Carnevale
The bluish light of the full moon anchored in the highest reaches of the night sky bathed the eternal city in an ethereal radiance. The stars awoke from their slumber and took their place in the heavens next to the moon and celebrated the merriest and most seductive day of the year for the city of Venice. Coupled with the shadows of the billowing winter clouds, the delicate mist that hugged the ancient palaces and buildings looked even more ominous than usual, and yet rather than discouraging the city's revelers it seemed to entice them. The colorless mist added a certain air to the mystery and secrecy about the affair. The flickering flames from the metal street lights cast an eerie glow over the greenish blue waters of the lagoon. And the elegant gondolas swayed in time with the tides rushing through the serpentine canals almost as if partaking in an intricate dance.
The city was teeming with life as attendees danced the night away. It was the last day people could free themselves of their inhibitions and run wild with their most secret desires. For tomorrow was Ash Wednesday and the beginning of the rigors of Lent. The unrestrained merry makers were dressed in the most elegant and lavish attire with beautiful masks adorning their visages. The garments were of the finest silks imported from the East and of the brightest colors of reds, golds, greens, and purples sprinkled throughout the crowds. Even those who dressed as paupers looked beautiful doing so. Most women had embellished their hair, styled into beehives, with bright jewels and striking pearls. This was the last day of social freedom and the residents were making the most of it. The squares were lined with parades and fire jugglers and masquerade balls were entertaining those who had tired of the outside and desired an escape into the dream world where anything was possible in the hands of their secret lovers.
Away from the joyous crowds, a man perched on the edge of a first floor balcony overlooking the canals murky waters. In any other place many would have deemed it odd that one would dress in such a fashion, but here he was home. Here in Venice, at the height of the Carnevale season, he fit in quite well. Yet there was something peculiar about him. He was dressed as all the other men with tricorne hats, long cloaks, and stunningly gilded bauta masks. But he should have been merrymaking with the rest of the inhabitants, yet he chose to stay away, hidden in the safety of obscurity from the already obscure. His white and gold mask glinted in the light of a nearby street lamp. The flickering beam cast dancing shadows onto his face as he twirled a small red rose in a gloved hand. He watched as the famed Casanova, the great womanizer himself, managed to persuade another girl to walk with him. He will never love her. He thought bitterly to himself. Maybe for a day a two, but it will never be love.
He looked away in disgust, and spotted the small figure of a woman break away from the confines of the revelers and begin to walk slowly along the dark alley leading toward him. She was dressed in the most breathtaking white and gold dress with a matchingColumbina mask and carried in her delicate gloved hand a slip of parchment. She stood just beneath the balcony where he sat watching. She stared across the water waiting, and then… She heard a soft thump behind her.
"Isabella," he whispered in delight. She turned and he detected a faint glimmer in her emerald eyes.
"Adriano," she sighed in contentment, as if all their worries had vanished.