Amaranthine: Beauty Within Darkness

The Man In Grey

23 octobre 1854
Lyon, France

"Are you ready for an evening of fun and Viennese delights?"

A shiver makes its way through Vienna's slim figure, goosebumps covering her as soon as Alexei slides the contraption over her eyes, teasing her with the words. The masque is a thing of beauty, a light frame of wire covered with white lace and dripping ornamental pearls. From behind the frame, the deep azure hue of her eyes gleams like intense power. The way she's lined her eyes with a dark black against perfectly pale skin only intensifies the illusion the contrast creates in Vienna.

"I never recognise myself like this. I suppose that's what makeup is for, isn't it? If it isn't to fool others, it's to fool yourself." Her lightly painted pink lips pull up at the corner, a wry smile making her look slightly less perfect, slightly more human.

The beauty is real. The power is the illusion. Vienna lets people see what they desire to see, but she can't allow herself to fall into the rabbit hole.

Truth and reality are too painful to forget. The forgetting is bliss. After knowing the pleasure of being unburdened, remembering is as cruel as stomping a lovely flower underfoot.

"Don't smile. A confident and wise woman is too easily perceived as a mere girl because of a smile. Your allure is in your mystery. Don't ever let them think of you as anything but untouchable." Alexei knows almost all a person needs to know about other people, and Vienna admires him for that. He's the one who taught her the art of making herself into anyone she wanted to be, anyone the world needed her to be. "Otherwise, they'll start demanding things you're not prepared to give."

Alexei's statement rings with a note of warning. She is a bright girl, and his meaning doesn't escape her. She blushes a soft pink, matching the soft colour dusted upon her cheeks. He is right, of course. All it takes is a smile or a blush, and she looks eighteen instead of thirty.

Some days, she wonders which is the truth. Alexei would tell her it didn't matter, not anymore.

He's the one who gave her a name, an identity that made her feel whole again. Alexei picked her up, put the pieces back together, and taught her how to be a proper lady after she'd forgotten she even existed. She's named Vienna, after the impressive collection of elaborate Viennese masques that adorn her closet. Sometimes, with a slow blink of her piercing gaze, she'll say perhaps the masques are named for her instead of the other way around.

People find that sort of thing charming.

She was someone before she was Vienna, but she can't remember who. Alexei is right. It doesn't matter. That person is long gone, and Vienna is far stronger than that person ever was.

"I get tired of doing this, Alexei. Every night, a different masque, but the same dull conversation. The same cocktails, the same vapid stare that everyone mistakes for interesting. Don't you wish we could just live like normal people sometimes?"

His irritated sigh says everything before he speaks a word. "What normal people, Vi? Everyone in the world wears a masque. Yours is just more literal, more honest, in a way. That's what's so fascinating." His hands fall from her smooth, jet-black hair, smoothed into gentle obedience. "The wealthy people who spend their lives at dull parties, fruitlessly trying to impress one another, their lives are no more real than ours. We simply travel more."

Vienna's eyes dart sideways, noticing Alexei fussing with a cufflink. He wears his own masque, always dressed in the most expensive suits from the best tailors. Sometimes, he even pulls out a tuxedo. Unlike her, the artifice makes him feel alive, and Vienna knows that's the difference between them. He clings to the lack of substance like a security blanket.