The Met

‘Who are you wearing tonight!?’

The faceless men chorus in unison, an entity of adoration.

I curtsy to the floor - the picture of delicacy.

‘Cate Hill.’ I wave to the crowds - the image of humility.

Each step raises me further on my pedestal.

‘Who’s your charity tonight?’

I refrain from rolling my eyes.

I widen my lips and bare my teeth.

They salivate at the mouth.

‘Wilbur Woods’ Organisation for the Lost Gardens.’

‘It’s a very worthy charity. They help restore the decaying gardens of the Wilbur Woods’ gated community.’

Applause graces my ears.

‘What a noble choice!’

‘Her Majesty the Charitable!.’

‘It’s lovely to see you giving back to those in need.’

I bow my head softly. ‘I do my best.’ I hold my hand to my chest, feeling it warm with all the kindness in my heart.