Felix and Alexander

The grand hall was decorated for the masquerade ball. Red silk swagged the curtains, and the chandeliers were polished till they blinded the eyes. The night descended upon Venice, the dying fulgor of the sun travelled across the canals like veins lit on fire. In the sky the peaceful blues had changed into a fiery phoenix, rising above the city. The night descended like ashes. In curtains of clouds, the overcast sky hid the moon and stars. The city however did not sleep; the houses stayed lit replacing the grandeur of the stars.

The guests trickled in. poised and dressed in the manner of a masquerade. Alexander came in first, dressed in an extravagant purple; his cloak in regal violet brushing his stockings. Beneath his amethyst vest his white shirt folded in loose drapes, This was slightly unkempt, the irregular folds suggesting haste. Despite this his purple suit was immaculately embroidered with silver motifs of the stars and various astrological signs. His silken stockings were moon white, pale as moths. A black tricorn hat with dyed ostrich feathers crowned his figure. His mask was of ivory, a permanent taciturn gaze was thinly painted. 

Felix trickled in next. His breath betraying him, the slight scent of red wine hung about. But he looked as immaculate as ever. His cloak was of silk and vivid red. His vest and trouser, a matching  carmine, glittering with gold embroidery and floral scrollwork. His white shirt billowing from under, the neatness completely obeyed his commands. Balanced delicately was a cocked hat billowing with opulent peacock plumes. The smirk on his mask scintillated in shades of gold. Felix recognized Alexander immediately. Alexander made it a habit to stand in a casually elegant contrapposto. His slanted hips and his shoulders betrayed him to Felix, and Felix immediately approached him. Beneath the painted smirk of the golden mask a real one was beginning to match.

The harpsichord weaved shrill melodies into the air. A Scarlatti sonata was being artfully played with the newest fashion of venetian ornamentation. The trills sent a chill down Felix’s spine. The room was charged with an electric excitement. Anonymity is key at the masquerade. The masks allows the wearer to execute any desires or yearning that he or she possesses. And Felix knowing this, was never keen to miss out on an opportunity. He slipped by the various people whose gazes were frozen in fine porcelain. He brushed past the opulence of silk dresses. Beneath his mask a full smirk lay concealed. He approached Alexander and his regal robes. His gaze had to be adjusted up, for Alexander was taller than Felix.  Felix stood closer still, close enough to whisper, his head cocking up in order to gaze up at his eyes. His peacock plumes brushed the side of Alexander’s cheek, placing the balanced hat at a precarious angle threatening to fall. 

“Follow me,” enticed Felix.

Silently Alexander followed. Felix’s posture was  immaculate. Elegantly he glided out of the crowd into the garden. The garden was small but reflected the wealth of imperial Venice. A lion fountain protruded from the wall and softly whispered a stream. Rose bushes were neatly arranged and pruned. The red blooms peered from behind leaves and whispered to the lilacs and the violet clematis on the trellis. 

An eastern breeze blew in from the Adriatic carrying the scent of salt. Felix's voice did not quiver. “If I were to kiss you, if I were to pour sonnets of honey and petals, would you reciprocate?” 

The garden stood silent, the roses peered from behind eaves of green and the lilacs held their fragrance. “No,” quivered Alexander.

“Liar,” called the gentle stream of the fountain. The moon still concealed in curtains of cloud sighed “Liar.” Inside the harpsichord continued to trill, the silks still draped and the faces on the mask remained unchanged.