The Blood Moon

Following the Thread

"I need you to find me the thread."

The voice was distant as I settled into the fog swirling around me. I turned to face the source, but found no one behind me — only darkness blotched with color and an intangible haze.

"Who's there?" I called out. I knew this was my territory, my safe space, yet fear gripped me and that caused the haze to swirl in the tumultuous winds. My sanctuary had been violated and apprehension rattled my very bones.

"Del, your memories are twisted into a tight ball, I need you to find an end of the thread for me. We can work backwards, but that will be harder to do since you slept at the end of your memory. We might encounter dream fragments if we go that way, and that's a beast in itself..."

"Hen?"

"Yes, don't get lost in the mire, remember it's you and me together outside of the memoryscape. Keep anchored, but also find me that thread. We need the start of it all, that will be easier to traverse."

"The start," I muttered. "Where was I? What had I been doing?"

"Stay anchored. You are in the station with me. You are seated across the table. We're holding hands. You forgot last night. You forgot the masquerade."

"The mask!" I cried out and the vapors around me bounced like ping pong balls and rolled away until a ribbon of color emerged from the darkness. It curved and rippled. It was a dark red, maybe a brown. I reached out and a soft, smooth texture met my fingertips. I dragged them along and I found the edge of metal wrapped in silk.

"A mask?" I mumbled.

"Yes, Lord Antonov had it handmade to match your dress."

Who said that, I wondered. I looked up, and though darkness still surrounded me, I found another bench of seats before me as well as a small window above the bench which looked out to where the chauffeur sat. I was in Antonov's car.

"How did he even know what my dress looked like?" The words escaped my lips without my encouragement. I tried to ask him what was going on, but nothing acted upon my direction. I was very much a passenger in the backseat of a car, but this time it was within my own memories and not the luxurious limo that Antonov had provided.

"You know what," I continued, "don't answer that. It's probably best I don't know his methods."

"Yes, ma'am."

I held the mask in my hands, my fingers tracing its contours and exploring the intricate details woven in.

A black wire frame formed the skeleton of the delicate accessory. It swooped down below the holes left for the eyes and bent to conform to the top of my nose. The corners peaked a little ways up and past the eyes and then formed a soft arch across the brow. The wire skeleton had then been wrapped in a shimmering blood red fabric that felt like fine silk. The ribbon crossed over itself, the direction of the weave ever changing to create a sense of chaos within the simple silhouette.

At the top of the mask, more wiring, the color of gunmetal, was used to create arabesques and interweaving knots. Like metallic lace, the adornment embellished the red and flared out around the corners. Additional, though much smaller, metal decorations accented the inner points of the eyeholes and the bridge of the nose.

To top it off, a few well placed diamonds punctuated the more majestic swoops in the metal, and a black velvet ribbon waited to be used as a means to secure it to my head.

"Please wait, Ms. Cross," said the vampiric driver, who cast his eyes up at me through the rearview mirror. "An attendant will help you put on your mask once we get to the manor. My Lord only wanted you to see and appreciate his gift before you put it on for others to adore."