"Masks on!" Announced the young man gleefully.
I slip the Bauta on as instructed in one swift movement, and then delicately slide Rosie's Colombina over her face.
"Thanks," she mumbles as I rest my hands on her waist once again. Her face is half-hidden by the silver-feathered mask, yet I still find myself staring into her beautiful eyes. I wish we could've danced that waltz for just a minute longer.
Around us, partygoers shuffle with excitement as they adjust their masks.
"Introducing our beloved Concertmistress, and the current ruling Quartet!"
The musicians begin to play a haunting tune, and in the corner of my eye, I see the thick velvet curtains shift.
I freeze.
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Nothing Haunted
Ghostly's rambles and/or daily journal entries. Now featuring poorly written universe details, story-lines, and character designs.
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