The courtyard was stunning. The space was an immense octagon, with walls rising nearest to him draped in gold fabric, and fluttering reds and purples, covering a multitude of graceful arches and doors that led elsewhere. Throngs of people blocked his view of the rest of the enclosure, but above, the sky was inky black, dotted with constellations. The black and white patterned marble spread underfoot, and his heelsteps clicked.

The party, for that’s what it must be, was well underway. Strings of electric lights glittered all across the large courtyard, lining walls and draped over the decorative peach and cherry trees that blossomed pale pink and white. The air was heavily scented with the flowers, overwhelmed intermittently with spicy incense and the tang of the wine that flowed from countless bottles: red, pink, and golden clear.

In the center of the courtyard was a very large fountain, with four figures carved of stone rising from the looping arcs of crystal water. Their faces were very worn, but it seemed to be a boy and a girl, bodies curved towards each other protectively. The girl held a rabbit or other small creature close. The two young ones were overshadowed by two taller people, one large, muscular and holding a sword. The other slim, and with a visible smile carved into the marble. All other features were lost to time. The fountain’s song drowned out the noise of music, and laughter with a relentless babble, and when the wind shifted, a fine mist touched hands and faces with a slight coolness that was much welcome.

In front of the fountain was a dais that rose four levels, making a sort of staircase with each step wide enough to be a stage, arcing gracefully under a pergola, covered with greenery and draped fabric, patterned and striped in gold and purple and red. Under the canopy, there was a collection of throne-like chairs: two large ones in gold and silver, one other close to the main two, and then a handful of others surrounding. Masked performers bounded on the stage-steps, dancing or singing, or tumbling in a flutter of bright colors and a jingle of bells. The mood was merry, lively, and warm.

He floated through it all, dizzy with the sights and sounds and smells. The people around him did not notice him stumble, the way he nearly dropped the glass he held, a curved goblet of dark red wine. They continued their merriment. They, and he, wore ornate garb, draped and fluttering with a stunning array of colors. Masks covered everyone’s faces, full faced and shining gold or silver, with frozen expressions carved upon them. Some had frowns or anger or blank stares but so many were smiling.

He wore one too. For some reason, his mask has covered one of his eyes entirely, leaving him with half sight. It made him dizzier than the wine did. He touched the smooth surface of his mask, following the curved lips. His was smiling too. There was only one eye hole, the left eye winked shut, which explained his vision. He felt along the sides, to the ties that looped around the back of his head with a velvety ribbon.

It was heavy here. He was thirsty, but didn’t know how to drink with the mask covering his mouth, though he must have done so at some point, because the hours leading to this moment of clarity seemed hazy and confusing. He couldn’t think of where he’d been before this moment, before this place. What had he been doing? What’s the last thing he remembered?

Who was he?

He blinked again, and found the mask lifted off his face easily enough to drink. The wine was bad; tasteless and dusty, and somehow made his throat drier. He put his mask down again.

This was a lovely party. There was a smile on his face, under the mask.

Then there was a musical trumpet blast, and it seemed someone was coming forth, someone important. The crowds parted to make way as a procession exited one of the covered archways. First, attendants spread flower petals to join the ones already scattered all about the courtyard. Then, a line of knights in shining livery marched forth with feathers on their helmets and masks on their faces, an uncanny line of six identical beings.

After these, came the royal party. Nobles in even more elaborate clothing walked and waved to the crowd, flanking two who wore crowns and clothes so beautiful as to put the rest of the gleaming party to shame. They were fashioned after the sun and moon, with tall crowns and shimmering silks and velvet in many layers. Even the embroidery on their sleeves caught the light in crystal flashes. Behind them, a clear princess sat on a chair, borne on the shoulders of four servants. She was dressed in silvers and creams, and glittered like starlight, with a mask over her face and a crown on her head. The chair's purpose was also clear as she shifted, and through a slit in her dress, he saw a brace enclosing her right leg from thigh to ankle. The mask was smiling and lovely, but even so, he thought she seemed sad.

The royal party took their place at the top of the dais in front of the fountain, where thrones were set for them. The music rang out like an announcement.

The performers who had been dancing or tumbling on the lower levels of the dais vanished to the sides and into the alcoves along the sides of the courtyard. They were quickly replaced by four other players, and the crowd gave a rising cheer while the royals applauded gracefully. The four figures bowed to the royal party and then the crowd and took their places. Music thrummed with intention, a tension rising in the air.

The smallest figure, a girl wearing a simple dress and a gold mask with an expression of youthful longing, folded herself onto the edge of the step between the dais levels. When he blinked, the eyes of her mask were closed in sleep - whether it be stage magic or real magic, he could not say. In front of her, a cloaked young man stood with his mask bearing an expression of focus. A taller man, dressed in black, slim in build and with blond waves stepped up to the young man, and gestured with desperation. He wore a mask with decorations around the eyes of striking blue, and the expression was so sad. The fourth figure, the largest man in a plain white shirt and black trousers, remained in the wings, waiting for his cue. His mask was an angry scowl, perhaps a villain waiting for his entrance.

The young man turned towards the sleeping woman, and he who watched realized his mistake as the music rose. It was the young man who was a danger, and he stalked towards the girl, while the blond man tried to stop him. With a flourishing gesture, the blond man sent a wave of cerulean ribbons towards the young man, a magical attack. The young man side-stepped. There was mimed back and forth conversation, and from the anguish in the blond man’s movements, the watcher got the impression that this betrayal was breaking the blond man’s heart. Perhaps he was a brother, or father?

