Winter's Nocturne

Mirror, Mirror

Allyria feels a great weight lift from her shoulders, removing the fragile mask from her face and spying a spot for it at the end of the wall. She does not know yet what to call it, but the emotion it carries is a heavy one. Her gloved fingers run over it gently.

She is always left with a sense of nothingness when she is finally able to come home and remove the mask. All she can do is admire the flawless beauty of emotion, and even the most tragic of feelings captured immaculately takes Allyria's breath away.

"That is a pretty one." Behind her, the voice of a young man whispers slightly close to her, enough to make little bumps stand up on her arms like a mere human being. "It reminds me of wishing upon a star. I wonder what people wish for when they do that. I wonder what it is to wish at all. "

Allyria says nothing but turns around to hug the handsome young man standing behind her, arms protectively wrapped around her waist. She is always at her most vulnerable when the mask falls, and she must wait for another emotion worth capturing. It is often a long time in between emotions and Allyria suffers, though no one can know.

She looks up to the alluring yet smooth-talking figure behind her. "It was beautiful, Azariel. The woman who wore the expression was a vivacious young thing, a waitress deciding whether to marry the father of her child. She wished for love and worried he offered her a life out of obligation. As she spoke, I realised I'd never seen this emotion."

Allyria gathers her purple hair into a ponytail, her unmasked face looking up at him. She seems like any other teenage girl of seventeen or eighteen, complete with purple hair, piercings, and an absent expression. Allyria's features are quite remarkable, with full lips and large purple eyes. They are confusing only in the way they seem empty, perhaps like any other sullen and brooding young person.

The truth is infinitely more complicated than a brooding teenager. Allyria's visage, lovely though it is, is the absence of emotion. It is pristine

"Did she say yes?" Azariel chuckles lazily. He sounds interested in the story, but Allyria suspects he is more interested in the opportunity to hold her close.  Intelligent and charming, people do not trust Azariel.

Allyria is the opposite. The defences of others melt away, making every mind utterly pliable and easy to manipulate. Every day, Allyria puts on her mask, a replica of her true face. When she captures the perfect emotion, a touch freezes it upon her like a snapshot

"I think she did. She thanked me and departed. I waited on the bench, though. Not more than ten minutes later, she came out with a man, and they held hands as they walked toward the park." Allyria feels her mind smile. "Is it silly that I hope they find a happily ever after, so in my mind, it's how the story ends?"

"It's not silly. It's lovely. But you can't feel hope, just as I can't understand what wishing is like." Azariel sighs, his arms almost cradling her.

"Allyria, we are mirrors. I know emotion seems real, but it's not. If I could give you back a feeling the way you once knew it, I would do it. Do you know how special it would be to see emotions on your face, a mask called "Allyria"?  You must remember it isn't possible or your heart will break, over and over. That is the trap."  Azariel's voice is kind but holds a note of warning.

It is an illusion, Allyria reminds herself. I don't feel sadness or loss or emptiness. I am the perfect blank slate. I am nothingness.

For the few hours she wears the mask, any mask, Allyria is something. The one who entrances suffers for her charm. No matter how hard the emotion is to bear, the ability to feel it and know it makes it seem almost as if she's alive.