Fireworks

The Lyselle family's New Year's gala was in full swing, an event so extravagant it could only be described as Helena Lyselle's magnum opus of social dominance. Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead, the scent of imported roses mingled with the delicate aroma of hors d'oeuvres, and a string quartet played softly in the corner, attempting to be heard over the hum of high-society chatter.

Amara, however, was not impressed. She leaned against the bar, nursing a glass of champagne and trying to avoid eye contact with the swarm of corporate executives and media tycoons that her mother had strategically invited.

"Why do you always look like you're plotting someone's demise at these things?" Elara asked, appearing beside her. She wore a sleek, emerald-green dress that somehow made her look like she belonged in a Renaissance painting and on the cover of a fashion magazine at the same time.