Time for a non-lewd greentext.
 
>you hear giggles of women through the walls on the way to Beverley, your Wight friend's, ballroom.
>this place has always creeped you out
>you're decked out in your best suit and tie, ready to meet some high-class people
>Beverley even paid for advanced ballroom dance classes
>when you come across the the butler he bows and opens a massive door to the ballroom
>at first you can't believe your eyes
>ten- no, a good dozen- ghost girls are milling about the ballroom
>each is wearing a stark white dress, and their ectoplasmic hair done up in individual styles
>so those were the spooky giggles you heard
>usually Beverley invited Ghouls, Zombies, and other corporeal undead
>you spot the Wight in the corner entertaining a few of her guests
>she doesn't seem to have the time to greet you at the moment
>naturally, there is less food at the table than usual, though a few of the girls are drinking champagne
>somehow
>you soon spot a trio of ghosts looking at you
>they turn away in blushing giggles the moment you do
>early as you are to the ball, you seem to be the only man present at the moment
>besides some in the the band, which was playing a nice little tune
>and what's a ball without dancing?
>after walking around in the wings for a bit you find your way to the three girls
>one is tall and slender with a long backless dress that emphasized those traits and long straight hair reaching down to the middle of her back
>another seems younger than the other two, her hair done up in cute curls and accessories that don't seem of this world
>her dress is big enough to require some ectoplasmic supports underneath
>the third is wearing a much shorter dress that barely reaches down to her knees and shows off a bit of cleavage
>she has very short hair, too. Probably looking to go a bit wild later, by the look in her eyes
 
>which girl do you ask to dance?
>Tall and lithe
>Young and cute
>Confident and wild
 
(this will be the only choice)
 
Tall and lithe:
>you approach the three from the side, giving a slight bow and a smile when they notice your presence
>the younger one sheepishly gazes at your shoes while the other two look at you expectantly
>"May I have this dance?" you ask the tall one on the left
>The younger one looks almost relieved, while the short-haired one looks a bit miffed
>the one you addressed, however, sets her glass of champagne on a nearby table and extends her gloved hand. "You may."
>you take her cold, almost nonexistent, hand and you walk onto the dance floor
>echoing whispers emanate from the other women in the ballroom as you lead her onto the massive floor painting depicting contact between Goddesses and Men
>the band is on-point and start playing louder as you raise her hand in yours and put the other on her waist
>she smirks and daintily puts her other hand on your shoulder
>the two of you do a slow ballroom dance, prompting a few of the newly arrived men from the sidelines to ask their own preferred ladies for a dance
>”So what brings you here tonight?” you ask your partner
>she waits for her twirl to complete before she answers, “A friend received an invitation, and asked me to join her.”
>her voice is smooth as silk, and downright womanly
>unlike many of the girls you have met at such parties to which Beverley has invited you, your current partner feels like the most mature just from hearing her say a few sentences
>speaking of which, as you rotate about the ballroom you swear you can see Beverley whispering something to the conductor
 
>as Beverley speaks to him her eyes are glued in your direction with a sly smile on her lips
>a little odd, but oh well, she can do what she wants- her mansion, her party
>you follow up on your partner’s words, “I’m surprised you, yourself, weren’t invited. You look right at home here. You must go to these a lot.”
>she tilts her head with a whimsical look in her eyes, “Not at all. I’m often at my haunt. Nobody bothers me there.”
>you twirl her again and pull her back to your front, a bit closer this time
>“That sounds rather lonely. I highly recommend these balls, personally. You don’t seem too averse to dancing, in either case.”
>a hint of blush adds a pink tint to her ghostly cheeks, “I’ve had a long unlife. These were livelier back in the day. However, to be honest, few men took kindly to me in the past.”
>you cannot fathom how many years she has been in this form if even a ghost considers it a long time
>the music changes a little, even feeling a little nostalgic, though you can’t place it
>actually, judging by the winding down of the music, it sounds like the dance is about to end prematurely
>you didn’t have much time at all to converse with her, but you chalk it up to bad timing with the band
>as you stop and are about to bow to your partner in thanks for the dance, the violin section erupts with music
 
