Songbird

Abruptly, Sir Theo stopped in his tracks. Gathered in front of him earlier arrivals held up the queue. Eager to step into the party, Sir Theo wondered why the holdup? With their gaze cast upwards, something happening above had many transfixed, and curious to know what everyone looked at, Sir Theo directed his gaze to the ceiling. “Oh.”

“Indeed,” replied Sir Theo’s companion Richard Miller. Likewise, he stared at the spectacle above him. “Milo has surpassed himself.”

“Surpassed himself? Damn it, but it is safe to declare Milo has taken party entertainment to a whole new era of ostentatious lunacy.” Suspended from the ceiling were two human-sized birdcages and one wooden swing, and in each of the birdcages, a woman decorated in jewels and silks sat. The impression was to look like a bird and to be fair, it drew the gasps the hosts hoped for. Nestled between the birdcages, the most divine woman Sir Theo swore he had ever seen swung gently on a wooden swing. Her costume was a variation on the fashions of the 1770s—the country milkmaid style—and her dress billowed past her feet, cascading into the still air. Her red hair was fashioned in many curls, mirroring the style prevalent in the same past decade; her bouncy curls framed her exquisite features. Certainly, she was a spectacle; a reminder of the most flamboyant style of their predecessors.

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