The young man attacked in return, kicking forward and spinning in a dizzying dance that the blond man, in his desperation to protect the sleeping girl, could not parry. He was pinned, and the young man reached towards the left eye of the blond man’s mask. Blood bloomed from the stage wound, as it was clear that the young man was tearing out the blond man’s eye. The blue decorations on the mask the blond man wore also came away from their places in the violence, and they glittered and swirled around the young man’s wrist.

The young man’s hand was twined with red fabric, as with a jerk, his clutched fist came away from the mask of the blond man, cupping the globe of the blond man’s eye. The blond man collapsed, acting out silent agony, holding his face, red twists of silk shining underneath to show the severity of the wound. He collapsed to the side, writhing, trying to get away from the grip the young man still had on his arm.

The masses gasped in horror as the young man then brought his bloody fist to his mouth, and mimed eating it whole, smearing stage blood across the bottom of his mask in a grisly mark. He who watched felt sickened by the violence, but the crowd was enthralled.

The fourth member of the players finally joined the action, the large man with the angry mask. He rushed to the defence of the blond man, and the sleeping girl, too late, shouting a silent angry cry at the young man. He was betrayed and angry at the young man too. The large man attacked with his fists, leaping forward and grabbing the young man’s wrist, though this didn’t seem to bother the young man. His masked eyes were blank, mouth still bloody. He instead leaned forward to bite at the remaining eye of the blond man, their masks clicking together. The large man used his grip to fling the young man back, sending him staggering down the dais steps.

In the reprieve, the large man scooped up the blond man, cradling him tenderly. The sight made something ache inside the chest of the man watching, and he put a hand on his heart.

Behind the gruesome tableau, the sleeping girl was stirring, and woke. She mimed horror and anguish, but was apparently stuck behind a barrier of some kind, for she pounded on the air like it was a plane of glass, and screamed silently.

Now it was the young man who held the blue ribbons that indicated magical power, and he used them against the two others with ferocity. The large man turned to protect the blond, now limp in his arms, his back taking the brunt of the attack. In some clever costuming, more spirals of blood red silk released from the back of the large man’s shirt, rolling down his spine, showing he’d received great wounds. The man did not cry out, only curled protectively over the blond man.

Then the lights that illuminated the stage area went dark, and the music changed, ushering the four players off the dais and into the darkened archways, the play now over. The audience applauded mightily, but the man looking on blinked in confusion, though he clapped gently against the wrist of the hand that held his wine. What a strange scene to play — horribly bloody, terribly sad, and then so abruptly cut off. Perhaps they’d pick it up later in the evening? He couldn’t bear the thought of just leaving those four like that.

With the culmination of the play, the royal court also rose, to fanfare and applause, and reversed their entrance made earlier. They vanished back through yet another fabric covered archway, and music returned to elegant waltzes as the crowd began dancing across the open stretch of checked marble. Their faces were still covered in the motionless masks, shimmering in the golden light with frozen smiles. He felt his own smile, hidden by his own grinning mask, falter.

“What is this place?” he murmured to himself, his own voice taking him by surprise. He’d forgotten what it sounded like? Wasn’t that odd? “What’s the last thing I remember?”

The question came to him as if someone else had spoken it. He had no answer. The play? Sipping his horrid wine? He didn’t know.

Voices rose towards his side, and he looked to see a handful of figures, all beautifully clothed and wearing smiling masks. They surrounded a fellow who was as tall as the strong angry man in the play. His mask was also gold, but the expression was a stern frown that set him apart from the smilers. His clothes too, while as lovely and fancy as any here, were much darker than most, black silks and brocade layers, and a splash of red lace at his throat. The effect was stunning, and he looked over the severe man’s figure with a flutter of appreciation. He wished he could see this man’s face, certain it was as gorgeous as the rest of him.

The disturbance he’d heard seemed to be that the gold smilers surrounding the attractive man were trying to get him to do something, dance perhaps. He apparently didn’t want to, and his gruff voice could be heard muttering refusals. He was holding a drink, like so many of them were, and he smoothly lifted the mask to sip the flute of golden liquid, and he who watched observed a glimpse of dark tanned skin, full lips, a whisper of a tongue cleaning one spilled drop as the glass emptied. He was lovely, this tall man with the stern mask. Just that glimpse was magnetic.

The onlooker picked up a new glass of the same wine from a nearby tray, and began to approach the striking stranger.

“I don’t want to dance, go away!” The handsome man’s voice grew more audible as he approached, and the group of golden smiling figures finally got the hint and scattered, driven off. Perhaps it would be better to wait to strike up a conversation, until the clear annoyance left the attractive man’s broad shoulders, but he was confident he could make this work.

To what end, and where the confidence and this familiarity with moods such as these came from, he did not have an answer, but that was one of those questions that had so quickly fluttered away from his mind here, with that awful wine in his stomach, that it didn’t seem to matter much. He shook his head slightly and proceeded, holding the full glass out towards the gorgeous man in offering.

“Can I offer you another?” he asked, and the other man turned to look at him fully. Now that he was close enough, he could see his actual eyes through the holes in the mask, and they were narrowed, irises an appealing burgundy red, eyelashes dark as ink and long as the calligraphers brush. The cute man said nothing in response to the question, so the approacher giggled lightly. “I know it’s not the finest wine, but you seemed to be enjoying it, at least compared to your previous company.”

There was a gruff snort, and the stern man reached out to take the glass from the other’s hand: the gloved hand large and overlapping his own slender one, though they did not touch. Suddenly thirsty, the first man took another sip of his own drink, lowering the mask again to hide the way his mouth turned in dislike. The handsome man had no such issue, and tipped his mask up to take a large swallow. Another glimpse of a strong jawline and delicious looking mouth, better now that he was closer.