https://youtu.be/2prTB2dJjW8?t=8m27s
>though startled at the change of pace, you realize you know the piece: Dance of Hours
>Beverley made sure you knew plenty of classical music before you ever attended one of her balls
>well, you might know it from watching Fantasia when you were a kid, but who’s counting?
>you and your partner share a glance, and her normally demure expression has become one of wide-eyed excitement
>you grasp her hand again, and those advanced ballroom dancing classes finally kick in
>unlike the slow dancing from before, you and your partner pick up the pace along with the rest of those on the floor
>the hem of her dress twirls around with every spin, you pick her weightless body up by the waist with raises, and you are almost running hand-in-hand across the dance floor
>you’re beginning to sweat from the burst of activity, but this kind of fast-paced music is much more your style
>she maintains the biggest smile you have ever seen for the remaining two minutes of the music
>the final triumphant cymbal crash leaves you breathless and the guests in the wings clapping with good cheer
>you and your partner walk toward a pair of chairs along the wall
>she grasps your bent arm with both hands, nearly tripping over her dress with laughter as you two approach a pair of chairs
>relieved to be seated, you catch your breath and get up the nerve to ask her name
>she takes a moment to calm down, places her hands on her lap, and says, "My name is Monet. And yours?"
>you mentally fist-pump that she asked your name on her own
>"Anon."
>"Well, Anon. Thank you very much for the dance. I honestly didn't expect you to be able to dance like that."
>you see Beverley out of the corner of your eye
>she's craning her neck to see how you're doing beyond her posse of ballroom girls
>"I had some help"
>you and Monet converse for the rest of the ball, occasionally jumping onto the dance floor to partake in the faster dances
 
-----------
 
Young and cute:
>you approach the three from the side, giving a slight bow and a smile when they notice your presence
>the younger one sheepishly glances at your shoes while the other two look at you expectantly.
>"May I have this dance?" you ask the youngest of the three
>the tall one looks away and lightly sighs in disappointment, while the short-haired one looks a bit miffed
>your partner, meanwhile, stares wide-eyed at your extended hand
>you give her a moment as red clouds flow into her cheeks
>"Y-yes," she says as she hesitantly places her fingers atop yours
>you can work with this
>as you and your partner walk hand-in-hand onto the dance floor, hushed voices echo between the walls
>they aren't as spooky now that you know they're just Beverley's guests, but the tone of their reaction to the first dance gave you reason to suspect something
>regardless you keep your back straight and posture dignified as you take your partner's hand
>she jolts a little when you put your hand on her hip
>the blush never leaves her face as she clumsily lets you lead
>if you aren't mistaken, a piano piece by Chopin was playing, giving the rest of the band a break
>Beverley made sure long ago to inundate your head with plenty of classical music if you ever planned to attend her balls
>good thing it was slow, because your partner was having a bit of trouble getting the steps right
>one step even lands on your foot, causing you both to stumble a little
 
>"S-sorry," she says, never looking you in the eye and a permanent blush on her cheeks
>a smirk tugs at your lips, "It's all about the rhythm. Here. Watch me."
>you reach and tilt her head by the chin to face you. A nod on every beat, you start counting, "One, two, three, four."
>though still clearly embarrassed at the situation, she begins concentrating on the music along with you
>her steps indeed improve thanks to your constant whispered counting
>with how large the ballroom is, you doubt anybody could tell that you're helping her out
>on the next beat, you lightly grasp her hand and motion to the side
>it takes her a moment to register that she is supposed to spin
>to your surprise, she does
>her poofy dress twirls about in a whirlwind of frills and ribbons
>as she spins back to you, she trips once more
>can’t expect her to be perfect after just one dance
>this time, she faceplants into your lapel with a yelp of surprise
 
