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Yuri’s mother had always said that makeup was her shield.
It was something he remembered strongly even now, standing at her side as she sat by a worn-down vanity, the poor thing barely standing up under the weight of its own age. His tiny hands would rest on her knee as she powdered her nose, applying her eyeshadows before she finally painted her lips. Lilac hair would tumble from the messy bun she always put it in, and when he would ask what she was doing, she would always say the same; “Putting on my mask, little flower.”
“But why do you need a mask?” he asked once, curious. She never had elaborated, after all.
“To become someone else,” was her response as she painted black lines across her lids. They made her look so glamorous, he’d always thought. Powerful, even, like a sorceress who could cast incredible magic, someone who could chase anything terrible away. “When I work, it’s sometimes better to not be me.”
He hadn’t understood—of course he hadn’t, not then, he’d been too young, too innocent—but he remembered reaching for the brush that she’d used for her eyes then, his fist small around it. It was an old thing, bristly and well-used, just like the vanity. They had taken up residence in a beaten-down tavern, and his mother had been working to the bone to pay for the roof. Since then, it had been night after night of him being left alone, all while she went out, the moon sitting high in its lofty throne as she did whatever it was that required her mask.
As time went on, he realised she was selling herself to do it, making men pay for the best of her so she could give the best she could for him in return. But back then, with his hands around that brush, he only knew that she wanted to feel strong, to feel untouchable. He took the tool for himself and closed his eyes, brushing the bristles against his own eyelids.
His mother had chuckled at that, delicately taking it from him. “Oh? And who are you hiding from, little flower?”
“Nobody,” he said, puffing out his cheeks. “I just wanted to try too, to look like you do. Beautiful.”
She laughed at him anew, reaching out to brush a hand through his short, messy hair. “Oh, you charmer! I fear you will only make a dreadful mess of yourself if I let you loose with my products, but I can teach you, if you’d like. When I get home in the morning, I’ll show you exactly how to do it.”
“So I can be just like you?”
Her smile fell at that. Later, when children of Abyss said the same, he would understand why. He and his mother, they both felt the same about themselves—she was the strongest person he knew, and she said herself that she was so, so, proud of him, but they knew the real darkness that they both harboured. He was a murderer, a liar, a cheat. She considered herself nothing more than a worthless whore. They were identical at the core; both never wanting to be a role-model, both never wanting to pass on their shadowed ways.
She took his small face in her thin hands and shook her head. “No, my little love, not to be like me. I’ll teach you so, if you ever need it, you’ll have your own shield to use. The world can be a dangerous, frightening place, and sometimes, a little paint on your face is enough to make you think you can face it. You will stand up to anything, I promise you that.”
In Abyss, in the present, Yuri sat at his own vanity with his powders open on the surface, his eyeshadows in their palette. The mirror reflected his image back at him, bare-faced, shadows being cast over his skin by the flickering of the candle he had set beside him. A potted lily-of-the-valley perched on the vanity’s edge, its white flowers nearly tipping right over the edge.
He scowled. How weak he looked without the purples at the edge of his eyes, without the gloss at his lips. His hands were in fists as they rested on his knees, his jaw clenched tight. His heart still beat a humming-bird’s pace in his chest, furious.
The threat still felt present in the air. Aelfric had barged into his room and caught him unawares a clock’s pace beforehand. He’d whispered threats into his ear while they had been alone, to make sure he was keeping up his own part of their twisted charade. Yuri’s fingers had itched for his blade, to slit the man’s throat before he’d been able to blink, but he’d been powerless in truth. The man had his mother as a hostage for one, and Rhea wanted more information on his faction’s movements.
Killing him was not an option—and, as much as Yuri wished to gut him, he equally knew that he could not. Aelfric was much more than a kidnapper; he was also one of the few caretakers that Yuri had trusted before he’d betrayed him, and part of him still did, unfathomably, love him.
He reached for his brush, sweeping it up in the purple powder that he usually coated his eyelids in. Constance had procured this particular colour for him after he’d complained that most of Abyss’s wares were not to his tastes. Purple was the colour for nobles, expensive and difficult to find. Where she’d gotten it from was anybody’s guess, but he had a strong suspicion that it was regular, brown powder that she’d infused with magic. She’d managed to change the colour of tea before—he was certain that powder would be no issue for someone of her talents.
