The mask
Pausing to pull up the gauzy wrap around her shoulders, the girl turned to look at the young man who was chattering away, expecting her to listen. She silently giggled to herself, imagining him with the head of a large, vividly coloured parrot and a small, sharp beak.
“Excuse me,” she said politely, and walked the opposite direction, leaving the young man slightly confused yet still glancing adoringly at her. Feeling someone's hand brush past her shoulder, she twisted her long, graceful neck to see the face of her benefactor, smiling down at her. “Good evening,” she said, curtsying to him. Black, short curls framed a rough, yet boyish face, glinting from the chandelier's light that fell from above. His earthy green and brown speckled eyes stopped momentarily on the white mask she wore, sighing softly.
“Good evening, Charlotte,” he dipped his head in recognition and kissed her hand, taking her onto the floor, beginning to waltz to the soft, dreamy music that drifted throughout the elegantly ornamented “Tonight's performance was brilliant. The critics loved it, the audience loved it, everyone loved it.”