Masquerade

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A wash of ebony and ivory marble cracked with streaks of pure gold; lightening across a darkened sky. The floor was unstained and unmarked despite its many occupants. No scuff or scratch was embedded into it flesh despite its obvious age. The ballroom was huge with crimson and violet hangings suspended all around the towering walls. At the opposite end of the ballroom to the small oaken door sits a long rectangular dining table. Empty. Clean. No food resting upon it.

Pale. Cold. The dance floor was occupied by many people: They stepped in time, as one. In partners, seemingly glued together, a perfect number of the sexes for everyone to have a waltzing partner. I stood alone. The ladies were all dressed in elaborate gowns of crinoline and satin and velvet in shades of opulent red and blue and purple and black with fastenings of gold and silver; chains, charms, all swaying and swooning of their own accord seemingly as their wearers danced. No face could be seen. Everyone had a white mask with swirly patterns in colours matching their clothes. All that could be scene was their flashing ruby red eyes in the low light.

Dressed head to toe in mundane shades of crushed white, I stepped through the old oak doorway in ruby red slippers into the ballroom floor, my hair down and sweeping low to my waist in chestnut curls. My glassy blue eyes reflected the scene before me. Before me, a man. The tallest in the ballroom stepping silently towards me. He too was unaccompanied. Dressed similar to the others in deep shades of sliver, grey and scarlet with a white mask embraided with bloodred silken threads. He too had a small cold chain suspended from a square breast pocket.

A waltz. Gentle. Yet loud in the otherwise silent room, a room where no words were said; no human sound emanated. No breath. No cough. No stammer. The crowd danced perfectly in the silence only broken by music; piano, harp and violin. Above us, a bright crystal chandelier with the luminance of a thousand candles.

What is this place?

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