50 You're Not Frade

I was stunned. The man in front of me wore a mask that covered half of his face. His golden eyes sparkled like stars in the darkness. His eyes were dark and cold. Although half of his face was obscured by a silver mask, the other half was as perfect as a picture of Vincent van Gogh's starry night sky.

He stood in front of me, but I felt him so far away. He said nothing but looked at me. The silver mask glowed white in the moonlight, and he wore a pure white shirt, clean and neat, without a trace of wrinkles. His neck is as long as that of a swan. His lips parted slightly, revealing his white teeth.

“You're awake, Sleeping Beauty!” He put his violin on the floor and leaned against the wall.

His voice was calm and soft. His sound was blown away by the night breeze and brushed gently against my cheek. I felt a shiver coming over me.

An inexplicable impulse prompted me to boldly touch his face mask. It was the coldness of metal. Now I know he's not Frade.

I was extremely disappointed and