Updated 1/29/22

Upon reflection this was written in haste. The first 3 chapters have been rewritten.

Ch 1: Masquerade

He was here, in all his glorious splendor. I felt my heart quicken and then I felt my companion's heart race in tandem as he pressed me to his chest. My eyes never left the red figure atop the grand stair. His last words had been cried in anger as he released the chandelier. He was descending the stairs, basking in the attention and silence of the crowd. He had finished his opera. Did he mean to die now? He had told me he would die upon its completion. I had responded, Then you must work on it as seldom as possible. I didn't want my Angel, my teacher, to …. all life was precious. Suddenly I had to know, yet feared to know. His eyes found mine and he was beckoning me towards him. I came willingly. What did he want?

Then I felt the ghost of his fingertips upon my neck, so swiftly did they leave, and I shivered.

His eyes were wild as the beheld mine. "Your chains are still mine. You will sing for me." And the chain and ring were gone. I instinctually raised my hands to my throat. Then I found myself tugged and then falling into his velvety form. Then I let loose a scream as the floor ceased to exist and I was falling. I threw my arms, my hand searching for a purchase. I grabbed at the cloth form before me. He meant to kill us both. I ran out of screams.

Then I was falling forward, to land upon him. I sobbed with relief that I was not dead. Wait, was he? His hold upon me had slackened upon impact. My hands found the ground as I pushed aside his costume. I pushed up and off of him into the darkness. No sound of pursuit followed. I withdrew further until I met resistance from a wall causing me to start. Still I surmised he had not moved. He terrified me and yet. I didn't know what to do. Then a morbid thought entered my mind. If he died so would I, a living bride to his corpse. The darkness was so complete. He had to be alright. He was … No he was not an Angel. He was a man, a mere mortal, who could pass on, just like Mother and Father. My heart sank as my thoughts coalesced, spiraling, no not again. He can't be gone. I pushed off the wall.

I found his hand amongst the fabric. I pressed searching for his pulse. The bones of his hands and wrists were so easy to find, stretching his cold dry skin. Did I feel a faint flutter of a beat? I pressed my fingers again but I did not yield a similar feel. I grew bolder in my touch, crushing against the multitude of velvet layers that encased his chest but my search yielded no steady beat.

Only his corpse-like face remained, the memory of unmasking him, all too painful, full of regrets. What would he think now, should he awaken to find me once more with my hands near his mask? He had been so horrible and yet his pleas had stirred something within me. He had reached out to take the mask and I had left my hand out wanting to comfort him somehow. He was the second man that I had ever seen cry.

The first being my Father when my mother had died. I think Father had thought me asleep for I only heard him cry at night when I was in bed. At first the sound of his sobs had frightened me. Fathers were supposed to be brave, to give hugs and kisses that would make everything alright. A few nights later I realized my father must long for mother as I did. My 8 year old self had pushed the covers aside and drawn the curtain that separated our rooms. As soon as he saw me, Father had brought his finger tips to his eyes in haste, spreading the wetness about his face. Reaching up I had stilled his hand. "It's alright to miss her. I do too". Then I wrapped my arms around him, kissed him on the cheek and hugged him to me.

Memories of my Angel's cries, oh how my seeing him had tormented him. Now my hand crept from his chest, reaching to his face but I could only feel the great death's head he wore. I dare not remove it. There it was, his breath upon my hand, a warm reminder that he lived. Tears of relief filled my eyes. He was such an odd man, conjuring up fear and yet I still felt a need for him. His moods, shifting like sand on the beach of late. I laid down, the ground so cold, that I began to tremble for want of warmth.

Perhaps he would not mind if I shared a bit of his scarlet cloak. I inched closer and closer. The soft fabric scrunched up as I tried to pull a bit toward myself. Would he mind my touch? I shivered once more. My choice of costume, suddenly too short and low for the climate down here. I tugged a bit of the fabric trying to cover my shoulders and I found myself pressed against his warm form, my head near his heart. I focused on its rhythmic beat and eventually I succumbed to sleep, escaping the darkness.

xxx

Kindly review. What should happen next? Does he live? Or is she trapped?