Post by Veranda Kingsford on Mar 9, 2013 21:11:19 GMT -5
The ball was magnificent. The ballroom was bizarre in that instead of one large room it was an assortment of color themed rooms, seven in all. There were hundreds of guests, perhaps even a thousand. People were packed everywhere, and the lovely figures of the women and strong stances of the men were shrouded with bright and bizarre clothing and colorful masks. They wore every color of the rainbow, and some wore the rainbow in one outfit. Jewels sparkled in the torchlight, skirts swirled to the music, and smiles were everywhere. It was indeed a beautiful party, and it was full of freakish figures.
Among these figures stood Veranda, dressed in a beautiful white gown. Her hair was piled on top of her head, and curled ebony ribbons of it fell gracefully around her face. On her face was a white mask with silver etching. Diamonds were scattered about the mask, encrusted into the white surface. She stood in the blue room, before a window, though the window was tinted blue and offered no sight outside. She simply enjoyed the way the torchlight flickered on the glass.
“Veranda!” The masked woman turned to see another masked beauty approach, she wearing a golden dress. This woman had her mask painted on her face instead of wearing an actual one. Veranda did not know this woman’s name, but they had become good acquaintances during the party and continued randomly finding each other and chatting as the night drew on.
“Did you not hear that ghastly chime of that clock in the black room? I do wish the prince had left that bit of work out of his décor for this ball. It ruins the music every hour it chimes!” The woman in gold said, holding a wine glass and drinking from it deeply. She was well on her way to being drunk. Veranda smiled at her.
“I don’t know. I like the sound of that clock chiming. It sounds beautiful to me.” She replied.
“What!? You must be joking.” The woman said, taking hold of Veranda’s arm. Veranda allowed her to escort her through the blue room, past twirling dancers and jesters and men and women who held platters of food and wine. The woman in gold set her empty glass down and grabbed a fresh one.
“That clock is so disturbing! I’m glad it is all the way on the other side in the black room. I dislike that room. It is so dark and scary. Hardly anyone is brave enough to step in it!” The woman said. Veranda tilted her head. She heard of the black room, but she hadn’t been near it all night. Men had kept asking her to dance and when they weren’t at her side, her new friend here was. She was very curious about this black room. It sounded interesting, especially if these party folk refused to step into it.
They made their way out of the blue room, down a small hall, and into the next room, which was purple in color and theme. Purple drapes, carpets, windows, and décor. Veranda looked around at the laughing people that surrounded her. They all seemed so content with each other, and almost every man had a woman on his arm.
“I should like to step in it.” Veranda said softly, speaking of the black room. The arm that was hooked into hers tightened.
“Oh, Veranda please don’t joke like that! That room is so shadowy! Something as light as you shouldn’t be in there.” The woman in gold said. Veranda smirked at this.
“As light as me? I’m only wearing a mask. We all are.” She replied, pausing as a few dancing couples waltzed their way past the two. She looked over to see a young man courting a young woman, the girl blushing. They both happened to be wearing green outfits, probably the start of their flirting conversation. She felt a bit of longing, but it didn’t show on her face. No, her face was hidden by a white mask after all.
“Yes, well, I still don’t think it wise to go into that room. Who knows what is in there!?” The golden lady said, sipping at her wine. As they passed a man carrying a cheese platter the golden lady plucked off a few pieces and offered a bit of the snack to Veranda, who lifted a hand in rejection.
“Everyone here seems to have someone.” Veranda remarked, passing an old couple who was sitting on a purple and gold bench, their wrinkled hands joined.
“Yes, they do. Even I just met the most entertaining lad! Have you met a man worth your while?” Her acquaintance asked, looking at Veranda with a curious eye. Veranda heaved a sigh.
“No. Many have danced with me but they all seem to be lacking something.” She said, brushing a silky lock of black hair from her eyesight. The lady in gold gave a snort.
“You must have a great difference in taste in men from myself, dear. All these men are rich, and handsome! How could you not meet one to your liking?” She asked. The two women exited the purple room, leaving its brightly lit hues behind, and they emerged into the next room after passing a curved hallway. This room was green.
“They just are lacking. Like they aren’t real.” Veranda said, unsure as how to explain it to her temporary friend. “It’s like they…” She started, then trailed off. The other on her arm smiled, amused.
