New hope to live life to it’s fullest in one’s Life.
Behold, this extravagant feast would make even Oscar Wilde proud – a spread fit for kings, or in my case, a god among mortals. 'A man who can dominate a London dinner-table can dominate the world' – I have dominated both, surpassing even my beloved Wilde.
Lord Henry Wotton, Basil Hallward, Alan Campbell, Lady Agatha, Lord Fermor, Duchess of Monmouth, Victoria Wotton – all my esteemed friends have indulged in such luxurious excess. Even my loyal servants, Victor and Mrs. Leaf, are occasionally blessed with my generosity – feasting on my leftovers like the fortunate dogs they are.
Their devotion is palpable; they adore me utterly. 'I can’t stand people who do not take food seriously' – a philosophy I live by. Every bite, every sip, every conversation revolves around culinary delight. My dinner parties are legendary – the talk of London society.
Basil Hallward, however, merely lusts after my youthful visage at the dinner table – annoying me intensely. His incessant remarks about my missing portrait and unlined face are met with my elegant indifference – a nod, a gesture, a raised glass. His fascination borders on obsession; I confess, it sometimes sparks hatred within me.
Yet, 'After a good dinner one can forgive anybody...' and indeed, 'When in trouble, eating is my sole consolation.' Food is my solace, my passion, my reason for living. And tonight, this feast is my masterpiece – a symphony of flavors, a ballet of wine glasses, a opera of witty banter.
As I gaze upon this bounty, my mind wanders to the excesses of ancient Rome, the lavish feasts of King Louis XIV, the decadent balls of Venice. My dinner party surpasses them all – a true masterpiece of indulgence.
Shall I pour myself another glass of champagne? Perhaps Lord Henry will finally cease his tiresome compliments on my appearance... or maybe I'll simply enjoy the music of his envy.
The night is young, the wine is chilled, and my guests are eager for scandalous conversation – shall we begin?