>you can hear the giggling of ghosts from all over the ballroom
>although, they seem much more good-natured than the whispers from before
>after all, you were the first couple to dance tonight
>you help your partner up from her fall and escort her off the dance floor as the nocturne ends
>“You don’t seem very used to these kinds of things,” you say as you walk toward a tray of champagne
>she avoids eye contact and picks off a glass
>“Not really,” she says, and takes a sip
>the liquid visibly flows into her mouth, down her throat, and beyond the white of her dress
>you may never understand how ghosts can drink, but she looked like she needed one
>“Well, it’s not the end of the world if you don’t like to dance,” you say.
>the girl turns to you with a start. “Oh, no, I love dancing! I’m just, well, n-not very good at it.”
>you can’t help but smile in the face of her bashfulness. “My name is Anon.”
>she smiles weakly, as if feeling sorry for you for choosing her as your partner. “Abigail.”
>the two of you walk along the west wall until you come across a balcony wide enough to contain its own party if a normal person were throwing it
>Beverley’s mansion overlooks a lake, and the sparkling night sky, clear as can be, reflected in its waters
>you and Abigail find yourselves at the stone railing above the lake, gazing over the scenery
>she has a wistful look in her transparent eyes as the next dance begins inside the mansion
>an idea bubbles to the surface as you recognize the music as Chopin’s Spring Waltz
>“Would you like to practice?”
 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KmzFDEu2RoA
>Abigail looks around her as if assuming you were talking to someone else
>before she can gather herself, you take her by the hand and pull her further toward the center of the massive balcony-
>you begin with the waltz, which she knows
>although, she is not quite ready for your hand to reach to the small of her back, pulling the two of you closer
>the red in her cheeks seems to keep her from saying anything as you begin
>step by step and turn by turn you give her tips on how to place her feet and angle her steps
>the minutes fly by as you act the part of instructor
>it takes until the next song for her to mess up
>her legs trip over each other and she tumbles backwards into your arms
>instead of a bashful retreat, she hugs your arms around her thin middle and lets out joyous laughs
>you can’t help but laugh as well, and you haven’t had any champagne yet
>for a length of time you can’t measure, you and Abigail take a break in each other’s arms
>together you gaze out onto the sparkling lake
>after a time she grasps your arms tighter and says, “Will you be coming to the Sunday brunch next week?”
>you are snapped out of your stupor just in time to answer, “The one at Beverley’s winery?”
>she perks up, turning her head above herself to look at you, “Yes! That’s the one!”
>you hold her delicately around her waist, “I was planning to miss that one, but if you’re going, I could make an exception.”
 
------------------
 
Confident and wild:
>you approach the three from the side, giving a slight bow and a smile when they notice your presence
>the younger one sheepishly glances at your shoes while the other two look at you expectantly.
>"May I have this dance?" you ask the woman with short hair
>the tall one looks away and lightly sighs in disappointment, while the younger one almost looks relieved
>your partner, meanwhile, bypasses your hand and grabs you by the lapel before dragging you into the middle of the dance floor
>you manage to get her hand off you before you get there and assume the proper ballroom dance form with your other hand on her waist
>she raises and eyebrow and pulls your arm almost all the way around her back
>though a little taken aback, you begin the dance
>contrary to what you initially thought, she is quite good at slow dancing
>she doesn’t seem to feel comfortable with the tempo, however
>in fact, her steps are just slightly ahead of the rhythm of the symphony
>regardless, more couples are joining the dance along with the recently arrived men
>after a spin you find a moment to speak, “Doesn’t look like this is really your ‘thing.’”
 
