In the Presence of Masquerade

Just as I began to enjoy my new surroundings, an odd rumble cut through the air. Masquerade paused at his work, and Garrett's head turned towards the bed. My face flushed immediately. I forgot I hadn't eaten since the early afternoon. I had forgotten to eat at the prom like I promised. That was hours ago by now.

"Excuse me," I mumbled.

The faint smile returned.

"Garrett," Masquerade said, "I think my guest is in need of further refreshment."

"Oh no, please don't bother. I'm—" the rumble cut down my protest.

Masquerade raised an eyebrow above his mask. I'm certain he was trying not to laugh. Then he turned to the boy.

"Would you?"

Garrett nodded, but his eyes asked what he should bring.

"Whatever is appetizing," Masquerade said, "and gentle on her stomach."

The boy bowed and left us. Masquerade bent again to his work. Watching him, it suddenly dawned on me that I was being tended by the owner of the house I entered without invitation. He hadn't even asked what I was doing at his ball! and here I was, lying on his bed as he cleaned my injured ankle. Guilt welled up inside me. I couldn't take advantage of his kindness. I had to tell him the truth. 

"Masquerade—" I began breathlessly. "I'm sorry, I mean Lord Masquerade--"

"Don't be sorry," he said, squeezing the gauze.

My heart fluttered. I felt a little more confident in his forgiveness. When he raised his eyes, however, I lost my nerve. 

"I—I—just...um..." I pressed my fingers against my palms, "I just want to thank you..." 

He raised a confused eyebrow. 

"I wasn't—I actually wasn't supposed to be here. I'm not rich or anything. I wasn't invited. I just got lost in the woods, and—came inside because I—I guess I just was drawn to this place."

He smiled. I blushed a little but quickly continued.

"I'm really sorry for trespassing. I really wouldn't have come in if I thought someone lived here. Really, if you'd thrown me out, broken ankle and all, I wouldn't have blamed you. But you—you've been so...kind—" I started to heave, "I don't deserve—any of it—" 

The catch in my throat drew tears. I couldn't stop them and lowered my head. A few dripped onto my dress. Above my trembling breaths, I heard Masquerade stand.

"Oh, no, no, no, my dear," he murmured softly, drawing close. 

His voice made me feel so safe. 

"Hush now, don't let these betraying jewels fall," he said, lifting my chin. Caressing my face, he brushed away my tears, his touch gentle and warm. "Don't take off your mask for me..."

I groaned, "Why does everyone keep saying that? I'm not wearing a mask!"

"No?" he asked mildly, turning my face. 

I found myself staring into a long mirror. I had not noticed it when we first came in. There was the bed and Masquerade crouched beside it, his gloved fingers grazing my cheek. There I was, sitting against the pillows, my red dress hanging just below my shoulders—and on my face was glistening a black masquerade mask. Its contours were so delicately webbed, I almost didn't see it.

My hands flew to my face, groping for the mask. My reflection followed suite and touched the mask, too, but I could feel nothing around my eyes. This weird illusion really bothered me.

"I don't understand," I said, my voice trembling, "Why is the mirror putting a mask on my face when there isn't one there?"

"You say that with such certitude," he said with a soft laugh.

"What do you mean?" I asked, "Can you see it?"

"Oh yes, it guards your eyes beautifully," he answered, softly tracing its outline. 

His fingers moved so precisely, I knew he wasn't lying. Feeling lost, I caught his hand in mine. My thoughts were blending together, my mind reeling. Slipping free, my last tear wet the tip of his finger.

I'm not going crazy! I can't be going crazy!

I looked at him, my round eyes wordlessly begging for an explanation. I felt him tighten his fingers and I let go of his hand. He started to answer, when he noticed how labored my breath was. 

He must have sensed the depth of my visceral fright. He touched my arm, then gently traced my wrist with a single, delicate finger. His simple expression of sympathy subdued the thunder in my mind. Sighing heavily, I released the weight in my chest. 

With my eyes, I thanked him, and he lowered his with a quiet smile.

"Don't you see?" he murmured, "You've always worn the mask—it's a part of you."

"How?" I asked.

He moved away, returning his hand to my ankle. My feelings of fear were replaced with exhaustion, but I still wanted an answer.

"Why is there a mask? Please tell me," I begged him. 

He didn't say anything at first. Pouring the ointment onto a fresh bandage, he wrapped it over my injury. His hands moved deftly and he began to sing softly,

You've guarded yourself. You've kept the door closed

Molded a smile to cover your sighs

Pretended to laugh when you felt so alone

Seemed so alive while your soul slowly died

His song was hauntingly lonely. It washed away the strings tightening my heart. I let my head rest on the pillows as I listened.

You moved like a dream, yet you felt like the damned 

With each new impression, a seam was then traced

And as every new love came to prove it was shammed

Another thread wove through the mask on your face

I felt my eyes close...his words became a soft melody in the distance...that faded away...

****************

Her chest rose and fell, her breath was calm. Her eyes closed...

The choices you make are what fashion the mask

Your hopes, and your dreams, yes, your fears

When all are combined like the sheen of a glass 

That is how you truly disappear

He glanced toward her sleeping face, smiling faintly. Crushing a delicate substance in his palm, he sang the last verses as he rubbed his fingertips in the glistening powder:

Now, my dear, your secret's hidden, and none can follow

For our secret will not be betrayed

'neath the roof of my house, in the web of my ball, know

It cannot be found...

He opened his hand, and glittering particles fell upon her bandage,

Don't be afraid 

For none ever find those of the Masquerade

The glow swirled around her ankle, settled on the cloth, then faded away. Standing up, he covered her with the blanket. 

As he brought the covers near her shoulders, his hand hovered near the locks of hair tumbling across the pillow. He reached out to stroke the delicate strands, but withdrew his fingers. 

Then he left her.