Me Me Me Monday

It’s Me Me Me Monday, so I figured I’d share a little snippet of my work here. I’ve been very busy with ‘Aissa and Polyxena’, so ‘On the Other Side of the Mask’ hasn’t gotten nearly enough attention. During November, my life will be dominated by ‘A Godling for Your Thoughts?’, my NaNoWriMo project. It’s time for a little snippet of ‘On the Other Side of the Mask’. Besides, it’s almost Halloween. This is quite in the spirit of the creepy and the masked. :)=

It was a curse, as much as a blessing. The first boy frowned, as if pondering the dark consequences of their choice of names. However, the gentle smile of his companion urged him out of a brood, as the two walked out of the court into their new lives.

A man and a woman watched them, as they left. They would have had no business in this court, but for the purple band around the man’s top hat, and the purple ribbons winding within the woman’s hair. Purple was a color of distinction within the grey city of Paradise. Not to mention the beaded masks, which concealed the upper halves of their faces.

“Byron and Shelley,” the lady murmured, letting out a titter. It was soft, hushed, a cautious squeak of cruelty. “Fancy themselves poets, do they? Or revolutionaries?”

“In the end, it doesn’t matter what they fancy themselves to be,” the man said, with an airy wave of his gloved hand. “They’re sacrificial lambs.”

The couple watched the two small heads, as they bobbed up and down, joining a line of other small heads, which formed a couple of lines. Walking straight into the chapel walls of the cathedral, known as Our Blessed Mother of Paradise.

Byron was dimly aware of the attention. He held his head high, refusing to look back, or around. He would live up to his name. Poet, rebel, freedom fighter.

Freedom. It was a dangerous word, but one he loved to think about, secretly, in his heart. His eyes darted from the small, skinny shapes of the other church wards, only to be drawn, as if by magic to a pair of blue green eyes.

Shelley was watching him. When their eyes met, the tiny smile upon the other boy’s lips grew. It tempted Byron’s own mouth to twitch and bend, until it yielded in an answering smile.

No. He wouldn’t yield his smile to Shelley, not so quickly. Not yet.



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