>she grimaces, “Yeah. I was invited, but I thought this party would be a bit more exciting.”
>“Same here. Beverley’s a good friend, but she can stand to loosen up a little.”
>you don’t get the reaction you expect as she simply shrugs her shoulders
>she needed a bit more
>you say, “I wonder if Wights are born with a fancy stick up their asses?”
>your partner throws her head back with a laugh, “Oh man, I bet it’s all diamond-encrusted ‘n shit.”
>the volume of your joined laughter turns some heads, but you pay no mind
>this girl knows what she’s talking about
>with a smirk she leans in and says, “What’s your name, buddy?”
>you gladly respond, “Anon. What’s yours?”
>“Nicole. And hey, after the rest of these stiffs get on the floor, you wanna grab some drinks?”
>“I’d be up for some champagne. I usually drink stronger stuff, though.”
>Nicole, never losing her smirk, places a cold phantasmal finger on your lips
>she says, “Play your cards right and I bet we can get our hands on some ‘stronger stuff.’”
 
>as the dance ends and each couple bows/curtseys to their partners, you and Nicole skedaddle on over to the closest champagne tray
>she leads you by the hand with a firm grip, her nearly nonexistent high heels clicking on the floor with every firm step
>you can’t help but take the chance to admire the sway of her hips
>Beverley wouldn’t approve of staring, but Nicole’s intentions become clear as she bends down to take two glasses of champagne from the tray
>she clearly could have reached it just find without bending over
>you take the glass she offers and the two of you clink them together in cheers
>while you take a modest gulp, she downs hers in one prolonged series of gulps
>you can see the sparkling liquid stream down her throat and disappear inside her beyond her dress
>to be honest it’s one of the more arousing things you’ve seen a ghost do
>you give her a golf clap in appreciation, to which she curtseys
>after grabbing a few more glasses for future consumption you and Nicole sit down in a pair of the fanciest chairs you’ve ever seen
>“So,” you say, “have you been to one of Beverley’s, uh, functions before?”
>she’s already halfway through her second glass, “Guh, yeah. She’s always been too fancy for me.”
>“Not exciting enough?” you ask, taking a sip of your own glass
>this causes her to look over the rim of her drink at you, eyes sharp and mischievous
>“You want me to show you where she keeps the ‘strong stuff?’”
 
>you look around at the incredibly dull ball and down the rest of your glass, “Let’s go.”
>with Beverley distracted by the rest of her guests, you and Nicole slink out of the ballroom
>you expected the clicks of her heels to echo through the massive hallway, but she just starts floating just above the floor
>she leads you by the hand down a series of turns and through some doors until you find yourself in what looks like an unused kitchen
>all is dark, except for Nicole’s own ghostly glow lighting the way
>dust covers the counters and some pans and dishes have even been left out
>it really feels like some kind of haunted house now
>you jump as a screech of door hinges echoes through the room
>Nicole has pried open an old trap door leading down
>following her like a man being lead to his death, you climb down and see a massive cellar of bottles
>not just wine, either
>brandy, gin, whiskey, vodka, and probably dozens more varieties you haven’t even heard of line the walls
>what’s more, unlike the kitchen preceding it, the cellar is spotless
>Nicole grabs a bottle of whiskey off a rack several feet above your head and floats back down with a hand around your neck
>“Heheh. I found this place about a decade ago. She still doesn’t know who’s grabbing her best stuff.”
>she triumphantly pops the cap and takes a long drink
 
>you are amazed that she has been stealing from Beverley’s stash for so long
>she’s usually meticulous, knowledgeable, and frighteningly persistent
>the woman hanging off of you is a cut above the rest
>as far as theft goes, at any rate
>“Hey, you gonna take this glass or not?”
>you turn to look at the hand resting on your shoulder to see a short crystal glass
>taking it, you decide to sit on the floor
>Nicole responds by settling her weightless rear on your lap sideways so she can keep her arm around your neck
>her legs cross over each other and reveal a good portion of her thighs to you
>“I hope you like your whiskey straight,” she says as she pours you a glass
>you clink your full glass against her bottle, “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
>it takes until sunrise the next day before Beverley’s butler finds you and Nicole sleeping in the cellar with three empty bottles on the floor next to you