The Red Masque © by @Watersones Author, Angela Goldsmith
(The Bloody Chamber Trilogy)
This is my NEW WIP a Vampire, Historical Fiction, Short Story called, The Red Masque © by Angela Goldsmith
Below is a brief synopsis of the story and PART ONE
SYNOPSIS
Ethan and Lyra Rivera were once a loving couple. Lyra is a celebrated soprano and Ethan a musician in her band. These young lovers who were only recently married have been hit by the worst tragedy they can imagine, the death of their beloved three-year-old son Mateo.
After eighteen months of mourning Ethan feels it is necessary to put the grief behind them and to move on. He sees this as vital to their survival as a couple and for their livelihood as musicians. He realises that they must return to their old life as performers on the stage. Ethan is becoming increasingly frustrated with Lyra because she just does not seem to be able to let go of her overwhelming sorrow.
A fateful encounter with the mysterious and hypnotic Count Raoul Mascalzoni at the Masquerade Ball will change everything. Will this ominous encounter really help Lyra to recover from her melancholia or are other ominous and inauspicious forces at play here.
PART ONE
The Dance of the Butterflies - (La Danza delle Farfalle)
"Don't look him directly in the eyes. He is trying to hypnotise you."
As soon as Ethan Rivera uttered these words, he noticed a flicker of excitement flash across the face of his wife Lyra. It was only for a few fleeting seconds, but it was quite the transformation. Lyra had momentarily removed her Moretta mask to mop her fair brow, and began fanning herself frantically with the black velvet covering. The wavering motion of the makeshift fan was consoling and offered a temporary respite against the oppressive and sultry heat in the great ballroom. Ethan and Lyra Rivera were positioned at one end of this infamous Sala delle Farfalle, the great glass domed ballroom, close to the stage on which they would soon be the main attraction. Tonight, it was glutted with quite a crowd of revellers. These were the eminent and notable guests of the Duke of Urbino. The elite socialites who had the privilege of being invited to his notorious masquerade ball. Lyra Rivera a celebrated soprano had, only dutifully, accepted the invitation to perform at this illustrious carnival. She felt very aware that she was an outsider in this hothouse of extravagance. Although, neither she Lyra nor Ethan were a part of high society themselves Lyra's musical attributes and reputation as a performer made her a desired acquisition for any soiree.
Lyra's immediate sensation upon entering the dancehall was to feel overwhelmed and out of place. She was dressed head to foot in black and placed a black Moretta mask over her pretty face to obscure, like a oblique veil, its delicate features. She watched the proceedings from the periphery filled with a nervous trepidation as refined and elegant Ladies dressed in exquisite gowns made their way onto the dancefloor. These Ladies were accompanied by handsome-looking, well-groomed gentlemen. The Gentleman were preened and coiffed and presented themselves in their most charming aspect. Their dashing appearance was accentuated by their gregarious costume. Their attire was of the highest and most stylish fashion. They too were masked and as Lyra observed the ritual, she noted that some of these guises were the most ludicrous in design. All wore a veneer and all were here to make an impression, like proud peacocks strutting in a row.
As soon as Ethan and Lyra entered they could not help but be caught up in the merriment. Swept up in the carousing nature of the night's revelries, made even more seductive and mysterious by the anonymity of the wearing of masques. Both Ethan and Lyra were offered a large glass of the finest champagne as soon as they entered the great hall. A steward quickly arrived at their side, seeming to manifest himself dutifully out of the vaporous haze, which swirled about the ballroom and caused the milieu to be obscured by the miasma. The steward thrust a glass of the intoxicating nectar into the hand of Ethan. Lyra wilfully abstained as she wanted to keep a clear head for her performance. Ethan gulped down one glass the silky liquor and readily took another. He raised his second glass, "Cheers" he said taking another large sip of the exquisite liquid. Lyra shot him a disapproving glance.
"Dutch courage, my love," he assured her, as he looked up to the high glass ceiling above them.
