Note: This story has no chapters.
It is midnight in Venice. The sky is alight with stars. They wink down upon lovers in the gardens. The moon is crescent, the barest sliver remaining.
Water sloshes over the sides of the moonlit canals. Long gondolas bob up and down in the tide. The night is silent. For the most part.
For if you strain your ears, you might hear music. A faint waltz drifting on the breeze. A quiet melody sailing on the wind, haunting the vacant canals. It comes from a grand building. The Palace of Gardens is aglow with lights of a masquerade.
Guests inhabit the spacious ballroom and some drift out onto balconies. Other slip off into the labrythine gardens.
Inside the party is in full swing. Masked men and women sway to the music. The walls are draped with fine satins and silks. A banquet table lines the wall, laden with fabulous food. Miniature cakes swirled with fluffy icing. Portions of roast duck so crisp and tender. Soft apple strudels, drizzled with cinnamon. (A\N: Hungry yet?)
Two crystal chandeliers hang overhead. Each one contains more than a hundred tiny candles. They were carefully lit hours ago by two housemaids.
The orchestra is seated on a slightly rised platform. Their sharp suits crease as they play. The music is absolutely lovely. It swells, filling the room. It surrounds you, bringing back memories of long ago times. Of childhood crushes. Of grandma's cooking. Of freedom.
The conductor slicks back his greasy hair. He draws his wand and taps it on the stand. Then he turns to face the crowd,
"It is now time for the formal waltz!" He announces.
Many voices rush to fill the place that his has just vacated. Excited chatter and woman hastening to find their partners.
At the edge of the ballroom stands a woman. Her fog grey eyes scan the ballroom. They inspect each and every guest. No one goes unnoticed.
It is a costume party. As her eyes skim the crowd, she sees many extravagant dresses and head pieces.
A woman with tarnished gold hair is dressed as an eagle, her golden mask has a hooked beak. A young man with jade eyes wears a slippery green suit patterned with snake skin. A couple dances in the corner. The lady is dressed as a pure white mourning dove, the man, a hungry wolf. He lunges at her, faking a snap of teeth. The two dissolve into laughter.
The woman narrows her eyes. Not at the couple, but at a man behind them. His suit is black as the pit and streaked with red. The woman starts forward. Her crystal heeled shoes click on the floor. The noise is lost to the music.
Her pale white dress flickers behind her. Thin, flowing fabric flies out along her back, giving the appearance of delicate wings. The woman reaches up to adjust her ornate mask. It is engraved with several tiny diamonds that glitter in the light. The mask accents her clear grey eyes. The woman's rust red hair in swirled up into a tight bun.
Almost upon the red suit man, the woman smiles. Suddenly a servant darts in front of her, carrying a silver tray of drinks. The woman's eyes alit with a white hot fire as she screeches to a halt. Oblivious to his plight, the servant offers her a drink.
"Drink, Mademoiselle?"
The woman opens her mouth to began a fierce tirade, then thinks better of it.
"Thank you," she replys, smiling and selecting a glass. It is a shark's smile and doesn't reach her eyes. Perhaps becoming aware of her anger, the servant quickly moves on.
The man in the red suit is gone. An inferno of anger wells up in the woman. She takes a deep breath and swallows her drink, to douse the flame. After handing her empty cup to another passing servant, the woman peers around the room.
Nervousness digs a pit in her stomach as she looks. There! Across the room, he slips out onto a secluded balcony. The woman glides across the floor, brushing off offers to dance. She brushes aside a velvet curtain and slides out on to the balcony.
The man is there, waiting. His ice blue eyes lock on her face as soon as she steps onto the terrace. The night wind toys with his long black hair. Its rough ends suggest that the man cut it himself.
The woman is acutely aware of how close he is. She slips a hand behind her back, fingers questing for a knife hidden in her dress. When she feels the cool wooden handle she is slightly reassured. Only slightly.
She runs her eyes over the man's body, taking in his hidden strength and slight bulges that hint at weapons. His mask is adorned with dark diamonds and blood rubies. It curls into dashing red devil's horns. How fitting.
Back in the ballroom, the first waltz is finished. Guests clap and search out partners for the next number. The orchestra riffles through their music books. Chefs and waiters bring out more delectable delicacies.
Meanwhile, out on the balcony, the man and woman stare at each other. Then, unexpectedly, the men stretchs out a gloved hand.
