She watches the candle as it slowly fades, its short life vanishing before her eyes. The conversation carries on around her, oblivious to its fate. But such is life, she thinks sadly as the candle flickers and dies. The brighter you burn, the quicker you die.
The focus of her attention is now gone, and she must return to the harsh reality of her surroundings. Beside her an old man tries to goad her into conversation, but she politely hints that she is not interested. The old man shrugs and turns to the woman opposite him.
I don't belong here, she thinks, gazing around the room. It is full of richly dressed people, dining delicately and chatting politely. She struggles to keep from covering her ears: the noise of conversation is deafening.
She turns to her grandfather, her reason for attending this otherwise avoided charade. She hardly ever had the chance to spend time with him, and tonight had seemed like the perfect opportunity, but he was deep in conversation with the man opposite him. He is unaware of her obvious discomfort.
Suddenly she feels claustrophobic in the tightly packed room. Politely she excuses herself and heads for the ladies room. Once inside, she locks herself in a stall and sits on the closed bowel, trying to stop her shivers. Tears run openly down her face, despite her best efforts to quell them.
Finally she regains her composure and, after making sure that she looks presentable once more, she returns to the room.
She sits in silence, sneaking a quick glance around the table. No one has noticed or missed her prolonged absence. She barely resists the urge to burst into tears once more. She is alone in the crowded room.