“Like they all wear masks?” She finished, giggling at Veranda’s frown. “Oh don’t look so sour! We’re here to have fun after all!” She said, waving to a group of girls. Veranda nodded, but gave no answer. The ball was splendid but she felt alone. She wanted something but failed to find it here. Perhaps in the black room…
From the green room they passed into the orange room, and Veranda was amused to see that many people tended to stay in the room that their outfits matched. Those who wore green stayed in the green. Those in blue stayed in blue. Veranda supposed she should stay in the white, but didn’t care for the idea. What she wanted was to see the black room.
“Oh look! There is my suitor now! I must leave you a bit Veranda. Do promise you’ll stay away from that room and that clock!” The woman in gold detached herself from Veranda without waiting for an answer and hurried over to a lad dressed in, what else? Orange. Veranda watched the two chat for a while, before sighing and turning, hurrying off. Now that she wasn’t anchored down she could see what that room was about.
She passed through a white room, and was disturbed at how well she blended in. It was like she disappeared into the walls and furniture. She didn’t like the feeling, like she was melting away into the sea of people who also were clad in white, and she hurried out of that room as fast as her heels allowed. She entered a violet room, but gave the décor hardly a glance. She had to stop though as the entire room was busy dancing, and waited until the song finished before leaving.
The hall to the black room was well lit, but there were only a few souls in this hall. They spoke in whispered tones, standing close to each other. They looked at the black room, a sort of fear in their eyes. Veranda gave them a glance and felt excited. She turned and walked slowly to the entrance of the black room and stepped inside.
It was terrifying. The room was saturated with the color. Black floors, black walls, black furniture, black everything. The only difference was the tinted windows, which were a blood red, and seemed to cast even more shadows in the room than normal torchlight would have. And the room was empty. She slowly walked deeper into the room, approaching the tinted window nearest her. She loved the way the light made the crimson glass sparkle. She touched the glass, it cool under her fingers. The light made her pale skin shine red. She closed her eyes a moment, then heard it.
Tick…tick…tick…
She slowly turned and saw what had been unnerving people all night. The clock. It was tall, and made of wood. The wood seemed to be stained a rich ebony color. She didn’t know if the face was red, or white with the red light falling on it. The ticking…it dug into her. It matched her heartbeats, matched her breathing. She approached the clock, awed by its beauty. Others found it terrifying, but to her, it was art. She reached out and ran a hand down its smooth surface, shivering as she did so, and when she pulled her hand back the clock gave a startling chime. She looked up to see it struck midnight.
The music beyond the room ceased, the dancers halted, the laughter and chattering silenced. All grew still as the clock voiced the hour, and with every chime Veranda felt a deep shiver of pleasure, as well as a light headedness. It finally stopped its chiming, and Veranda took a breath. She waited, expecting the music to start up again, as it always did, but it was still quiet. What happened? Why did everyone remain so still? She turned and walked over to the doorway of the room, and yes, it was a doorway. A huge, massive door was propped open, inviting any who dared to enter. Veranda didn’t leave the room, just peered out of it, seeing nothing but the near empty hallway. She couldn’t see into the other rooms.
“WHO DARES?”
The voice boomed, making Veranda jump, clutching her chest.
“WHO DARES INSULT US WITH THIS BLASPHEMOUS MOCKERY?”
That voice belonged to the prince. He sounded angry. Why? She heard people in the other rooms chattering now, sounding frightened and angry as well. Still she did not leave the room. She stood and waited. For what? She did not know, but she felt it coming. It was making its way to her now. It was passing the colored rooms and colored people. It was ignoring their cries of fear and anger, their looks and stares. It was coming. What was it? She desperately wanted to know. She stared into the depths of the hall, and finally it showed.
It was a man. He was tall, dressed in black. He wore a full face mask, and it was white, like the blank countenance of the dead. Across the brow and cheeks there was a sprinkle of crimson, like blood splashed over the mask. The look drove people back in fear.
“The plague…” Veranda breathed, and she herself backed up slowly into the depths of the black room. Still he came, approaching. He took his time, walking leisurely, his black robes swirling behind him. Veranda bit her lip. His eyes sparkled behind the mask as they set on her, and she could almost feel the gaze dancing across her skin. It sent a deep ripple of pleasure through her, like the clock. Behind him the prince followed, hustling after the tall stranger. But no matter how fast the fat prince walked, it was like he couldn’t catch the masked man.
