[P] shadows and light

[Pavetta]

p a v e t t a - - - He was right; she was not some village maiden come to dance with princes and elves and fairy tales beneath the moon. She was in-between—certainly not who she had once been, but neither was she sure about who she wanted to become. Pavetta had found freedom for the first time in her life and she knew not what to do with it or what destiny might lay before her. Less then a year ago she had been a servant, then a bride, then a widower. Now what was she? A silver nymph in the moonlight, come to dance in the shadows. The light of day was too revealing, too stark. Here she could wrap herself in mystery and pretend, and the man with the black mask didn’t seem to mind. He made a quip about not eating the food; she grinned at his cleverness.  And so their game continued.  She felt his eyes tracing her skin and the contours of her face, lingering on the scar laced across her eye. His golden eyes were too intense, too sharp, too perceptive. What did he see? Could he pierce the veil of illusion, did he see what she truly was? A ghost of a girl with no real future or past? Or was her glamour of glittering perfume and lilting smiles enough to bewilder him; was the lie believable? Did she seem like a queen who knew what she wanted and always got it? Whatever he knew, or didn’t know, he didn’t say. He pretended along with her, played the part of the fool. She had not known many men in her life, but if she knew anything at all, he was far from a fool. “And I think I am not the first you have bought pretty trinkets for,” she replied. He was too practiced, too suave; it was too easy for him. But she didn’t mind, either. They were what they were and that was that. The crowd swayed around them, a river peacefully flowing, rippling, reflecting light and color. A voice, sweet and low, serenaded lovers and drunkards alike. Laughter and mirth. Shadows and light. Midnight would come too soon. That depends on what you’re looking for… Her heart rate quickened, a flurry of wings desperate to take flight. What was she looking for? Did he know that she searched for purpose, her destiny? Pieces of her former selves (servant, healer, bride, wife, warrior, orphan) lay fractured and shattered like glass all around. Was she searching for a way to piece them together in a new way, or searching for the shards that were missing?  But no, it was not some existential question. He merely referred to the physical pleasures of the night before them. She followed his gaze, his gesture, allowing the panic to fade, sinking back into the night of masquerade and shadows. Firelight and music, dancers and brawlers, food and drink. And other things…. She threw him a knowing look, amused by his suggestive, wicked grin—of course there were drunken lovers slipping away into the shadows of more, ah, private places. “One? Let’s begin with two,” she said daringly. “After all, I’ve only got until midnight." isn't it a little late, shouldn't you fly away?  little dove with cigarettes ---

@Acton