To Live Another Day

Part One

She looks at her phone. No messages.

She was the one to text last. To call last. To leave last.

Did she though?

She thought she left, when she decided to head for Vienna, but a part of her remained back, still hoping. What a failure of leaving. She could not even do this properly.

So now she turns off her phone and hides it away in her purse, its glitter matching the gold of her gown. Straightening a bit, she reaches for the sweetheart décolletage that has slid from the right position and fixes the sleeves on her shoulders.

It's a pretty gown. She had dug many stores in search of a good one, but many times the thought had struck that if guests are not dressed properly as the etiquette demands, they might even get declined entry. With this in mind, no dress ever fitted her imagination of a proper dress than the one she has found. It is floor long, with a lot of layers and folds on the skirt, all covered in glitter gold. The color suits her tanned skin, at least that's what she had been told by...

No. Today is not the day to mention names.

Today is the day where no one knows who you are.

She recalls once again why she decided to attend the redoute ball in the first place and readies her mask. Among many aesthetically pleasing models, like the cursive masks that give you away too soon, she has chosen one that covers well instead. It still matches, so she likes it.

The limousine comes to a halt, so she knows that they are now in front of the Opera House.

It is time.

The breeze of the evening brushes against her skin as soon as she steps out.

___________________

The Opera House is pure magnificence, glory. It's in the painted ceilings, grandiose staircases and gilded panels that are pieced together like an artwork. It's in the intimacy between stone and gold, between volume and space. Seeing it, she feels so full, so euphoric, so artistic that...

Again, those feelings are washed away in a sudden moment, as if someone pressed an off switch. Her inner voice got out of the cage she has been burying it, so she panics, saddens, braces herself and then buries it anew. It clenches her heart at first, like it usually does when she dismisses her feelings, but it never lasts much. Sometimes it comes striking again, stronger, but she finds a way to fight it eventually. And this fight never ends.

But today, she won't pay it much attention. There is a reason why she is here and no one knows her yet. So she is fine.

The guests soon fill the Opera Hall, though the interiors do not seem to fit the name. Reconstructions have happened backstage, the previous rows of audience seats have disappeared and new lounges rearranged. The stage is set with an orchestra and microphones and other necessary equipment.

A host comes in. He commences the opening ceremony. Music plays, young débutantes dance. Time flies.

She is waiting patiently for the part where she can mingle between the masked people and dance. It takes a long time until that moment, but it finally happens, and she waltzes with strangers until her feet get numb, until she is drunk on the dance, until she gets sick of it.

Literally sick.

She doesn't know if it is really because of the dance or the people around. She can't help but break her promise and think about their real identities. They are not like her. They wear a mask, but they have a real life, a real success, realness. So many are invited here because of their accomplishments and contributions. She on the other hand has a mask like them too, but underneath she wears another one.