She turns a corner. Her eyes follow the long stretch of snow covered road and finally fall on the beautiful golden gate. It takes her breath away. She can't help but smile a little bit. It appears even more yellow and sterling against the gray sky and dirty snow. The sheer size of it all is beyond anything she imagined.
The majority of the Royal Courtyard doesn't excite her as much. She initially finds the Hall of Mirrors rather fascinating, but quickly gets turned off by a lady who is crudely taking pictures of herself in the middle of the room. She cringes at the vanity, which of course is only unacceptable when it is displayed by another person. She navigates through the rest of the building in a nonchalant manner, thinking that it would make her look refined and cultured.
Salon de Thé Angelina is a restaurant nestled in a corner of the palace. Enjoying a meal here is definitely an indulgence, fueled by one's vanity and extravagance. She enters the foyer with an air of confidence and raises her index finger. Table for one. She feels self-conscious about eating alone, but hides it by burying her face in the pages of Demian. After her meal, she orders a dessert called Paris-NY.
She picks up her fork, stabs it through the four tiered dessert, then carefully moves it towards the edge of the plate. The first bite is always the best. She is impressed by this bigger and better version of ferrero rocher. It is both crunchy and creamy, sweet and earthy, warm and cool. Above all, it makes her pensive. She wonders what gives her the right to enjoy herself this much, when there are others ridden with misfortune.
Not a detail left out. Love it!
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