“Hullo, by the way,” he said to the attractive man, glad he did not sound flustered. He hoped to coax out a bit more than a huff of breath. “Are you enjoying the party?”

“Sure,” the other man said, and his voice was deep. Those eyes met his again through the mask, and he thought he detected a hint of interest now. Or at least less annoyance. He smiled fully behind the mask, and continued.

“That was a funny little play, wasn’t it?” he said, gesturing over to the dais where the players had stood.

“Funny,” the stern man repeated, the word flat, making the man who’d approached him laugh lightly.

“Well, odd would be a better word, I suppose. Or maybe bloody. But then people do like that sort of thing.”

“Do you like that sort of thing?” the handsome man asked, taking a sip of his drink. He blinked at the question.

“Blood?” The question felt strange in his mouth, his throat constricting like he was craving a specific flavor, like dreaming you were dying of thirst and waking wanting only raspberry ice water. He sipped his awful drink instead, and it made the feeling worse. “I couldn’t say,” he said in answer. “Probably not.”

The other man made a noise between a huff and a grunt. It seemed like a noise he might have made a lot.

“Odder still to cut it off like that. It seemed like only a small part of a larger story,” the first man continued, looking at the archway the players had vanished with his half vision. “I suppose they’ll continue it later on.”

“They’ve already repeated it,” the striking man said, making him blink.

“What do you mean?” he asked, but the attractive man looked a bit confused suddenly.

“How should I know? I just got here.”

The man who’d approached him now tilted his head in his own bout of confusion. Hadn’t this stern, handsome stranger been speaking with others before this conversation? And he’d watched the play, hadn’t he?

“What’s the last thing you remember?” asked the man who’d approached. Because he had approached, gifted a drink, to replace the one the stunning man had finished. He remembered that much. There was a long moment while the attractive man thought. Then he shook his head.

“Who are you?” he replied instead of answering.

The first man now had his own turn to think. He’d come over here to flirt, because this man was cute, with interesting eyes and broad shoulders. Before this, there’d been… blood? And flutters of blue and gold? What did that mean? A gold haze floated the worry away.

“Someone who’s interested in knowing you better,” he deflected, his voice dropping into a smooth glide that felt natural. The handsome man’s ears were visible, behind the edge of his mask, and not covered by his black spiky hair. At his words, those ears tinged a dusky red. Oh, that was fascinating. He smiled wider. “What about you?”

The attractive man took another sip of his drink, and his suitor watched again for glimpses of the face underneath.

“Do you always wear a mask?” the other man replied, and he had to smile at being asked the question. He'd been wishing neither of them were wearing the false faces. Still, it felt passé to remove his mask in the midst of this crowd, when no one else had.

“I don’t think I do,” he answered. Behind the handsome man, a curtain draped over another of the dim doorways, half blocked by a heavy ore’hang of wisteria. Perhaps it went to another room, a private one, or even a dark hallway would do. He stepped closer to the gorgeous man, putting two slender fingers on the strip of skin between the man’s shirt cuff and his decorative gloves. The skin below was warm, and shades darker than his own. He wanted to see so much more.

His subtle suggestion darkened the cute man’s ears further, and he was glad to hand his drink over, where the man placed both on a nearby table. Then the attractive man followed him towards the darkened hall, ducking his tall shoulders beneath the greenery. The curtain fell behind them, and the light in what turned out to be only a small alcove rather than an actual passageway dimmed until it was nearly too dark to see. Now that wouldn’t do. The suitor looked around and saw some unlit candles set into an inset in the back of the space, and without thinking much of it, used a small flicker of magic to light them. Then he blinked in shock at what he’d done. The handsome man was surprised too, looking at the candles with an impressed hum.

“A mage, huh?” he said, and the man who’d led him here gave a little laugh and a shrug.

“I suppose I am.”

Now that the light was a warm golden glow, the two figures moved closer together, the attraction between them sharpening as the space narrowed. The striking man’s eyes glittered from behind his mask, sending a frisson of desire down the other man’s spine. He felt warmth rise over his entire body.

“What should I call you?” the handsome man asked. “Mage?”

The man, the mage, hummed and nodded, not minding the sound of it. “What about you?” he asked the attractive man, coming into his personal space. “Broad Shoulders-san?”

Those broad shoulders hunched as the man growled and shook his head. “That’s ridiculous, no!”

The mage laughed.

“Well, then, what’s your name?”

“Not ‘broad shoulders’,” he said, his voice grumpy but his over the top offense was only a delight to the mage.

“Black hair-sama?”

“Blondie?” the handsome man countered, and the mage laughed even more, stepping an inch closer.

“You growl just like a big mean dog, Handsome-san,” the mage said, and elicited said growl again.

“Shut up! Are we kissing or what?”

The mage finally put his hands on that big broad chest.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Large hands, sans the gloves now, stole around the mage’s waist, and a thrill went through him to realize that this man could probably pick him up and toss him over his shoulders like a sack of flour.

“Let me see your face?” the mage asked, and reached up to lift the mask from the gorgeous man’s face, pushing it up and off the top of his head, which mussed up his spiky hair adorably. He set the mask on the ledge with the candles, and put his hand back into that hair. The face looking back at him was angular, and just as stunning as his earlier glimpses suggested, with a strong brow and jawbone. Thick eyebrows crooked down in a glare that the mage had a feeling was a standard expression for this fellow. His eyes were indeed burgandy, and those lips looked soft and plush. He couldn’t wait to taste them.

