Masquarade: Hide, so no one will find you-IC
A voice Flutters over everyone's head, familiar, yet unfamiliar all at once. It quietly floats by your ear, like the whisper of a kiss, and mumbles to you:
She opened her eyes, finding the world around her to be framed. She recognized stars, a balcony, and a drink in her hand that was most likely alcoholic in nature. The woman took a step back, hearing the click of high heel shoes, and feeling something heavy sway by her knees. The girl looked down, spying a dress of long chaffon, tulle, silk and a built in, ribbed corset around her torso. She put a hand just above strapless rim, feeling a black lace necklace wrapped around her ne ck, and catching a lock of her own hair. Red, but not intense, just a soft cherry ginger...
But something peculier was situated on her left breast, just below the collarbone. She tenatively touched it, feeling something akin to a sticker. The red-head rose brown eyes to the open space, looking for something reflective. The glass doors, leading outside, would suffice. She carefully shuffled over and placed herself in front of it.
The dark lines belonged to a mask on her face-sequined, stiff, and covered in black and red- that seemed to lack any strings. She made a quick feel of the mask and saw that it did come off, and came back on with just as much ease. But, above all, she glanced at the sticker to her chest. It was a name tag, and while it read backwards, she could make out in handwriting: Patience.
It wasn't her name, she knew that somehow. But, for the life of her, she couldn't recall what her name actually was. The idea that she may have been drunk, lost, and alone in a strange outfit made her jittery, and she felt her fingers, covered in black, arm-length gloves, tap rather impatiently against her arm. Why was she here? What was she supposed to do? Why did she have the strangest feeling of meeting someone here?
"Will you marry me?
Her memory sang to her, growing too soft and fuzzy to understand when it came to her name. It was all she had to go on, and all she would let herself recollect. Growing weary of this self-absorption process, she ventured inside the glittering ballroom. Perhaps someone inside could tell her where she was; maybe even who she was.