Saturday night, and I was, as drunken teenagers put it on their prom nights, "dressed to kill". Since it was a costume party, I wasn't dressed as some handsome model from the twenty-first century, but as a god from the past. I wore an old fashioned tuxedo with a white high collared shirt and for the finishing touch, a black cape billowed behind me like Satan's wings. As I climbed the stairs to William's establishment, I slipped on a black mask that covered my eyes and nose and handed my invitation to the man at the door, who gestured me inside. The noise and heat hit me at once with a gratifying rush, and my eyes instinctively scanned the room for any traces of blue hair or brown leather. Seeing no signs of danger, I smiled pleasantly to myself, and I continued pushing my way past the people.

            Over at the bar, I ordered a scotch to keep me occupied and then headed upwards. On the main floor, the people gathered with their drinks and dancing, but, if one took a set of stairs, that person would find himself on a thin catwalk winding above the entire dance floor. Like extremities from the body of the catwalk, there were several rooms, which appeared to be composed of bedrooms, offices, and the like.

            I stood on the interior platform and looked down at the wriggling mass of people, searching for William. Gingerly, I sipped at my drink, knowing that no matter what happened, I would not let William leave.

Interrupting my plotting, a light hand touched my arm and a female voice said, "I haven't seen you around here before."

            Turning, I found myself face to face with a lady dressed in a white Victorian ballgown. The woman was disgustingly thin, for her collarbone poked through the skin exposed above the dress' low-cut collar. Her thickly beaded skirt did not permit me to see how thin her legs must have been, but the short sleeves clearly displayed gaunt and bony arms. Behind the full-face white mask, her golden brown hair was tied up in beads and white feathers.

            "I was invited at the last minute," I curtly explained.

            "One of William's personal invites, then?" she asked. "And not just one of the 'regulars'?"

            "Yes. Personal invitation from William."

            "I see," she responded, focusing her attention back on the bustling people where a finely jeweled peacock twirled with Julius Caesar. "Do you live in Manhattan?"

            "No. Here on business."

            "Business with William?"

            "Yes." I paused to take another sip of my drink. "And how about you? What are you here for?"


            "Entertainment."

            "Entertainment?"

            "There's a couple of us floating around here. If the party gets dull, we're supposed to go in and 'liven things up a bit'." She chuckled and ran a finger over her jaw. "But, it looks like I may not have to work too hard tonight, after all." A brief pause followed before she asked, "What's your name?"

            "Daniel."

            "You don't seem like a Daniel, but then, I'm sure you didn't choose your name-your parents did...or whoever raised you…'cause if we could choose our names, then it wouldn't be so bad…" she chuckled softly.


            "What's yours?"

            "Diane…Here, would you like to go outside on the balcony? I'm starting to become warm up here."

            "Lead the way." I followed her through a fancily decorated bedroom to an outside balcony overlooking a luscious area of trees and glistening water fountains. Diane sat down on a cement bench and removed her mask, revealing her emaciated face. Although she could have been beautiful, she was very sickly looking with sunken eyes and ashen skin. I could tell from what limited conversation we had already exchanged that her level of intelligence was not that high either. She prodded for answers I would have preferred ignored, for little girls with many questions become dead women without any tongues.

            "You may sit next to me, if you'd like," she said, looking up at me.

            Smoothing my cape down beneath me before sitting, I glanced over to see her watching me curiously.

            "You're certainly not from around here-are you?"

            "Why do you say that?"

            She narrowed her eyes together, confused it seemed. "You float. Other people walk, but you float as if you're afraid you'll be spotted. You move like a cat almost."

            "So I've been told."

            We lapsed into a natural silence, and I gazed down at the bustling street where a glittering water fountain dribbled onto roses' thorns. Diane's eyes had taken on a glassy look of their own as she stared off into the bedroom through which we had entered. Observing her more closely, I noticed bruises on her forearms and the way her skin puckered around her vertebrae. Her death was knocking at the back door, but she hadn't the strength to answer it.

            "So, which one are you?" I questioned, breaking the silence.

            "Excuse me?" she chirped, taken aback. She tried to blink her feathery eyes, hoping to distract me.

            "You know, anorexic, bulimic...some another form of food related illness that doesn't have a name yet. Which one are you?"

            Immediately, a harsh red color flew to her cheeks, and she moved her hand back to slap me across the face. Just as her hard palm was centimeters away from my cheek, my own hand shot up and wrapped itself around her wrist. As I squeezed, feeling the brittle bones pop over one another, she gasped from the immense pain I was causing.

            "Don't ever try to hit me," I stated in a dull monotone. "Or else I'll make sure it's the last time you ever touch flesh again."

            Releasing her, I rose to my feet so I could locate William and leave the party while Diane brushed away her tears. "Who are you?" she whispered.

            "What is that supposed to mean?"

            "You don't want sex, money, or any of the other things men want. There's so much about you that doesn't make you like others. I don't care what you do to me, but where do you come from?"

            I turned and crouched down next to her, meeting her eyes evenly. "Diane, I come from the only place people like me can come from." Bringing my index and middle finger to her cheek, I gently brushed away a strand of weak hair. "I, my sweet, come from the devil's playground." And, with a wave of my long black cape, I left her to silently weep on the balcony alone.