Handsome-sama didn’t let him look too long before he was reaching for the mage’s mask in return. He pushed it up and off like the mage had done, and he felt cool air on his warm face, before he noticed the attractive man’s expression stutter briefly in shock.

“What is it?” the mage asked, stomach shot through with sudden anxiety. His field of vision was still halved even with the mask off.

“Your eye,” Handsome-sama said, his fingers lifting to the mage’s face, on the side missing sight. The mage’s hand beat him there, prodding un-delicately in his rush of fear. It was smooth silk, first, tied across his face and covering his left eye entirely. Then, with a thrill of horror, he realized that underneath the eye patch and his closed lids, the round of his eye socket was empty.

“Oh-” the mage choked. “My eye…”

What had happened? How could he have forgotten something like this? There was no pain, so it seemed it was long enough ago to have healed from whatever injury had caused this, but surely if it was that old, he’d be used to it, not shocked with horror? He had no natural movements to counter the lack of vision there, his perception had been off all evening, dizzy from his balance being slightly wrong.

His desire and arousal were gone now; he just wanted to curl up in a ball and hide. He felt too exposed under those red eyes.

The poor, cute man looked unnerved and confused, unsure what to say or do next. The mage started to shakily try to pull himself together. He brushed his hand over the silk eye patch again, making sure it was secure, before he pulled a smile up onto his face, feeling now the skin of the top of his cheek crinkle unevenly against just an empty space on the left.

“Well, hm, I suppose that is why I picked a mask with a winking eye,” the mage said, going for lightheartedness as a smokescreen for his distress. “Where were we?”

Handsome-sama looked at him askance, but the mage was determined to not let this discovery bother him, or throw the two of them off the rails from where they’d been heading. He was still feeling unsteady, but he did very much want to taste those lips.

“I’m fine, I promise, it obviously happened a while ago. I just… forgot…” the mage laughed, pushing through the tightness in his throat, reaching for the lapels of Handsome-sama’s black shirt and ornate collar. “Let’s just keep going, shall we? You still want to, right?” The last bit had a touch too much vulnerability for the mage’s tastes, but it worked and Handsome-sama’s eyes lingered on his lips in return.

“You sure?” he asked, and the mage pushed away any lingering hesitations, tamping down the still sick swirl of disgust and horror that he was maimed so badly and hadn’t even realized. He pushed away the thought that he didn’t even know this fellow’s name, as that didn’t seem to matter that much. He pushed away the other thought that he also still couldn’t remember his own name, which seemed like it should be much more of a cause for concern. Where was he? What was this place? Why did the questions rise up only to be smothered a moment later in a haze of golden unconcern?

The shock was fading now, he was forgetting, he could feel it, like sand dancing across his palm in the push of an ocean wave. Like snowflakes dotting his gloves, holding just long enough to see their form to count them beautiful and unique, before the heat of his body melted them.

There was heat now.

“I’m very sure,” the mage said, and finally stepped that last step, close enough to the other man to feel his warmth, to press his body close. They were of a height, for the most part, and thus it was easy to lean forward and catch those lips with his own.

It was everything he’d hoped. Hot breath caught as he pressed forward, and the handsome man moved his lips against the mage’s in a surprisingly gentle slide. The mage enjoyed this for a moment, before opening his mouth and deepening the kiss with a swipe of his tongue. The attractive man met him move for move, sliding his hands down the mage’s back in a burning trail,gripping the mage’s hip and pulling him closer with one hand while his other slid back up to cup his jaw. The touches lit heat everywhere, sending tingles up the mage’s neck and raising goosebumps on his arms. His own hands he sent even further up, grasping at the black hair that was so much softer than he thought it’d be — Handsome-san didn’t use any product to make his hair stick up — it was probably all cowlick. The thought was impossibly endearing, but his smile was quickly devoured by firm lips and a hot mouth.

The kiss became rougher, and the mage found he was clawing at the stunning man’s collar, in search of skin. Sweat grew slick between them, the mage’s hands sliding into the back of the handsome man’s shirt, feeling the bunch and coil of incredible muscles as he did so. A smell reached him, one that made his mouth water. It was rustic and warm and tinged with metal. The mage moved from kissing the man’s mouth to shift to his jaw, and then neck, looking for that delicious smell. His cologne? He licked and mouthed at the perfect tendons, and where the Adam's apple protruded. His teeth scraped the attractive man’s skin, making him shiver and put his hand into the mage’s hair, half holding him back, half holding him in place. The pull on his scalp made him moan with pleasure.

“Can I bite?” the mage panted, and the hand in his hair tightened. Oh, how he wanted to. The handsome man seemed much the same, breathing hard. His hold relaxed and let the mage nuzzle his face even closer, the beautiful iron-copper-musk smell surrounding him more and more.

“A little,” the handsome man said, his voice lower and gruffer than before, and impossibly hotter.

The mage smiled, feeling like his teeth were sharp as knives.

“Just a nibble,” he agreed, and leaned in. He kissed first, circling the tender spot where a vein pulsed just below the surface of that tanned and perfect skin. Then he sucked gently, drawing out the most delectable noises from the other man, before he bit down.

The flesh gave easier than the mage had thought it would — his teeth really were sharp, and he tasted blood in his mouth, and gods above it was delicious. He couldn’t stop himself from giving a true pull, and swallowing it down like he needed it to live. It was so much better than the wine, and just as heady.

The handsome man swore, something filthy, tensing under his lips and hands, and the mage grew dizzy with the fire in his body.

“I said be gentle,” the handsome man panted, but he didn’t sound truly upset. The mage lapped at the wound like a cat in apology.

