The results swelled into a On the Other Side of the Mask freebie story so large I had to break it down into segments. Here is the first part...
Night had never been a time of celebration. Not in the Cathedral of the Goddess at the heart of Paradise. It was a time of silence, where shivering children huddled in their thin blankets on their narrow beds, eyes shut tight, trying to lay as still as possible in the darkness, praying that darkness wouldn’t notice.
In the meantime, the pale lords of darkness would celebrate within their moonlit grounds. Drinking from bubbling glasses, filled with red liquid that let out a faint scream or sigh when it touched a lord or lady’s crimson lips. Those mouths were all Byron could see of their white faces, hidden beneath many a mask. A crowd had gathered around the fountain in Lord Ruthvyn’s garden. Many of his guests wore tuxedos, top hats, or silken evening gowns, but everyone wore a mask. Various animals snarled and grinned at each other, abstract concept were warped into porcelain or wood, concealing the face of the wearer. It was all part of the fun, the game. Just who was hiding behind the mask? No one knew, but you could guess. Everyone adopted a playful, mocking fashion as they teased and flirted with each other, passing by a ghoul, a satyr, or a mad collection of stars and flowers. Just what did your mask have to say? What might you reveal while hiding yourself?
“Your mask is a part of you as much as your true face.” Lord Ruthvyn’s words caressed Byron’s inner ear, even though he was nowhere near his songbird. Was it part of his power or were Byron’s thoughts speaking to him? On this estate, it could be hard to tell which. Lips touched Byron’s cheek, cool as an ice cube sliding down his skin. “It’s up to you how much of yourself you decide to express or reveal.”
Byron gazed from the spray of water leaping, dancing, forming arcs within the fountain. He stood posed amidst the other cupids, untouched by the water, invisible. Everyone would think the songbird was simply one more statue until he moved. Until he began to sing. Ominous, how easy it was becoming to stand still, without drawing a single breath. He just had to calm his heart and mind, forget what agitated him, or least distance himself from his agitation, from his eternal question.
Where was Shelley? Was he here in the crowd? The other songbird was smaller than anyone else here. Byron looked at the gathering of lords and ladies, headresses decked with feathers, silk gowns, diamond-covered throats, smirks often revealing themselves beneath the masks.
“You promised Shelley would be here.” Byron remained still but his anger pulsed through the fountain, spreading out through the ground. It made many a pale lord pause, fixated on the warm energy in the air. Some stuck their tongues out to taste it. “You promised.”
“What’s wrong? Can’t you see him, sense him?” Something cold prickled his neck, like fingers touching him. It was the same sensation Byron got at night at the Cathedral, lying in bed, a sensation that a hungry ghost was present, ready to suck the life out of the sleeping songbirds who breathed too loudly. He’d been right.
“This is your challenge, my Byron. Sing for me in front of my guests and Shelley shall appear.” Always the master spoke in riddles, wrapping himself in madness and mystery, keeping his confused minions off-balance. “Sing for me and I shall grant your wish.”
(To be continued on Wednesday; September 9, 2020)
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