The Angel Of Music - |P.O.T.O.|

Masquerade

Increadible six months had past, and there was peace at last. Things have changed in an inexplicable way. Not a single sign of the Opera Ghost, no more newspaper columns about the Opera Populaire tragedy, no more Carlotta's dramatic shows and high toned screams. The managers found the paradise, indeed. And, to celebrate the good changes, they decided to trow an enormous masquerade gown, inviting friends and all the high society members, for this was the perfect occasion to celebrate a new beginning.

The night was beautiful, and the sky was lighted by elaborated fireworks. The ladies' dresses were competing for which was the richest in details, ornaments and fine fabrics. Besides, the diversity of masks was astonishing. So many colors, beings and forms were present in that hall, it seemed as they all could come to life.

— Monsieur André! — The name was called among the crowded, noisy place.

— Monsieur Firmin! — The friends finally recognized each other, laughing of delight.

— Dear André, what a splendid party!

— Indeed! The prologue to a bright new year.

Both managers and friends took a glance to the masked faces, all having a great time, hiding so many members of the high society and important people from the parlament.

— Quite a night, my friend, I'm impressed.

— Well, one does one's best.

— Here's to us! — They cheered with their glasses full of champagne, making a health to their conquest.

— What a pity that their Phantom can't be here! — Firmin said with a glad tone of irony in his voice.

The main Opera's hall was filled with joy and light, and all danced and spinned to the rythm of that song. A beautiful spectacle.

Masquerade! Paper faces on parade.
Masquerade! Hide your face, so the world will never find you.
Masquerade! Every face a different shade.
Masquerade! Look around, there's another mask behind you.

Flash of mauve, splash of puce,
Fool and king, ghoul and goose,
Green and black, queen and priest,
Trace and rouge, face of beast,
Faces!

Take your turn, take a ride on the merry-go-round
In an inhuman race.

Eye of gold, thigh of blue,
True is false, who is who?
Crul of lip, swirl of gown,
Ace of hearts, face of clown,
Faces!

Drink it in, drink it up, till you've drowned
In the light, in the sound,
But who can name the face?

Masquerade! Grinning yellows, spinning reds.
Masquerade! Take your fill, let the spectacle astound you.
Masquerade! Burning glances, turning heads.
Masquerade! Stop and stare at the sea of smiles around you.

Masquerade! Seething shadows, breathing lies.
Masquerade! You can fool any friend who ever knew you.
Masquerade! Leering satyrs, peering eyes.
Masquerade! Run and hide, but a face will still pursue you.

— What a night, my friends! — La Carlotta appeared, dressing her shinning gala gown among the great amount of people, greeting the glad managers.

— And what a crowd! — Piangi complemented right after her.

— Oh, all the crème de la crème! — Firmin remembered with watering mouth, and André agreed.

— And all our fears are in the past! — Now, Madame Antoinette Giry came into vision. — What a Mascarade! The time has passed so fast, yet it seems none of you has changed, not even a bit!