“Sh, sh, sorry Handsome-sama, it’s not so bad, it’s already closing,” he continued kissing and licking and muttering small comforts, until the attractive man got annoyed, and leaned down to capture his lips again. The mage wondered if he could taste his own blood in his mouth.

They kissed and kissed under their fervor slowed, neither one seeming to be of the mind to take it further in such a public place as this. The mage pulled back to see the gorgeous man looking delightfully flushed and a bit dazed, which pleased him very much. Then, the handsome man looked down at the mage’s hands and blinked.

“Jeez, how hard did you bite me?” he asked, and the mage’s pleasant haze stalled a bit.

“What do you mean?” he asked, looking at his hands as well and startled at the amount of red smearing his palms. He quickly realized there was far more blood then could possibly have come from his little nick. A glance to the other man’s neck showed it was true: there was a blooming bruise, but barely a dot of blood still remained, already clotted over. But, somehow, the mage had streaks of rust and crimson — some dried, some wet, some wiped off by their activities — staining his skin.

“Where did that—?” the mage wondered, before looking the handsome man over again. He recalled how wet the inside of his shirt collar had seemed, and yes, there! He reached and leaned the attractive man forward, running his hand again along in the inside of his hopelessly mussed shirt, and his hand came away freshly stained with wet blood.

“What are you—?” The cute man complained about the manhandling, but moved with his pulls so he could look closer and see the nape of his neck and upper back clearer.

“It wasn’t my nibble, my dear. You have some rather nasty looking wounds back here,” the mage said, releasing him and stepping back. “They may have been scabbed over and then opened from our activities, so that part is my doing, my apologies. Do you know what happened?”

The handsome man reached up with a hand to dab at the opposite shoulder, with a look of confusion on his face. Now that he was paying attention, it seemed to hurt him a bit, for his touch made his lip curl. He pulled his hand back to look at the blood on his fingers.

“I don’t know,” the handsome man said after a long moment. “Something’s not right here. I should know this.”

The mage hummed, having been trying to clean his hands against his already stained tunic sleeves.

“Should know what, darling?”

The attractive man’s face fell into a scowl. “That’s exactly it. We keep forgetting, and something is making us not care about it. Do you remember your eye?”

“My…eye?” The mage lifted his fingers, and felt, again, (yes, that’s right, again) the empty eye socket and loose eyelid under a silk eye patch. The horror turned his stomach, just like it had before. “My eye, yes,”

“And I’ve been wounded. How? Why? Where are we?” The questions had none of the answers they should have had.

The mage looked behind them, at the space they were in, the alcove hidden behind draped fabric and wisteria, the bustling party outside this space. Their masks laid haphazardly next to each other on the ledge that held the candles. He’d lit them with magic before the thought to do so could even form. Again he tried to find any memory before this place, anything that was not this party, or this evening, and he could find nothing but gold.

“You’re right. There’s something very wrong. What’s the last thing you remember, before the party? Anything?”

The handsome man shook his head.

Behind them, then, rising above the bustle and hum of the party they’d left behind, the music increased in volume and the horns rang out, announcing something of note.

The mage turned to look, and then the handsome man took his arm, stopping his movement.

“We should stick together, to remind each other in case we start to forget again.”

The mage placed a hand over the other’s, squeezing lightly.

“Yes, if one of us starts to forget what’s going on, the other will remind him. We’ll figure this out, Handsome-sama!”

The handsome man groaned. “I wish we could also remember our goddamn names so you could stop calling me that.”

“I have a feeling I might do it anyway,” the mage laughed. The man rolled his eyes.

“And no more wine. If it's not the cause of this, it’s sure not helping,” the handsome man said, starting to reach for his mask.

“That’s fine by me. It tastes awful anyway.” the mage said. The handsome man paused in lifting the mask to his face.

“Tastes fine to me?”

“Eh, maybe we had a different bottle. Mine was horrid!”

“Hmm,”

They drew their masks over their faces, and the mage was immediately sad to lose the view.

The return to the party through the hanging fabric and wisteria that curtained the alcove they’d absconded to was like stepping out into a sunny day from a dark room. Even though it was still night above the courtyard, the glitter of a crowd of gold and silver masks, the yard all hung with electric lights and bright clothes everyone was wearing were enough to make the two blink as they exited.

They found that the reason for the trumpeting was an entrance by the royal party. A line of the nobles were settling into their seats at the top level of the dais. The king and queen were there, dressed in gold and silver, crowns glittering like the moon and the sun. Their entourage settled around them, and in her chair set slightly apart, braced leg tilted to the side in a way that suggested pain, sat the princess, dressed in starlight. She looked sad.

The attractive man stole up behind him, murmuring into his ear.

“We’ve seen this before.”

The players entered and the four took their places. Again, the young girl lay on the edge of the step, feigning sleep, while the young man menaced her, betraying their relationship. The thin blond man tried to protect her, only to be attacked himself, left eye and magic stolen, eaten up. The large man came out and cradled the wounded blond man in his arms, taking an attack that caused his back to bleed badly.

It was all so familiar. The wounds, the people…

“Kurogane-san, Fai-san,” a voice said behind them. The mage looked to see a young man approaching, shorter than them both with brown hair flopping over the top of his own porcelain mask, the expression serious but pleasant. Behind the mask, intelligent brown eyes were visible. He bowed. “It’s good to see you well.”

As if playing a part in a play, the two of them bowed in return, unsure why.

“And you, my good lad,” the mage said. Fai? or Kurogane? This boy had addressed them by these names, but not differentiated between them. Did he actually know them, or was this just another oddity of this place they were in? “How are you finding this marvellous party?”