The glass domed ceiling allowed the esteemed guests to view the night's starlit sky and this only added to the ambience of enchantment that encircled them. The blue-black sky was embellished with stars, as if an unseen hand had stitched them into its very fabric. These celestial jewels mirrored in reverence and esteem the sequins on the gowns of the elegant Ladies. These socialites presented the aspect of graceful, swan-like creatures who would glide, guilelessly around the ballroom. They masqueraded as such, Lyra thought dismissively, wafting with an effortless assuredness in their long gowns, but the glossy material, Lyra knew often hid deeper, darker privations. Much effort would be expended by these great Ladies to maintain these impressions, like the swan who seemed to sashay effortlessly across a lake, all the while hiding the frantic industry that laboured underneath the surface to stay buoyant.
There was a gibbous moon on show that night, Lyra observed it looking down on them from its lofty celestial position. She noted that it was in its waxing phase, an attitude adopted just before it transitioned wholly into the majestic full moon that it would become. It seemed to be wearing its' own mask too that night she thought. Keeping a little of its' antique visage obscured. As if holding a little of its' character back and hiding it in the shade. The room itself was lit only by the moon and candlelight, with huge gold candelabras giving out an enchanting glow. But this created areas of bright light, which contrasted with regions of the room which were cloaked in dim and eerie twilight. And from where Lyra was standing she noted that some of these darker sections were almost completely shielded from view. Even the candlesticks themselves cast grotesque and unnerving shadows across the ballroom floor.
Ethan observed that the removal of Lyra's mask anointed half of her elegant face with enchanting candlelight but also cast half of her delicate visage into an opaque shadow. But this did not stop her husband thinking that she exuded a radiance that night, something he had not seen in her for a long time. At Ethan's mention of Count Raoul Mascalzoni's name, he could not help but to notice the transformation in his wife. A transition from the dull, dutiful, almost mechanical responses that she had acquired, during her mourning period, and back to the spirited, vigorous force of nature she had been when he had married her. Was she finally beginning to forget? To move on? He wondered. He also wondered whether or not to worry that it only seemed to be the mention of the name of Count Raoul Mascalzoni that could produce in his wife, this roused reaction?
Ethan recognised that glimmer of expectation in his wife Lyra. That flutter of exhilaration. Was that almost the trace of a smile? The corners of her mouth had twitched, he was sure he had seen that, had he not? Her bright blue eyes had definitely shown a spark of keen delight, it was only for that tiny moment, but it was there, fleeting as it was. He had seen it and it filled him with immense hope. Dear God. let this be the end. Let us move on together. He repeated this mantra to himself daily now, as a type of personal catechism. Please, dear Lord. Let this period of mourning for our child finally come to an end.
Ethan had also noted that after she had performed her cleansing ritual, wiping her brow with a white lace handkerchief that Lyra had quickly covered her face again with the black mask, as if in guilt at having felt any pleasure. But again, Ethan could not help but to draw some hope and optimism. Though he wondered why this change could only be achieved from her burgeoning acquaintanceship, the intimacy that she was accruing with Count Raoul Mascalzoni?
Lyra was stood with her back to the front of the ballroom and Ethan could see over her shoulder the mysterious figure of the Count propped against the wall, at the back of the dance hall. He wondered if he should feel jealous that Count Mascalzoni's presence had excited such an effect on his wife's disposition. But he decided instead to just to be relieved. Thank heavens, Thank the Lord she is finally letting go. He repeated the mantra over again to himself. Please let her finally begin to leave behind her state of mourning and move forward. For both our sakes.
