a sparkle. The walls were painted a stunning marigold yellow that brightly contrasted the exotic showcase of potted flowers and trees that welcomed each and every guest with a whisper of the strange. Many of the guests were forced to pause here and inspect each botanical specimen, wondering aloud where such greenery could possibly come from.
   
The more earnest guests, however, continued to the hall on the right, where footmen stood at the ready to receive each person's riding hood-- most of which were green with gold edging, an article in high fashion this season in spite of it being a very warm summer. The hallway carried three miniature versions of the grand chandelier that followed one after the other, illuminating the sturdy rows of family portraits that lined either side of the hall. Each stoic face of the long lineaged Knighton family glared out of their frames at the roving procession of visitors as they bustled past.

At precisely 8:05 pm, the very first guests walked through the doors of the Triangle Park ballroom, where the most remarkable spectacle of the night stood.

The Knighton family was garnished in extraordinary hues of violet and blue. Henry Knighton was tall and dignified like a nutcracker doll. His grey and dark hair curled in decadent wisps that crowned his head, reflected by an equally dark beard that was so neatly combed and shaped to a point, it could have been an extra tooth. He wore a deep blue waistcoat that shaped his slender form with a light blue vest to match. His wife Elizabeth, who stood to his left side, was severely beautiful with sharp features and fair hair. She was shorter than Mr. Knighton by a good foot, but no less eloquent in her deep purple gown with midnight blue roses pinned to the bodice and neck. Viola, their oldest daughter flanked the other side of Mr. Knighton, and had inherited his upturned nose and dark hair. She had her mother's height, but held herself so upright and gracefully, she might as well have been tall. Viola was the talk of this party, as she'd just accepted an engagement to Lord Oscar Beckstead--the most notoriously wealthy and handsome bachelor of several seasons--who was positioned next to her. James, the youngest of the Knightons, stood relaxed and arrogant next to his mother in a rebellious striped waistcoat of light blue and light purple. He was only sixteen but had caught the hearts of several ladies both younger and older than himself.

It was an awestruck moment, as the guests crowded into the ballroom and gasped and clapped at the family whose acquaintance and acceptance was the most coveted connection in all of Harland society.

"Welcome!" Lady Knighton's astral voice filled the ballroom, "Welcome Lords and Ladies to our 4122 Vogue party! Partake of the next years colors and cuts!" She gestured to her family as they each curtseyed or bowed to their guests. 
The magic was then broken as the Knightons released from their places and the crowd enveloped them. The larger press surrounded the newly betrothed Lady Viola and Lord Beckstead.

"By the stars Lady Viola, we offer our sincerest congratulations to you and your most exquisite fiance, what wonderful news for your family." The aged Lady Wisem garbled as she bent over her silver fretworked cane. Her other knobby hand grasped Viola's feebly. "Will you continue here at Triangle Park? Or will you brave the ventures of establishing your own household?"