“It is certainly full of merriment,” the young man said, and the handsome man, who was maybe called Kurogane, or perhaps Fai, inclined his head.

“Wonders all around,” he said, the words flat. Reading lines.

“The princess will be glad to see you,” the young man continued, saying. “It’s said she’s much changed.”

“Changed how?” The mage, Fai maybe, asked.

“Transformed, inside and out,” the young man declared, his voice solemn.

“And what is the cause of this transformation?” Kurogane, maybe, asked, and Fai remembered the princess with her sad expression, being carried out in a chair, before each rendition of the players’ scene on the dais. He looked there now, but they’d finished while he was distracted, and the space was empty of the royals now, only dancers dotting the steps.

“Surely, it is no other but her wounded leg, and the ensuing melencholy?” Fai asked, and the young man hummed.

“To discover this is most assuredly why the king and queen sent for you two, her most trusted friends, good Kurogane, and good Fai.”

The young man still didn’t give any indication as to which of them was Fai and which was Kurogane, but the mage liked the sound of Fai better. It seemed like something he might have picked for himself. More pressing was this new matter. They were sent for?

Leaning close, Kurogane muttered in his ear. “There’s something wrong here, remember,” he said, and Fai did, recalling the blood he’d tried to wipe off his hands. Some of the confusing haze cleared once more, and he smiled, as wide as the mask he wore.

“We will do our utmost to glean the cause of this affliction, and ease her heart of the pain she carries. Our dear friend, and princess…” he hesitated.

“Sakura,” the young man said, and he spoke her name with a satisfaction and warmth that made Fai blink. “This is my dearest wish, dear sirs. Now, I will leave you.”

The young man walked away, green cloak swishing behind him. For a moment, a small shape moved under the back of his hood, and Fai thought he saw two rabbit ears poke out, before the boy was swallowed by the shifting crowd.

“A strange young man,” Fai murmured, and Kurogane (?) grunted.

“Mn. He knows something about all this.”

“Something he is either unwilling or unable to speak of clearer, I’d say,” Fai agreed in turn. He clapped his hands. “Well, should we find this Princess Sakura, Kuro-sama?”

“What the fuck are you calling me now?” Handsome Kurogane growled, thrown off his musings. Fai laughed.

“That man called us names, so either he knows us, but cannot say, or he gave them to us now. He didn’t say which was which, but I like Fai better, so you can be Kuro-san!”

“The name he said was Kurogane, not whatever bungle you’re making it,” Kurogane said, and Fai patted a hand on that broad shoulder.

“A nickname is a sign of affection, Kuro-tan. You should appreciate it!”

“I’d rather not.”

Fai laughed, and for a moment all was golden light, before he remembered the blood — blood in the play, blood on his hands from Kurogane’s back, even the taste of blood in his mouth.

“Remember something’s wrong here,” he murmured, and Kurogane’s eyes sharpened behind his mask.

“Mn.’

Fai (he was keeping the name, thank you) was quite tired of this strangeness. He wanted to find out what it all meant, what was the method to all this madness? He wanted to take Kurogane’s hand and walk away from here, and to be able to trust his own memory and mind.

“Should we find the princess?” Fai said then, “Before the memory of that young man leaves our minds?”

Kurogane nodded. “It’s as good a course as any.”

“It’s something of a lead, at least,” Fai agreed.

The finding of the Princess Sakura was easier said than done. They knew that she emerged with the royal party whenever the main players came out, and at least twice, they had seen her sitting on the dais while the same story beats were performed in front of her. Other than those times, neither knew where she might be.

They kept close together as they walked the circumference of the courtyard, peering into knots of people, and through covered archways into alcoves and halls that led away into dim nothingness. Fai thought they might even find others in the same circumstance that he and Kurogane had looked for a private alcove, but all of them were empty. They finished the loop, and then ended back where they’d been — facing the dais, crowds surrounding them; dancing, talking, laughing but all masked and unknown.

Kurogane paused then, looking up at the sky.

“How long would you say it’s been since we met?” he asked, abruptly.

Wildly, Fai wanted to answer with years and years, but that was not true that he could remember. Instead, he tried to think back.

“An hour? Maybe two?”

Kurogane pointed up, and Fai’s eyes followed. The constellations were unfamiliar, but then again, he didn’t recall what would be familiar or not. Maybe he’d never known the stars. That wasn’t true for Kurogane, evidently, as he gestured across the inky night.

“The stars haven’t moved at all,” Kurogane said. “That bright one is still only a bit over the horizon. And there’s a pair right next to the moon. They should have shifted as time passed, if this world is anything like mine—” Kurogane broke off, his voice stumbling as his own words reached his ears.

“Your world?” Fai asked. “How interesting, how naturally you speak of other worlds.”

Kurogane nodded, looking slightly unsettled at how a memory fell from his lips.

“Do you remember anything else?” Fai asked, and Kurogane shook his head.

“I don’t think so, I just spoke without thinking.” Kurogane glanced around again. “Different worlds… how does that even make sense?”

Fai hummed. “Well, we are at some kind of magical party where time doesn’t work and our memories are being tampered with, so I suppose anything is possible. My own magic also didn’t surprise either of us.”

“Yeah,” Kurogane said. He looked back at the inky night sky. “So, time is frozen here.”

“And have you noticed that everyone else is… strange? The masks aside, I haven’t seen anyone else eat or drink. You spoke with some of them, didn’t you? What were they like?”

Kurogane shook his head. “I don’t remember. I only remember talking with you.”