Ethan studied again the dark silhouette of Count Raoul Mascalzoni. No. He decided there was little need to worry and he assured himself, he was being ridiculous and besides the Count already had an amazingly beautiful wife. He had not yet glimpsed her that evening, the divine Contessa Galatea Mascalzoni, but he knew she would be present at the ball this evening. She and the Count were renowned for attending these soirees together. As Ethan studied the dark form of the Count, he thought that he, Count Mascalzoni deliberately seemed to be standing out of the glare of the candlelight which was unusual for him as he was such a popular attraction at these events. He and his wife Galatea were much sought after and in demand. Ethan suddenly realised he had been staring intently at the Count as he had repeated his personal assurances to himself. Please let us move on now. Ethan quickly turned his head away now, feeling for a moment that he had become so absorbed in his thoughts, it was as if he had fallen into some type of trance. It was a spell that he had to shake himself physically and vigorously free from. Lyra saw him do this and shot her husband a quizzical look. Ethan lowered his eyes and felt a little embarrassed at Lyra having seen him watching Count Mascalzoni so intently. But Lyra did not seem to care, quickly turning her own head around to catch sight of the enigmatic figure for herself.
"I said don't look" Ethan said quickly, and laughed a little hollowly to show that he was teasing her, attempting to keep the atmosphere between them light and easy, least it induce another confrontation. This he thought was to be avoided at all costs. No need to make a spectacle of oneself by creating a scene here. Ethan watched as Lyra snapped her head back around from sneaking a furtive glance at the Count. She turned to face her husband. Did he see pleasure flash into her beautiful blue eyes? Eyes that even intense grief and sorrow could not dull.
"You devil." She said narrowing her eyes at him. "You wanted me to look." But she laughed too.
"Hmm..." Ethan was not sure. But then he realised he had heard Lyra laugh. She had actually laughed out loud. He felt so surprised and relieved by the sound. Thank heavens, Thank the Lord. Ethan repeated to himself. Lyra's bright, round, ringing laugh was something her husband had not heard for over eighteen months. A long, arduous eighteen months of despondency. Of grieving over the loss of their beautiful three-year-old boy Mateo. A long relentless, (it had seemed to him,) mourning period of low, crushing sorrow and melancholia.
So shocked was he by hearing his wife's laugh that he actually felt overcome, dizzy, and disorientated by it. Was her old joyful, delightful nature returning? The melodic chimes of her sonorous laugh, the old familiar sound which in the past he would have taken for granted, rung out with new vigour. Yes, Perhaps she is finally ready to move on? He thought. But he realised that he had so infrequently heard her bright ringing laugh of late it that he actually found it a little startling and unnerving.
"Is the Count coming over to us?" Asked Lyra coyly. "Do tell me Ethan my love. Because I do not wish to turn around and stare."
"I am not sure why not." Teased Ethan. "The Count Mascalzoni has been staring at you the whole evening."
"On the contrary. Ethan my darling." she said. "I think he has been staring at you. I think it is you that he wishes to mesmerise." Lyra laughed again, so loud and brilliant that Ethan could not help but smile at her. He glanced over Lyra's shoulder again.
"See how he comes now," said Ethan
"Is he coming over here?" asked Lyra with fevered excitement in her voice. "Should I remove my mask?" she whispered.
But it was too late to do anything because at that moment Count Mascalzoni, seemed to float across the room towards them. He was a very rich, and influential nobleman. Still quite young and fiendishly handsome, with a roguish charm that captivated almost everyone. Yet this powerful man seemed to have singled out Ethan and Lyra specifically. Ethan watched as the Count seemed to saunter across the room. Ethan could not describe how he did it, but it was such a bizarre experience to see him move as if being drawn towards each other like a magnetic pull.
"He is so stunning, and he moves so sensuously" sighed Lyra clearly enthralled. Even the sea of revellers seemed to part and dissipate away, to make a path for him. As he heard his wife's praise of his stranger Ethan suddenly feeling trapped and stifled, attempted to swallow a large gulp of the acrid air enclosing and encompassing him. As he did so an astringent taint of incense, sage and Juniper smarted in the back of his throat and Ethan had to do all in his power to stop himself from choking. And all the while that Ethan suffered under the effects of this intoxicating miasma lithe and sinuously the Count materialised in front of them.