The man clad in black stepped over the threshold on the black room, now in the same space as Veranda. He suddenly turned when he crossed, his heavy gaze leaving her for a moment to settle on the prince and his followers. They all froze in their spots, looking at the stranger with a mix of fear and bewilderment. Veranda watched as the stranger lifted one pale hand, the fingers long and thin, and gripped the heavy door of the room. He stared into the crowd a moment longer before he slowly began to swing the door shut. It was silent, and not one person moved to stop him. Veranda felt a surge of fear. She’d be locked in here. Alone. With him. The fear contained another emotion. Desire. Her breath stopped as the door shut, giving a click. Almost as soon as the door clicked home there came from the other side blood curdling screams. Veranda recoiled at the sudden noise and the horror of the sound. Women and men screamed in anguish, and there came a pounding on the door, soon followed by a whispering sound that was finger nails dragging over the surface of the wood. Blood slowly seeped into the black room under the door, and it looked very dark in the crimson lighting.
The man then slowly turned and faced her. She felt her heart leap into her chest. She felt so very afraid, and for different reasons. She was afraid of him, what he’d do, and afraid of the fact that she craved him. He stepped towards her, and she whirled, looking out the window she stood by, desperately trying to open it, though she knew it led nowhere. It would not open, and she heard his advancing steps. She clawed at the glass anyways, knowing it was futile but at the same time not caring. She clawed and pounded and shoved, but it was no use. Her hands froze against the red glass when she felt him near, so near that his cold breath was on her back. She was trembling, shaking, tears in her eyes, and she waited.
Fingers rested on her hips a moment before sliding around to her front. One hand stayed pressed against her lower belly, pressing her against his frame. She felt his chest against her back. The other hand slid up her chest, over her breasts, and paused at her throat. She felt his masked face lean into her ear.
“Fear me not.” He whispered, his hand resuming it’s upwards climb, over her throat, her chin, dancing across her lips, and finally digging under her mask.
“Fear me not.” The hand took hold of her mask and violently ripped it away from her face, exposing her features to the red tinted light. The room smelled of blood, and outside people still screamed, still clawed at the heavy door. He reached up and this time placed a pale hand against his own mask, and she knew what he was doing. He lifted the mask slowly from his face and tossed it aside where her mask lay abandoned. His fingers once more took hold of her hips, and turned her to face him. He whispered again, and she pressed her hands against his chest as he did so, then leaned up and kissed him.
“Fear me not. For you are mine.”
Among these figures stood Veranda, dressed in a beautiful white gown. Her hair was piled on top of her head, and curled ebony ribbons of it fell gracefully around her face. On her face was a white mask with silver etching. Diamonds were scattered about the mask, encrusted into the white surface. She stood in the blue room, before a window, though the window was tinted blue and offered no sight outside. She simply enjoyed the way the torchlight flickered on the glass.
“Veranda!” The masked woman turned to see another masked beauty approach, she wearing a golden dress. This woman had her mask painted on her face instead of wearing an actual one. Veranda did not know this woman’s name, but they had become good acquaintances during the party and continued randomly finding each other and chatting as the night drew on.
“Did you not hear that ghastly chime of that clock in the black room? I do wish the prince had left that bit of work out of his décor for this ball. It ruins the music every hour it chimes!” The woman in gold said, holding a wine glass and drinking from it deeply. She was well on her way to being drunk. Veranda smiled at her.
“I don’t know. I like the sound of that clock chiming. It sounds beautiful to me.” She replied.
“What!? You must be joking.” The woman said, taking hold of Veranda’s arm. Veranda allowed her to escort her through the blue room, past twirling dancers and jesters and men and women who held platters of food and wine. The woman in gold set her empty glass down and grabbed a fresh one.
“That clock is so disturbing! I’m glad it is all the way on the other side in the black room. I dislike that room. It is so dark and scary. Hardly anyone is brave enough to step in it!” The woman said. Veranda tilted her head. She heard of the black room, but she hadn’t been near it all night. Men had kept asking her to dance and when they weren’t at her side, her new friend here was. She was very curious about this black room. It sounded interesting, especially if these party folk refused to step into it.
They made their way out of the blue room, down a small hall, and into the next room, which was purple in color and theme. Purple drapes, carpets, windows, and décor. Veranda looked around at the laughing people that surrounded her. They all seemed so content with each other, and almost every man had a woman on his arm.