“We’re definitely real,” Fai said, bumping shoulders with Kurogane briefly. “I’m not so sure about the general populace here, however.”

Fai looked around at the surrounding crowd, all shimmering and vibrant. Like he’d noticed already, the people were talking and dancing in oddly repetitive patterns. Some held drinks and chatted in small circles, or whirled each other around. But everyone was wearing a full face mask that glittered gold or silver or porcelain, mostly set in wide smiles. No one lifted their mask to sip their drinks.

The horns then sounded again, the music loud and joyous, and the crowd mechanically clapped and cheered, making way as the royal party again emerged from one of the covered archways — Fai didn’t think it was the same one as before. Fai’s eyes were drawn to the sedan chair the princess was carried in on. Princess Sakura. She looked drawn, tired, sad. She also, if he wasn’t mistaken, was avoiding looking over towards himself and Kurogane carefully. That young man had seemed to have a modicum of understanding about what was going on and had directed them to her, had said she’d wish to see them, that she had sent for them. If that were so, why did she keep her eyes so deliberately on the players as they entered and to their now familiar places.

The music started, placing them in that same scene once again. The girl, sleeping, the boy, attacking, the blond man protecting and then being gruesomely injured, the large angry man coming in at the last moment to cradle the blond man gently. All the blood still made Fai feel faintly ill, even if it was just silk ribbons manipulated prettily.

“The players look like us,” Kurogane said low next to him. “And the wounds match.”

Fai had forgotten their wounds, his eye, Kurogane’s back, the blood he’d touched and tasted. Looking at the players, acting out such a horrible scene, he could see himself in the blond one; his slender build and magic gifts. He had his eye ripped out and eaten. Fai swallowed convulsively, and thought of touching that hollow eye socket behind his mask. The larger man, who did look like Kurogane with black spiky hair over an angry looking mask, turned and was wounded protecting his Fai from the streams of his own magic. Blood rolled down his back. They likely matched the bloody wounds Fai felt under Kurogane’s shirt.

Could this be their story, as horrible and brutal as it was? He didn’t want it to be true.

Fai put that from his mind and moved with Kurogane towards the side of the four leveled dais, trying to get close to Princess Sakura before the play ended once again and she vanished with the other royals (who Fai was beginning to suspect were just as spurious as the bulk of the crowd).

The players finished with the repetitive fanfare, and applause, and Fai and Kurogane took the chance to push forward and approach her seat.

“Goodness, what a performance,” Fai called as they got close, and her eyes finally landed on them, no longer looking only at the players’ tableau. Up close, Fai could see her loveliness evidenced behind the golden smiling mask she wore. She was arrayed in a well fitted embroidered dress, shining as starlight like he’d seen prior, and aflutter with ribbons and bells. Under her skirts, one could just glimpse the brace enclosing her right leg, supporting and protecting a heavily bandaged ankle and calf.

At Fai’s call and the sight of them, her demeanor changed to delight, and she reached for their hands to hold them each fondly in her’s.

“My most excellent good friends!” she exclaimed, her voice warm as tinkling chimes. “Good dear Fai-san, and sweet Kurogane-san, you have come!”

Fai and Kurogane both fell into a bow over her clasp on their hands, before they pulled back.

“Well, we were sent for, and so we have come,” he said, nodding his head towards her, somewhat surprised at her familiarity.

“So you have,” Princess Sakura said, her voice holding a real smile behind the mask’s semblance. “It does my heart good to see you.”

“Thank you, Princess,” Kurogane said, and Fai echoed the sentiment.

“How do you find the party?” Sakura asked, gesturing around at the crowd, as the dancing had started once more. The remaining royals had vanished, and Sakura remained. Fai was surprised that the procession would leave her behind. Unless they were only marionettes going through preprogrammed actions.

“Very splendid,” Fai said, answering her inquiry, and she hummed in happiness.

“This delights me to hear. I know the King and Queen have dearly wished that all who attend here have a marvelous time.”

Fai smiled. “And their wish is surely granted. The golden lights glimmer down only on happy faces, I’m sure.”

Kurogane’s warm fingers reached to touch his wrist briefly, and Fai realized that golden haze was starting to descend on his mind, hiding what he was meaning to say, encouraging this rehearsed sounding dialogue, rather than his true voice. He closed his eyes briefly, forcing himself to recall the blood, the kisses, this strange place. They couldn’t remember who they were, but Fai was real, and he knew this girl. She was real too, and her sadness and pain were not masquerades. He needed to keep her safe. Clearing his throat, he spoke again.

“But what of you, dear, Sakura-chan?” Fai asked, the familiar address falling from his lips. “We have heard of your troubles of late. Are you well, my dear?”

The mask she wore was unchanging, but her eyes behind it grew larger, and distant. She looked between them, before looking down at her lap, and hiding all possible expression. Her fingers trembled as she touched the brace on her thigh.

“In truth, the clouds do weigh heavily upon me,” she murmured. With effort, she seemed to lift her head and pull a smile back to her voice. “But I am very glad to see you both. Pray, sit with me, and we’ll watch the performers together?”

Fai glanced at Kurogane and saw that he was already taking a place on the lower step, settling there with his head level with Sakura’s arm rest. Fai lowered himself as well, thinking that at least they were close now to the princess should anything happen. They could protect her.

The dais was now below them, and occupied with the dancers and tumblers that took the stage between the instances of the play. It was different to see this angle, and Fai looked out at the performers, and beyond at the golden crowd with his fingers tapping the marble step below him. He wondered what madness was this place. Was there any method to it at all? Or was it just a mindless trap they were stuck in — like a stag with its antlers tangled in a tree.

