Thread: Unmasked

The Mask Maker He watched as the last of the clear droplets fell into the basin, rippling along it's smooth surface. Tremors, like a lover's breath Dipping his fingers into the water, he immersed his hands in it's warmth, and began to scrub them slowly. The water ran red. Purity, tainted bloody with sin. He smiled beneath his mask although it had been a short visit, how he had enjoyed himself. She welcomed me with such... Enthusiasm... I was away for far too long... The Mask Maker was in high spirits, having returned from a two day profitable business venture finally to be reunited with his lovely doll. Drying his long fingers, Amador reached back to skillfully untie the ornate mask's series of ribbons. He stared down at the white porcelain, then reached into his suit's pocket to pull out a delicate brush. Dipping the fine hairs under the faucet, he meticulously cleaned away the spots of red that dotted the mask's smooth surface. Finishing, the brush was tucked back away, and Amador pivoted sharply to stride into his workshop. Placing his old mask carefully on a stand, the Mask Maker retrieved another from his desk. His eyes roamed across it, tracing its intricate designs it would only serve to cover the top half of his face. Perfect. He had been much too hasty with his little one his latent emotions overwhelming him greedily in the presence of her perfection. Ah... No. Not perfection... Yes, he had acted too harshly... She hadn't even eaten in two days. My poor pet Amador smiled. I enjoyed every second of you. Somewhere in the dirt and solitude of a back alley, the tattered form of a girl moaned soft apologies hoarsely past the shreds of cloth wound around her head. Bleeding, battered body shaking weakly until it finally collapsed. Tying the ribbons in place with a set of confusing loops, Amador took the remote-like device laying on the table, and smoothed a hand through his dark locks. He was forgetting something. Ah, yes. Returning to the bathroom, he pulled from the cabinet a large black case. Snapping the hinges shut with satisfaction, Amador made his way to the grand hall that connected his workshop and his store from the mansion behind it. The walk was not overly long, and soon the hall ended at a large oak door. Procuring a key ring, the man turned the lock, stepping into the grand room. Amador Decessus. As he was known by clientele. The alias served him well the gentleman's real identity shrouded in secrets, money and charm. His buyers did not delve far past his alluring smiles and the estate he had recently inherited. They simply wished their masks be hand crafted, unique pieces of porcelain, by the great artist. To say they owned a piece touched by Un facteur de masque. Amador was mystery. His features unknown ever shrouded behind the ornate masks he was never without. Of course, wearing them himself did sell, but not so much as did the man's pleasurable pastime. The Decessus Masquerades were the of the highest tier. Elegant, their lists dabbled over and hand-picked And tonight he was to host the largest yet. Much talk had been flitting past the blue-blooded lips, the mail sent to his estate atrociously gross. There was nothing the notables could do however, if they were not graced in Amador's sight. Only select dignitaries attended the lavish events. The heels of his boots clicked upon the marble floors and his long strides continued, disregarding the greetings that were stuttered his way. The decor attendants startled by the stately man's sudden appearance. He had not arrived through the large front doors Jezebel. Amador's rich voice cut through the sound of a fountain pen scratching on a clipboard. The woman surveying the decorations turned, eyes wide. S-sir! Ah She glanced down at the large case he held towards her. These are them? Use the gloves provided as you set them within the displays. Came the curt reply, dark eyes narrowing slightly in silent warning behind the mask. The case was handed over, the tall man turning towards the large staircase on the opposite side of the large open floor. Mr. Decessus, your things have been laid out.. The mouse of a maid shrank away as he ascended up the left wing of the great stairs. Thank you Marie. The artist replied, not sparing her a second glance. In the solitude of his room Amador welcomed the heavy silence, eyes sliding over the luxury to gaze out the floor-length windows, watching with interest as the sun sank beneath the horizon. It's last rays bloodying the sky in a fantastic display. Ah, a red mask Edged with gold perhaps? And inlayed He mused on a new design as he undid his attire and dressed in a simple, black tuxedo and polished dress shoes. Sharply drawing the heavy curtains closed, the lips beneath the silver mask lifted slightly. Tonight. Tonight I shall find you. A perfect piece. One as flawless and intricate as the art he created...