The Masquerade

The Ball

The skirts of my dress swayed in the rushing wind as I stood in front of the tall, dark oak doors that rested underneath the Gothic arch that made up the elegant, yet dark, entryway.  Above the arch was a circle of beautiful stained glass made up of the darkest of purples and the lightest of blues.  Exact opposites, yet matched perfectly.

I lifted my shaking hand that wasn't holding the butterfly mask, to the face of the door and inhaled, " It's now or never.  You will get the answers you desire tonight."

Exhale.

I pushed open the doors that surprisingly opened with ease, and made my journey across the hallway blessed in silver.  Six chandeliers that were crafted by the gods lined the glowing hallway, creating a path to where the hypnotizing music that was being played at the ball.  I started walking the expanse of the hallway, one hand gripping my skirts, and the other holding the mask, trying not to destroy the beauty that it held.  Instead of the simple paint that covered my walls back at home, these walls were filled with art pieces that looked like they shouldn't exist.  The brush strokes were precise, like the artist knew exactly where each stroke and blend of paint should go. It was absolutely perfect.

I was halfway down the hallway before I even bothered to look up...and saw myself looking down at me.  The ceiling, which was built out of old and ruined mirrors, added an extra element of the dark beauty that surrounded me.  There were cracks and crevices and scratch marks, the latter looked questionable like someone was trying to crawl their way in...or out.  Just as that thought left me, a rather old woman stumbled out of the shadows and walked over to me.  She placed both her wrinkled hands on my hand that held my  mask and said: "Put it on dearie, and keep walking ahead, til the music gets louder."  Once she whispered those words in my left ear, she left just as slowly as she came, crawling back into the shadows.

Silence settled in the hallway once again as I made my way quickly to the other side, rushing to get away from the strange feeling that overcame me when the old woman breathed into my ear.  The unease consumed everything in me as my too tall heels clicked against the white marble floor, which appeared to have a blue hue, by the way the light  from the chandeliers struck it.

Before I knew it, I was face-to-face with the ballroom door,which,upon further investigation, looked just like the door I dared walked through moments ago.  I was about to push open the doors when I realized I was still holding the masterpiece of a mask in my hand.  I raised both my arms to put on my face, ready to put it on, when I realized something.  I had a character to play.  The second rule of the masquerade:  You must dress in your assigned outfit.  I indeed dressed in my assignment outfit—the Butterfly—but did that also mean I had to act like the Butterfly.

The Royals had that second rule for a reason.  They weren't just bored or wanted people dressed in whatever attire they desired, they had a reason.  That reason being that the masquerade was a show, a drama.  A drama that swept everyone away for one marvelous and adventurous night.  Everyone had characters to play, not just dress as, but play.   There was a multitude of characters, all inspired by myths and tall-tales of the land.  There was the Princess and the  Brute,  the Sea and the Sky, the Rose and the Thorn, and the Tale of the Stars and Moon.  All these tales had the same plot, same story.  They began the same way: a girl—who was cute and innocent and pure in every which way—meets a boy who was the exact opposite.  And they all end the same way: the boy ends up changing the girl in some way and they end up together forever.  Those stories, told by ladies and gentlemen of all ages by dressing up as them, always appeared at the masquerade. But there was one story that rarely got told; the most sensuous and beautiful of all.

The Tale of the Butterfly and the Blue Flower was a tale like no other.  It was original and completely different from all the other tales that got praise at the ball.  It was different, because, in the story, the girl and boy start off as equals, and stay that way.  The girl isn't cute and innocent, she's beautiful and cruel in every way possible.  She has curves that the most girls her age would beg for, and she has cruelty that most kings would die for in battle.  But, as all people do, she had one downfall, one that made everyone second guess her.  She was pure.  No man has touched, let alone glanced her way, and thought those thoughts.  And because of this, her true cruelty never had the chance to play, until she meets him, her equal, her Blue Flower.

The boy in the tale is the exact same as the girl.  Handsome, cruel, underestimated, and pure.  And, for the same reason, his cruelty never had the chance to play.

They met by accident one day, at the central garden of the village they both grew up in.  The girl was looking for a quiet place to read and the boy was looking for someplace to think.   They literally ran into each other when both of them were headed to the exact same bench that was next to a bust of vivid blue flowers.  The girl tripped by the sudden intrusion and the boy quickly caught her in his surprised arms, and looked into her shocked hazel eyes and just knew.  When they both made eye contact, they knew.

"It appears you have fallen for me, my darling" whispered the boy.

"It appears I have, my Savior" whispered back the girl.

The boy righted her and they both glanced at the bench now behind them and saw a single blue flower with a purple butterfly resting on it like it was its sanctuary.

As all stories go, they talked, things happened, and they proved they worth to the village and showed them that being pure and untouched wasn't a bad thing; it wasn't a downfall of character.  And, of course, after they showed their fellow townspeople their worth, they snuck off to somewhere secret and kissed the night away.

I remembered the story as I finally put on the mask and looked up to the mirrors to see how I looked.  And, sure enough, I looked just like how the Butterfly was portrayed—beautiful, dark, and pure.  I placed my hand on one side of the door and confidently opened it....and gasped at what I saw.

It was absolutely spectacular.

When I opened the doors, I instantly saw two women dressed as the Rose, twirling ribbons of black fabric.  It looked like they were swinging the night sky around.  I walked past them and looked down the grand golden staircase, and looked around the room.  It was the exact opposite of the hallway I was in.  The hallway was coated in silver and had a dead feel to it.  Meanwhile, this room and coated in gold and everywhere  I looked, it was alive as can be.  The walls were made of what appeared to be gold.  In some areas, the walls had a base color of white but were covered with golden designs of flowers.  My eyes swept the expensive walls and took in the center of the room.  There was couples, all dressed from different tales, dancing the night away to the music that played in the left back corner of the grand room.  The music had a tempting rhythm that made even the uncooperative desire to dance.   I walked down the stairs, as if the music carried me down, and looked around to see women dressed as Princesses, the Sea, Roses, and Stars. I glanced at their male partners and noticed that they were dressed as the other half of their story.  What I also noticed was that I was the only one dressed as the Butterfly.

I continued my way down the grand staircase and as I made my way to the bottom, everyone slowly stopped dancing and moved the sides of the room.  Once my left foot touched the floor, everyone was out of the way and there was a straight path leading to the back wall of the room.  I stood there, confused, wondering why everyone moved.  At first, I thought they moved out of the way for me, until I saw him, my equal,

A boy, about my age, dressed as the Blue Flower, walked my way—no, toward me.  His hair was dark brown, almost black, matching his suit.  He eyes were blue, the same color as the blue flower that rested in his lapel.  From far away I couldn't tell at first, but as he got closer, I noticed his matte black mask and a single blue flower painted on it, near the corner of his right eye.  He was just near steps away from me when he said, "Hello, my dear Butterfly.  It appears we're together at last."

I took the final steps toward him, toward his extended hand.  When I reached him, my breathing sped up as he looked me up and down; his pupils expanding.  I paused before him and looked at him.  My breathing stopped entirely when he grabbed my hand and said, "May I have this dance?"