I'M GONNA DO TIME BUT SHE LOOKS GOOD IN RED -
![[Image: apolonia_by_erasvita_dcmlqry_by_beccazw-dcnhnsj.png]](https://orig00.deviantart.net/4a1e/f/2018/265/e/7/apolonia_by_erasvita_dcmlqry_by_beccazw-dcnhnsj.png)
The night outside is soft and cool, and Apolonia sheds it as soon as she steps inside the keep, overwhelmed by the bodies, the music, the warmth.
She is in a room that sparkles everywhere she looks. Blown-glass balls, overflowing with baby’s breath, hang from the ceiling and shed glittering light on the bardiglio floor. Curled ribbons woven from scarlet and gold drape staircases and marble pillars. A violin, a string quartet, wails a bright, sad song from somewhere Apolonia can’t quite see the source of the noise, and it’s that hot whine that plays and rattles in her ear as she drifts to the table of masks and picks one up.
It is a delicate thing, carved from opal, that shimmers and twists in the waning light. It might be gold, it might be silver - Apolonia thinks it might be different depending on which angle you see it from, how much you’ve had to drink. A delicate rose gold filigree lines the outside of the mask, studded in places with black feathers, and from the bottom drip a line of white diamonds that make a carpet, a curtain against her jaw and high cheekbones. She lays it against her forehead, where it covers her third eye easily, and disappears into the crowd of people.
She is slim and fits easily into the packed room, wearing her way like a silverfish through groups of dancers, poets mumbling under their breath, couples pressed up against the walls. She wonders vaguely if her father is here, and what he would think of her like this - pretending to be Decoction, pretending to belong.
