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A half-hour into the party, and Goro already wanted to leave.
He felt like a broken record. “My name is Crow,” “The name’s Crow,” “Call me Crow,” over and over and over again. It didn’t help that the pompous pricks he was forced to talk to all had names like “Saint” and “Angel”. He’d recognize those shrill voices and potent perfumes anywhere, and they were far from angels.
Upon entering, each guest was given a mask and encouraged to create monikers that further concealed their identities. Goro’s mask had a long, red beak, which he initially perceived to be somewhat of an inconvenience, though he quickly realized it got people to keep their distance. Its bright hue hardly resembled a crow, but he’d choose whatever name he damn well pleased regardless of the appearance he was arbitrarily assigned.
Once the woman speaking to Goro finally left, he casually made his way toward the back wall of the ballroom. The young prince kept his head down, not wanting to risk starting up any new conversations. Finding a comfortable spot out of the spotlight, he began surveying the crowd and all the smaller groups that had formed within it.
The corrupt nobility, their advisors, their inner circle, and so on and so forth. After a while, he shifted his attention to the fringes, beyond the swine basking in the harsh light of the chandelier. Beyond the commonfolk privileged enough to play royal for the night (before they were back to work shining their shoes in the morning).
There, he spotted someone… new.
The stranger’s mask, an almost ghostly white, stood out against midnight blue hair and a jet black dress that moved in waves as they sauntered across the floor. They appeared to be searching for someone, or perhaps avoiding them, if Goro’s experience was anything to go off.
Their eyes met. Goro momentarily ignored his exhaustion and beckoned them over.
The stranger approached, and he smiled curiously. “I’ve spoken to every person in this room, yet I cannot recall ever seeing you before. Have we met?”
They shook their head, and he noticed teardrop gold earrings nestled in their hair.
“My name is Crow.” It was the first willing introduction Goro had given in a long time. He already respected this stranger more than most for that reason alone. “And you?”
They pointed to their mask.
“Fox, is it?”
They nodded.
“You… don’t speak, do you?”
They shook their head once more.
“That’s alright, I’ve grown tired of conversation anyway.”
He could hear them chuckle faintly as they nodded in agreement, and it immediately became Goro’s new favorite sound. There was something oddly familiar about it, too, like he could almost picture their face behind a pane of foggy glass. But Fox claimed they’d never met before, so who exactly was he thinking of…?
The music shifted tempos, slowing until it reached a steady waltz. Those who weren’t already dancing now held each other close, masks bumping together. Voices quieted to intimate whispers or went silent entirely, letting the music convey their feelings.
Goro held out a gloved hand to his mysterious acquaintance. “May I have this dance?”
Fox seemed excited at the invitation, taking his hand without hesitation. The pair moved toward the dancefloor, and Goro noticed something fascinating about their eyes. They appeared gray in the dim lighting at the corner of the room, yet at the center, they were a much brighter blue. The former shade, again, reminded him of someone, someone he’d rarely see in such a lavish setting. Someone who didn’t share Fox’s freedom to roam the ballroom as they pleased.
He thought he’d finally put a name to the strange sense of déjà vu he felt around them, but they couldn’t possibly be… no, this person would never have the confidence to take center stage, let alone agree to a dance. Perhaps they were related, or perhaps he was making false connections between two very different people.
Fox placed one hand on his shoulder, while Goro rested his on their back. They clasped their free hands together, and with an assured step forward from his partner, started to dance. They kept the time well, moving more fluently than the waltzes Goro was used to. Their hips swayed, head bobbing from side to side—truly letting their senses be engulfed by the music.
“You seem to know what you’re doing. Have you taken lessons?”
A half-nod mixed with a shrug.
“Are you self-taught?”
A more definitive nod. That explained the flowy movements.
People stopped and stared, exchanging not-so quiet theories as to who the lucky girl was. These comments only made Fox sway even more.
Goro couldn’t tell how many hours had passed. Time was weird like that around them. Suddenly, their posture stiffened, and their gaze locked onto something (or someone) in the distance. Fox’s grip on his hand weakened, their other hand leaving his shoulder. Goro continued dancing, realizing too late that they’d stopped. They stumbled awkwardly over his feet.
“Sorry—” was all they said, and then they were gone.
That voice. Goro knew who that voice belonged to.
He spent the remainder of the evening engaged in the very conversations he’d tried to avoid, all while searching for where the scared Fox had run off to.
Then, near the entrance, he spotted someone… familiar.
Despite the ill-fitting suit, their mask was the same. Fox stood beside an older gentleman, who appeared larger than life compared to his slouching pupil. Their tie was undone; evidence of a change they hadn’t made quick enough. The man’s hold on them was noticeably more forceful than Goro’s, ensuring they didn’t leave his side.
Goro wondered how long it had been before their dance that they were treated so gently.
He understood now, where that boost in confidence came from. As he watched them leave, he prayed his sweet Fox—the real Fox—would return to him someday, without a mask to conceal those beautiful blue-gray eyes.