He set to work, an artist with his brush as he painted himself into the person he wanted to be. First, he scoped out the shape of his eyelids, filling them in with colour before blending it outwards. Memories of his mother’s movements, her guiding hand, his own muscle memory—all of it made up his morning routine. A shame Aelfric had seen him with his mask off, with his face nothing but himself. Another thing he would pay for eventually. The lily-of-the-valley that sat in the pot, it was poisonous. One day, Aelfric would realise that he was too.
A knock at his door had Yuri turning halfway, his hand stilling. “Who’s there?”
“Yo, pal, you still in there?” Balthus’s voice was gruff through the door. “We were heading to grab a bite for breakfast, but you hadn’t shown up yet.”
We, he said, implying that the others were there. His suspicions were confirmed when Hapi’s voice came next. “Still putting your face on, Yuri-bird?”
“Why, of course he is! Do you know how much time it takes to look this magnificent! I can assure you, it doesn’t just happen in seconds!” Constance’s voice was high and airy despite the early hour. “We just need to wait, and he shall appear at any moment.”
They were so respectful, his friends. He was reminded of a time when they’d been in Abyss’s bar and someone had loudly, drunkenly, made a comment on how improper it was for a man to be wearing woman’s makeup. Yuri hadn’t even been able to make it out of his seat before Balthus had smashed his fist into the man’s face, sending him bowling over into Hapi, who had bashed her head into his all while Constance cackled behind her hand, claiming, “Serves you right, you piggish swine!”
The man hadn’t known who he was at the time, hadn’t realised he’d been picking a fight with the leader of the Ashen Wolves, but it made no difference to Yuri. “I’m not so delicate that I need you to fight my battles for me,” he had snapped at Balthus afterwards, but Balthus had only laughed. “I’m serious. If you start breaking the jaws of every man who makes a jab at me, soon it’ll get around that I’m going soft, that I need a bodyguard. I’m not weak.”
Balthus only carried on laughing. “Oh, I know that. You’re a conniving bastard, you’d stab a man before he even saw it coming.”
“So why did you do it?”
“‘Cause we’re the Ashen Wolves, and nobody gives our pack leader any kind of shit.” Balthus had smirked at that, punching one hand into his waiting palm. “Ain’t just about you, Yuri. It’s about all of us.”
How he wished they wouldn’t trust him so blindly. How he wished he didn’t trust them so either. The truth was that; he loved them as much as he did his rogues, his mother, the people that Aelfric had taken hostage to control him.
But his mission was to gather his friends together and help Aelfric kill them alongside himself.
He didn’t deserve their devotion. His hands were tied, he had nothing to do except pray. His mother had always asked the goddess for her help, had always claimed that Yuri had been her gift from Sothis herself. Unexpected, she’d said, but the best thing she’d ever received. Maybe, if he begged the goddess enough, she would give him the way out he needed, help tip his luck a fraction more in his favour.
He finished applying his eyeliner to his lids and painted his lips in shiny gloss. When it was done, he pushed the brushes aside and looked into the mirror, his reflection staring back. When he smirked, it was a knife’s edge. That was what he wanted; that was who he wished to be more than anything.
Beneath it all, he was many things. A liar, a cheat, the son of a whore, a whore himself, the bearer of Aubin’s Crest, Aelfric’s pawn, Rhea’s informant. But that was the beauty of what his mother taught him; with his mask on, he was whoever he wanted to be.
She’d been right. Sometimes, the world was dangerous, but she’d given him the gift of her paints to provide him the shield he needed. He pushed his chair away from the desk and opened the door, finding all three of his friends standing around, Balthus leant against the opposite wall, Hapi mid-stretch, and Constance mid-yawn.
“Thanks for waiting,” he said.
Aelfric’s time would come. Like the lily-in-the-valley, Yuri was as dangerous as he was beautiful. As soon as he had his way out, he would take it, his mother’s shield guarding him the entire way.
But for now, he would bide his time. It was on his side, after all.