"He Wore a Mask" by Emily Grist

The lights danced around like glowing fireflies, while the air felt hot due to the moisture of love and perfume, with a mix of heated bodily odors that wasn’t unpleasant. The wooden floors swirled due to the sweet nectar drink, which infused her with a pleasant warmth that reminded her of sad tales told within the walls of a happy home. The night was warm and still; the stars twinkled like diamond dust thrown onto velvet shades. Meanwhile, magic flowed throughout the marble halls, over the oak banisters, finally settling on the dresses of the young ladies, in their hair, touching their cheeks, each of them majestic and beautiful.

This was a Haldin party, celebrating the making of Creation, of Mystery. Always the mystery of the masks, the wearers, not even the Haldin family knew each other beneath those masks.

The costumes! The elaborate costumes! You were not allowed inside the decadent halls without the Mystery cloaking you, from head to toe, including your ears and eyes. There were cats, tigers, bears, deer, boars, peacocks, swans and any other piece of animal Creation brought to attention.

So lovely, each woman, so handsome, each man. Where was she to start, gazing around these beautiful people? Even the waitresses and waiters had dressed up, in simultaneous steps so that each fold of their costumes matched. They were dressed as dogs, their outfits molded to their body, giving away their genders. Not common street mongrels, but beautiful Danes, strong, elegant, obedient. White, grey, spotted, stripped, unique, plain, each costume to match the individual’s personality; yet all made the same. Their masks were wide, with long pointed ears and snouts with twitching noses, their hands and feet covered in cloth to mold and resemble a dog’s paw.

She felt shy, walking through the wide glass doors, masked faces turning to her. She knew none of these people, and none of them knew her; as was to be expected. This delicate, dark figure walked with a fluidity of only one animal: The melanistic jaguar. The other recognizable women dressed in white and elaborate colors, but little or no black was to be seen on them.

The diamond dust settled on her dress, showing up more on her than any other woman, and it made her blue-black hair shine more powerfully than the starlit skies themselves. The tendrils from her messily pulled-up hair fell about her face and shoulders in a tangle, and her black and golden lips parted slightly as she gazed around herself, soaking up the splendor, the grandeur of the room. How wonderful it was to be a part of these people!

She had no idea what to expect, but this party exceeded all expectations, and delighted her. Her arms swung at her sides as she stepped barefoot along the cold marble, her nails painted black. She was cursed to have light brown skin instead of the dark chocolate of her race, but she was a Princess, and though things were said behind her back in her homeland, here she was more beautiful than anyone.

But no one knew who she was. Not on this night.

A woman danced her way, her long neck providing a facet of her swan costume. Her purple eyes danced with the magic spell of a wizard, and the ring on her left hand shined almost as darkly. Her powers did not quite pass Mignon’s. The woman cleared her throat, stifling herself from saying her name. She curtsied deeply to Mignon.

“My lady, you look stunning, more so than any other lady here. May I offer you an escort?”

Raising a dark, slender eyebrow, Mignon replied coolly in a purr, “I would love to accept your offer, as kind as it is, but I believe… I will find an escort myself.”

Nearly taken aback, the woman realized the rank this mysterious jaguar had. She smiled kindly, the wrinkles around her mouth showing through the thin sheen of her mask, offering Mignon a chance to guess her age. The swan glided away gaily, twirling into a panda’s arms; Mignon could not tell whether the panda was male or female, as the outfit was quite large and the person was only of medium height.

Her muscles rippling beneath her skin, she reached for a wine glass, and laughed, sipping the gentle drink and spinning her way onto the dance floor.

After her second glass, her life began to spin around her, and her dress felt as if it were no longer there. The heavy black material still covered her legs and barely supported her ample bosom, but her happy mood, arrogance, and influenced mind caused her into thinking she were dancing naked. The wind outside blew clouds over the house, and rained upon it, the Earth smelling of Mystery.

Her dress fashioned to cling to her, black and silver, as if moonlight hit the material with her movements. This gave her a cat-like grace. Her mask had a small snout with long whiskers, legit fangs hanging from the mask, down past Mignon’s chin. The eyes to the mask were outlined a dark golden color, her own eyes turning green and gold in the strange candlelight. Reaching up slightly, Mignon adjusted a small cat ear in her hair, smoothing her dress but twirling in alarm as a voice rung loud and clear above her, causing her lithe cat tail to swing.

