Chapter 2: The Mask Comes Off
EVERYONE PRESENT IN the ballroom was lavishly dressed and adorned to the teeth. I was no exception. That evening, I wore a lovely ruffled shirt of gold and black, lace trimming at my neck and the cuffs of my sleeves. White stockings graced my legs, black trousers covering where said garments had neglected. My shoes were black and of the finest leather, gold buckles on their fronts. My appearance thus, I strutted confidently into the dancing area, held held high, and oh-so-ignorant of the secret to be unveiled.
Speaking of unveling, this was a masquerade ball. My mask matched what I wore that night (of course), two golden feathers with black quills on the top right corner. As I made my way through the crowd, I was able to make out a woman's figure clad in a rather flattering emerald dress. Well, as flattering as a dress can be when a woman can't even show her ankles in public. Doing so, apparently, is sexually provocative (utter nonsense in my mind). Honestly, who would be aroused by the sight of a bony lump on a girl's foot?
And I'm rambling on again. Sorry about that.
Back to the woman in the emerald dress. Her hair fell to the middle of her back in the same sweeping curls as mine. Its black coloration contrasted beautifully with her fair skin and green eyes- a shade lighter than my own.
Being the gentleman I am, I approached and asked if she cared to dance. She giggles and put her hand to her mouth, her lace-covered fan having been tucked away in some unseen compartment.
"Why, certainly," she answered, her voice cool and calm.
In the middle of a waltz, it occurred to me that I had not yet asked her name. I said as much, feeling a bit foolish at this oversight.
She laughed again. It was a melodious sound that made one think of water gently flowing over pebbles in a stream. "You'll have to wait until the unmasking, Monsieur."
Of course; identites had to be kept secret until the height of the ball was announced.
"Je sais," I replied, taking care not to let my composure slip. I was merely testing you, Chéri. You passed," I added, chuckling lightly.
She smiled and continued the waltz, the peacock feathers near the edge of her glittering green mask swaying as she moved.
Something seemed amiss, though what, I could not tell.
* * *
The music came to a stop, and a clear voice rang out across the ballroom.
"Madames et monsieurs, it is time for the moment you have all been waiting for. You may now take off your masks," announced a small (from my point of view) man in a suit, standing on a platform at the front of the room.
Everyone removed the adornment from their faces, including myself and my mystery dancing partner. I did not recognize her, nor did she remember me.
"My name is Angelique," she said, softly yet clearly. "Angelique Bonner."
"Alary, mon cher. Alary de Secouet." I paused, smiling. "Angelique, is it? You are certainly beautiful enough to be an angel."
Her cheeks suddenly flushed with color. "You flatter me, Monsieur."
"Please, call me Alary." I knelt and kissed the top of her hand before looking at her face again.
"Alright," she consented, her eyes plainly showing her happiness.
As the last dance came to an end, I began to bid farewell to Angelique and depart. I stopped when I felt her hand clasp my arm. Flinching at the unexpected contact, I turned to face her. "Is something wrong, Chéri?"
"I... I don't want you to leave. Not without me," she said timidly, her voice almost a whisper.
What? I blinked repeatedly, my eyebrows raised. "You... wish me to take you home, then?"
"Not mine," she replied. "Yours. I should like to meet your parents- to see if they approve."
My eyes widened. "we barely know each other," I pointed out, genuinely stunned that she would already be considering marriage. "Don't you think we should spend some time together first? Get to know each other a bit more?"
She sighed. "I would like to, oui. It would be the proper thing to do. The trouble is, my own mother and father are in a hurry to get me married off. I don't think they understand the concept of waiting for love." She looked downcast, as if to say that her parents' minds could not be changed.
"Porqoui?" I asked, referring to the rushed actions of the couple who wanted their daughter to find a husband so quickly. "You are far from being too old to marry."
"I don't think it's my age they're worried about. You see, my parents are already fairly old. I believe they want their daughter to fins a partner before they..." Her voice trailed off, and she swallowed in an effort to regain her ability to speak. "... Die," she finished, that last word barely audible.
I gave a quiet 'oh' of understanding, lacing my fingers with hers. Silently, I wondered if my own mother and father wanted the same for me.
Angelique looked up at me, quite obviously relieved that I was able to sympathize with her plight. "So, now you see." Her voice was just above a whisper. She had not yet looked away, I noticed. Perhaps this was a good omen?
I nodded. "Oui, Chéri. I see." The softness of her eyes made me want to smile. I've always followed my instincts.
Angelique's sweet little mouth followed suit.
"Ah, how I should like to kiss that mouth," I teased, tickling her under her chin with my forefinger.
-to be continued-
Dragon-sayer Community Member 
|
|
