Saturday's Storyteller: "The masquerade was the perfect disguise to hide their crimes."

by Belinda Roddie

The masquerade was the perfect disguise to hide their crimes. They put on masks of black and red and silver and gold. Some were feathery and beaked - others bore the weight of hairy snouts, or spread out like glossy wings ready to lift its wearer into the air. They put on their gowns and tails and shoes, and off they went to Sir Rodrigo's castle - the one with three tall towers, each window glowing white.

The four men and women entered with the light of the chandelier catching on their beads and sequins, and the eyes of the other guests only lingering on them temporarily before the revelry resumed. They were unrecognizable. Sir Rodrigo was never one to monitor a detailed guest list - if you could afford the trip and wore the masks, then anyone could come to the masquerade. The red wine flowed like a bloody waterfall into goblets and bowls, and fingers were stained with the residue of puddings, meats, and cheeses, all sticky from the heat and perspiration of their consumers. The four men and women blended right in, reds among reds and golds among golds, silvers among silvers and blacks among blacks. Dark, bright, crimson, light.

One man and one woman were dressed in the proper gentlemen's wear. Their cufflinks glittered on their French shirts; their tails bristled wildly, as if real animals' tails were sewn from fabric, against their thighs. They led their partners to the middle of the dance floor and circled them like predators surrounding consenting prey. Their boots left vague scuffs across marble floors.

The other man and woman wore evening gowns. They had done each other's make-up beneath their masks, enlarged their own eyes with wings and shadow so that they popped out vividly behind the holes cut into their velvet visages. Their skirts glittered like both sapphires and rubies among the gaudiest of wardrobes. And they both knew how to properly wear heels.

Together, the four men and women danced with one another without anyone knowing their names - or even their genders. The women danced with each other; the men linked arms and twirled toward the wall. Among the sconces, they glowed orange and lit up like fireflies. They basked in the warmth and sweat of the scene around them, as the violinists and piano player kept the dance floor unbelievably lively.

Then one of the women whispered into the other woman's ear. Her lips beneath her mask were full and red - of course they were red. They moved with the seductiveness of a charmed snake.

"Pour the world a cup of wine."

The other woman smiled and drew a tablet from the sleeve of her coat. It was white. Pure white. Just like the lights bursting from the towers of Sir Rodrigo's castle. She bowed to her dance partner and waltzed her way to the table. The tablet dropped seamlessly into the bowls of wine.

Ready to serve.

This week's prompt was provided by Arden Roddie.