A presence shuffled close to him, and he almost knocked masks with Kurogane when he leaned in, speaking low to try to avoid the Princess’s listening ear just behind them.

“I think she knows who we are, and where we came from,” Kurogane said lowly, looking forward. Fai could barely catch it, and no one else would have seen their lips moving because of the masks. “Same with that boy. They’re the only other people here who are real.”

Fai dropped his head onto Kurogane’s shoulder, half because it would be easier to carry on a secret conversation, and half because he wanted to. Kurogane was warm next to him.

“He did call us by name. Fai and Kurogane are probably us, right?”

“Mhm. It seems right.”

Fai scooted a little closer, so their shoulders and sides were one unbroken line.

“So, what’s their angle? I don’t get the sense that they’re the ones keeping us here.”

Kurogane shook his head, slightly. To any one he could have been just adjusting.

“I don’t think so either. It does seem like they’re trying to help.”

“I wonder how they escaped the gold mist’s effects,” Fai mused, wondering if there was some spell or ward he could have done at some point. But his mind wouldn’t recall the details.

They didn't have time to ponder it further, as the music announcing the royals return — with the exception of Sakura since she had stayed in her chair to speak with them — started to ring out. The crowd below them on the marble floor of the courtyard turned to cheer and celebrate their return, and Fai could now make out how mechanical all the movements of the audience members were, how the same motions looped over and over. The king, queen, and other nobles were the same, and most telling, the servants who carried Sakura's sedan chair still did so, even though she sat behind them on her seat already. It proved to him that Sakura was, like them, real and conscious, versus the manufactured mannequins.

The players took their places on the dais, and Fai watched the performance in reverse from before, seeing the other side of the action from his seat below Sakura's chair. The sleeping princess was surely Sakura, the young man was perhaps the boy who had spoken to them, who had named them. The blond magician himself, and the angry protective strong fellow Kurogane. The play was a true story, and he and the others had truly gone through this horror. Fai swallowed the ill feeling in his throat as he watched the terrible events unfold again, having seen them repeated over and over here in this static courtyard.

Something was different now, though, and as the young man on stage reached for Fai the actor's eye, there was a disruption behind them.

"Now!"

A voice called out, and Sakura rushed into them from behind, her mask dislodging as she threw an arm around both their necks. At the same time, the young man from earlier raced up the dais steps, holding an ornate glass jar that held what looked like a feather. On his shoulder was a small creature, with ears like a rabbit and wide eyes, a red jewel shimmering on its forehead. It bounced off the boy's shoulder and floated into the air in the midst of where the play had been taking place, and opened its mouth wider than should have been possible. Magic started whirling.

The audience and the noble parties seemed to have lost the power that kept them going, as one by one they started to shudder and fall, but Fai and Kurogane didn't have time to look as they were pushed from behind with Sakura's small hands. The mouth of the magic creature sucked them in then and all Fai could see was swirling colors and the feeling of great power.

They were spat out on the ground in a landing that could have been smoother. Fai found himself on his hands and knees, face still masked and tilted to the floor as he tried to understand all that had happened. No trace of that hazy gold mist remained in his mind, all his memories of his long life, of the months traveling and what had happened recently were all present in his recollection. With it, there was a growing sense of horror.

He remembered Tokyo, he remembered the shattering of their group, their affection for each other being turned inside out and mangled in so many ways. He remembered the feeling of the boy he’d cared for as family digging his fingers into his eye socket and yanking. He remembered his blood and magic draining from him, the acceptance and relief that had flooded over him and then the fire and agony as he was forcibly saved and turned into something other than human. He remembered resolving to never forgive Kurogane for what he’d done, what he’d turned him into.

And now Fai remembered the taste of Kurogane’s lips, and skin, and the way his blood was the sweetest nectar. Now he remembered the feeling of his hands encircling his waist, and the heat of him. He felt a gnaw of both that unnatural thirst and the desire he’d been ignoring nearly since they’d met. So much for that secret now.

Fai bit back a sob, and wrenched the mask off his face, tossing it to the side.

All around him, the others were moving too after their rough landing. The boy, Syaoran-but-not-their-Syaoran rose first and brought the feather, presumably the power that had created or maintained that strange looping courtyard and its partygoers, that the removal of which now made it all collapse, and handed it to Sakura. Sakura was sitting collapsed to the side, her leg still injured horribly and braced to help with the pain. She took the feather and cradled the jar close but did not take it into herself yet, looking over at Fai and at the man he had not yet made eye contact with.

Kurogane was beside him, too close, and Fai could not look at him. Instead, he rose, and moved over to help Sakura.

“Are you alright, my dear?” he asked, still not looking towards Kurogane.

Sakura took a breath and nodded. Fai sensed Kurogane move over as well, clapping the replacement Syaoran on the shoulder.

“Good job, kid. You got us out of there.” he said, low.

“Mokona helped too!” Mokona said, her voice a little too lively for the way they all were reeling, for the way Fai’s heart was rending in his chest.

“Do you both have your memories back now, Fai-san? Kurogane-san?” Sakura asked and Fai couldn’t help a tiny peek at Kurogane. His ears were red.

“They’re all back,” Kurogane muttered. Fai only nodded.

Fai stood then, his mind and emotions still swirling but he was used to hiding those. Though, try as he might, there was too much exhaustion and pain to pull on a fake smile. Instead he turned and helped the Princess to her feet, letting her lean on his arm, and still keeping his face turned away from Kurogane.

“Well, let’s see where we’ve landed then, shall we,” Fai said to no one, but there were general murmurs of assent. Sakura squeezed his wrist.

They carried onwards.