“Ahh, all is perfect!” a smooth male voice yelled from atop the banisters. He gazed down at each lovely lady, his black outfit full of glittering dust, as Mignon’s was. She stopped dancing, her skirt and tail twirling around her. No other woman seemed to notice him, and no man even glanced up. She blinked through the sweat in her eyes, through her mask that constricted her. He wore soft leather pants, a wide black shirt that revealed his muscular chest and stomach. His hair was slightly tousled, as his clothes were, as if he’d just woken up… or left a lover’s arms. He was also barefoot, only had extensions on his feet to resemble claws. What was this man supposed to be? His mask was simple, and not elaborate. His warm brown eyes twinkled and his lips curved so sexually, Mignon felt herself knees turn to water.

He looked down at her, noticed her hidden gold eyes, her glittering lips, and her mask that covered the rest of her face, besides her eyebrows and forehead. He imagined her cheeks, flushed red with wine and high spirits, and felt himself intrigued.

She slowly walked between couples and up the banister stairway, letting her arrogance fall through, allowing herself a swing in her step, a grace only a jaguar would possess, and as she passed him, she growled ever so slightly, her black nails scratching along the material of his shirt.

“Why, you are a hunter, aren’t you?” he said, his voice purring a foreign accent.

“A huntress,” she whispered back, noticing the wings etched in silver on his shirt. She glided her hands along them and over his shoulders. “And you would be… a raven?”

He growled low in his throat, gazing over a broad shoulder at her. “Yes.” He turned around and bent into her neck, smelling her gentle perfume, her haughtiness nearly the scent coming off her. He loved it. “And you would be Princess Mignon?” he whispered softly, deadly around her. He felt her stir, ever so slightly, and composed herself quickly.

“And you must be…?”

“Ah, ah… you know better, Princess Jaguar.” He took her hand and placed it at his belt on his back, and led her away from the crowd. Curiosity kept her holding onto his belt, and her general sexual desire for him.

He opened a small door, tucked neatly between two shelves in an empty library room, and took her polished hand. With a bow and a kiss, he led her through the small door, snapping it shut behind him. The room was small and dark, and Mignon laughed a soft, silky laugh.

“Mmm, is this how you get your pleasure?”

She felt him smile, and crept forward as he kept close to her back. He grabbed her dress as he lowered himself down from her.

In his odd accent, he said, “Stay there.”

As he lit the candles, slowly, one by one, Mignon felt herself tingle with delight. The room had a bed, very close to the ground, covered in pillows. The room itself had nearly one hundred candles by her guess, and lit the room softly. Her eyes hurt as they adjusted to the scene. She breathed a little heavier, watching him as his fingers twirled to make the witch fire, and she licked her lips as his lustrous mouth curled into a smile.

He growled softly, lying beneath her comfortably. She swayed and fell on him, kissing his lovely mouth, her hands traveling along his chest and neck, but never his face. She avoided those warm brown eyes, feeling that she would want to rip the mask off, though that was against his wishes.

He soothed her, and waved his hand, weaving her into a silent slumber.

She dreamt of dancing and drinking the joy with him. They were naked and alone, not in the Haldin household, not in their grand ballroom, but a field. An open field with a ceiling made of clouds and stars, velvet-night and sprinkled in diamond dust. His black hair shone with it, as did hers, and his smile nearly blinded her.

Suddenly, her focus on his face faded, as he took his mask off. His face melted, his nose nowhere, but his lips and eyes vivid among it all. She whimpered with want as she woke, jolting, alone in a bed, which was the one she had not fallen asleep in.

Traces of a whisper echoed in her head, and her head throbbed. Not of pain, but of want.

She lay back in the sunny room, soaking up the sun, gazing at her black nails and brown skin, still glittering from the night before. “Oh yes… Corbett, you black Raven, I shall have you as my king.” She grinned to herself, not at all stirred by the fact that the mysterious man was no longer in the bed besides her.

In the distance, a large, handsome, dark raven fluffed his feathers and took flight, dropping a black mask in the middle of a field outside the room where Mignon day-dreamed.