“I should like to step in it.” Veranda said softly, speaking of the black room. The arm that was hooked into hers tightened.
“Oh, Veranda please don’t joke like that! That room is so shadowy! Something as light as you shouldn’t be in there.” The woman in gold said. Veranda smirked at this.
“As light as me? I’m only wearing a mask. We all are.” She replied, pausing as a few dancing couples waltzed their way past the two. She looked over to see a young man courting a young woman, the girl blushing. They both happened to be wearing green outfits, probably the start of their flirting conversation. She felt a bit of longing, but it didn’t show on her face. No, her face was hidden by a white mask after all.
“Yes, well, I still don’t think it wise to go into that room. Who knows what is in there!?” The golden lady said, sipping at her wine. As they passed a man carrying a cheese platter the golden lady plucked off a few pieces and offered a bit of the snack to Veranda, who lifted a hand in rejection.
“Everyone here seems to have someone.” Veranda remarked, passing an old couple who was sitting on a purple and gold bench, their wrinkled hands joined.
“Yes, they do. Even I just met the most entertaining lad! Have you met a man worth your while?” Her acquaintance asked, looking at Veranda with a curious eye. Veranda heaved a sigh.
“No. Many have danced with me but they all seem to be lacking something.” She said, brushing a silky lock of black hair from her eyesight. The lady in gold gave a snort.
“You must have a great difference in taste in men from myself, dear. All these men are rich, and handsome! How could you not meet one to your liking?” She asked. The two women exited the purple room, leaving its brightly lit hues behind, and they emerged into the next room after passing a curved hallway. This room was green.
“They just are lacking. Like they aren’t real.” Veranda said, unsure as how to explain it to her temporary friend. “It’s like they…” She started, then trailed off. The other on her arm smiled, amused.
“Like they all wear masks?” She finished, giggling at Veranda’s frown. “Oh don’t look so sour! We’re here to have fun after all!” She said, waving to a group of girls. Veranda nodded, but gave no answer. The ball was splendid but she felt alone. She wanted something but failed to find it here. Perhaps in the black room…
From the green room they passed into the orange room, and Veranda was amused to see that many people tended to stay in the room that their outfits matched. Those who wore green stayed in the green. Those in blue stayed in blue. Veranda supposed she should stay in the white, but didn’t care for the idea. What she wanted was to see the black room.
“Oh look! There is my suitor now! I must leave you a bit Veranda. Do promise you’ll stay away from that room and that clock!” The woman in gold detached herself from Veranda without waiting for an answer and hurried over to a lad dressed in, what else? Orange. Veranda watched the two chat for a while, before sighing and turning, hurrying off. Now that she wasn’t anchored down she could see what that room was about.
She passed through a white room, and was disturbed at how well she blended in. It was like she disappeared into the walls and furniture. She didn’t like the feeling, like she was melting away into the sea of people who also were clad in white, and she hurried out of that room as fast as her heels allowed. She entered a violet room, but gave the décor hardly a glance. She had to stop though as the entire room was busy dancing, and waited until the song finished before leaving.
The hall to the black room was well lit, but there were only a few souls in this hall. They spoke in whispered tones, standing close to each other. They looked at the black room, a sort of fear in their eyes. Veranda gave them a glance and felt excited. She turned and walked slowly to the entrance of the black room and stepped inside.
It was terrifying. The room was saturated with the color. Black floors, black walls, black furniture, black everything. The only difference was the tinted windows, which were a blood red, and seemed to cast even more shadows in the room than normal torchlight would have. And the room was empty. She slowly walked deeper into the room, approaching the tinted window nearest her. She loved the way the light made the crimson glass sparkle. She touched the glass, it cool under her fingers. The light made her pale skin shine red. She closed her eyes a moment, then heard it.
Tick…tick…tick…
She slowly turned and saw what had been unnerving people all night. The clock. It was tall, and made of wood. The wood seemed to be stained a rich ebony color. She didn’t know if the face was red, or white with the red light falling on it. The ticking…it dug into her. It matched her heartbeats, matched her breathing. She approached the clock, awed by its beauty. Others found it terrifying, but to her, it was art. She reached out and ran a hand down its smooth surface, shivering as she did so, and when she pulled her hand back the clock gave a startling chime. She looked up to see it struck midnight.
