05-30-2019, 10:25 PM
nothing is more real than the masks we make
A few have gone before her when she passes through the archway, anxiously keeping to one side. An overblown rose brushes her shoulder and its petals tumble across her back before she disappears.
The lake is dark but glitters before her liquid black eyes. She stares for a few moments, and then peers down into the water where, somehow, her reflection waits. Above the dark eyes velvet antlers of powder blue, reach heavenward. Her pelt is bright white and pointed with cerise. The girl cannot help but turn a circle to see all of herself, waves of pink have overtaken her mane and tail and they twist and bounce with her every movement. It is the wings that leave her breathless. They not feathered but silken and soft. Made of petals themselves, each creamy white fading into pink.
Stretching them to a vast span before gingerly laying the appendages against her back once more the mare directs her attention to the fête and all the faces she cannot know. They are splendid, garish, fierce, and fun and her endless eyes track them all though one would not know for how black and motionless they seem.
Demure, she wanders from the lake side to a shadow curtained corner. She is glad to watch everyone else, though the thought of meeting a stranger she might never identify makes her heart race. Giving the velvet antlers a little shake the rose-petal lass looks expectantly toward another who happens to be wandering her way. “Have you discovered anyone you know, yet?” Her voice is not changed she notices, and hopes it won’t lead to her being found out before she can enjoy her evening of anonymity.
to show each other who we are