The music beyond the room ceased, the dancers halted, the laughter and chattering silenced. All grew still as the clock voiced the hour, and with every chime Veranda felt a deep shiver of pleasure, as well as a light headedness. It finally stopped its chiming, and Veranda took a breath. She waited, expecting the music to start up again, as it always did, but it was still quiet. What happened? Why did everyone remain so still? She turned and walked over to the doorway of the room, and yes, it was a doorway. A huge, massive door was propped open, inviting any who dared to enter. Veranda didn’t leave the room, just peered out of it, seeing nothing but the near empty hallway. She couldn’t see into the other rooms.
“WHO DARES?”
The voice boomed, making Veranda jump, clutching her chest.
“WHO DARES INSULT US WITH THIS BLASPHEMOUS MOCKERY?”
That voice belonged to the prince. He sounded angry. Why? She heard people in the other rooms chattering now, sounding frightened and angry as well. Still she did not leave the room. She stood and waited. For what? She did not know, but she felt it coming. It was making its way to her now. It was passing the colored rooms and colored people. It was ignoring their cries of fear and anger, their looks and stares. It was coming. What was it? She desperately wanted to know. She stared into the depths of the hall, and finally it showed.
It was a man. He was tall, dressed in black. He wore a full face mask, and it was white, like the blank countenance of the dead. Across the brow and cheeks there was a sprinkle of crimson, like blood splashed over the mask. The look drove people back in fear.
“The plague…” Veranda breathed, and she herself backed up slowly into the depths of the black room. Still he came, approaching. He took his time, walking leisurely, his black robes swirling behind him. Veranda bit her lip. His eyes sparkled behind the mask as they set on her, and she could almost feel the gaze dancing across her skin. It sent a deep ripple of pleasure through her, like the clock. Behind him the prince followed, hustling after the tall stranger. But no matter how fast the fat prince walked, it was like he couldn’t catch the masked man.
The man clad in black stepped over the threshold on the black room, now in the same space as Veranda. He suddenly turned when he crossed, his heavy gaze leaving her for a moment to settle on the prince and his followers. They all froze in their spots, looking at the stranger with a mix of fear and bewilderment. Veranda watched as the stranger lifted one pale hand, the fingers long and thin, and gripped the heavy door of the room. He stared into the crowd a moment longer before he slowly began to swing the door shut. It was silent, and not one person moved to stop him. Veranda felt a surge of fear. She’d be locked in here. Alone. With him. The fear contained another emotion. Desire. Her breath stopped as the door shut, giving a click. Almost as soon as the door clicked home there came from the other side blood curdling screams. Veranda recoiled at the sudden noise and the horror of the sound. Women and men screamed in anguish, and there came a pounding on the door, soon followed by a whispering sound that was finger nails dragging over the surface of the wood. Blood slowly seeped into the black room under the door, and it looked very dark in the crimson lighting.
The man then slowly turned and faced her. She felt her heart leap into her chest. She felt so very afraid, and for different reasons. She was afraid of him, what he’d do, and afraid of the fact that she craved him. He stepped towards her, and she whirled, looking out the window she stood by, desperately trying to open it, though she knew it led nowhere. It would not open, and she heard his advancing steps. She clawed at the glass anyways, knowing it was futile but at the same time not caring. She clawed and pounded and shoved, but it was no use. Her hands froze against the red glass when she felt him near, so near that his cold breath was on her back. She was trembling, shaking, tears in her eyes, and she waited.
Fingers rested on her hips a moment before sliding around to her front. One hand stayed pressed against her lower belly, pressing her against his frame. She felt his chest against her back. The other hand slid up her chest, over her breasts, and paused at her throat. She felt his masked face lean into her ear.
“Fear me not.” He whispered, his hand resuming it’s upwards climb, over her throat, her chin, dancing across her lips, and finally digging under her mask.
“Fear me not.” The hand took hold of her mask and violently ripped it away from her face, exposing her features to the red tinted light. The room smelled of blood, and outside people still screamed, still clawed at the heavy door. He reached up and this time placed a pale hand against his own mask, and she knew what he was doing. He lifted the mask slowly from his face and tossed it aside where her mask lay abandoned. His fingers once more took hold of her hips, and turned her to face him. He whispered again, and she pressed her hands against his chest as he did so, then leaned up and kissed him.
“Fear me not. For you are mine.”
