A Song of Silver

“A lovely morning to you, my good lady,” a ruby-haired woman said, bowing deeply to one of her guests, lace-gloved hand extended. “It is an honor to have you visiting our lovely home on this joyous occasion.” The flowers and petals on her dress shimmered and glimmered in the golden light of the evening chandelier.

The guest, another woman, midnight dress swaying with her hips, ivory sash draped loosely over her shoulders took the proffered hand in her own. “It is always a pleasure, Lady Leaves,” she said, adjusting the raven’s mask about her face. “Your family, my dear Yorunna, always hosts the best masquerades.”

Emerald eyes shining through her own feline mask, Yorunna pressed gentle lips to the other woman’s hand. A respectful gesture. Expected. “The Leaves family appreciates your kind words and would love to direct you to the table, where we have a place reserved for you and your family.”

The raven laughed, voice tinkling like a bell as Yorunna twirled her way to the next guest, repeating her introductions. “Good morning to you, distinguished invitee,” she said, again bowing deeply, trying in vain to peer over the ornate, peacock mask that obscured the new visitor’s face.

With a flash of silver, regal finery, the new guest returned the bow, deliberately grasping at the surprised woman’s hand to kiss it before she could even have the chance. “You are beautiful as always, Lady Yorunna,” they said, and with a twist of their hand, proffered a bouquet of forget-me-nots in an array of colors: the white of gently falling snow that erased the steps from the night before, the orange of the evening sky of a setting sun, the blue of lake, frozen in time and space.

Behind the Lady’s mask, a brilliant rose-red speckled her cheeks as she took the bouquet in her hand, a set of silver bells tied to the stems. A reminder.

She could not hear them.

To her, the world had gone silent. The elegant noble in front of her had her fully captive, heart fluttering, long, blade-like ears twitching, trembling as crimson lips slipped into a smile. A smile as bright and radiant as a single star in the vastness of the cosmos, shimmering down on the ball.

“My dear, Lady, Yorunna, it is an honor to be, once again, in your presence.” The bells sang in tune with the visitor’s voice, searching for a pair of ears they might land upon. “As, I am sure, my presence is also an honor to you, my fair lady.”

Yorunna’s eyes searched through the confines of her mask, her hand remained unmoving from the stranger’s lips. “An honor indeed,” she said, the bouquet of flowers held only moments earlier already lying forgotten on the ground beside her. With careful fingers, she reached for the visitor’s face, cupping their cheek in her palm, letting the warmth of their touch—”

“Careful now, it would be awful to ruin the surprise already, wouldn’t it,” they said, stealing away the roaming hand and tying a string tinted with the color of wine about her smallest finger. “A little gift of love for the loveliest woman of the evening. It matches your hair.”

“Of course,” Yorunna said, adjusting her own mask. “Though, if you would be so kind, give me a hint. Have we met before?”

The visitor chuckled lightly against the breezy air, a moment of loss shimmering across their eyes. “That, my dear, is a question I can truthfully tell you—”

Once more, the bells tolled, roiling and echoing through the night air, invisible to the ears of those who needed to hear them the most. “Oh, my dear Yorunna,” the stranger said through a gentle chuckle, the words they had once held lost to the ether of an endless night. “How about we dance first? Perhaps that might tell you more.”

Yorunna, the lady, nodded, abandoning the post she had held so diligently for another moment by the stranger’s side. They danced, the light of the lonely stars twinkling in time with the jangle of the stranger’s bells.

Still, she remained deaf to all but the music and the silvery, gilded stranger’s apparition that twirld and swirled, hands curled about Yorunna’s waist and wrist. They led her through the motions of the mournful dirge that swept them back and forth across the dance floor, gowns swaying with their steps and reflecting the emptiness that she held within her hands and heart.

Alone.

She was alone. The bells had stopped ringing, singing. She had always been alone. Her hands, free of lace and the stamp of lips, grasped onto nothing. Her gown, stripped from her, left her only the plain clothes of everyday wear, worn and torn from toil and time. Only the mask remained, dulled and quiet, a reminder of something.

What had that been?

Who had that stranger been?

Why did she still wear the mask?

Memory, fickle and imperfect, cobbled together without mortar to keep it whole, played and danced, swirling and skipping, mingled and pranced.

Yorunna, the Lady—

Yorunna, of the house of—

Yorunna, lover of—

Yorunna—

“A rather good evening to you,” the woman, hair the red of spilled ink, smile like a hawk, greeted those entering into the tavern that evening. A place to stay; a place to play.

Drunk voices crooned, whispering beneath her voice.

“Who is that woman?”

“Where did she come from?”

The woman, Yorunna ignored them all, glad to sing and play with cheer and pick at the guitar on her lap.

From without the comforting, unknown walls, a quiet call. Pure and true: a chorus of bells, dancing about down the street, passing and flashing with the light of the reflected silver of a waning moon.

Yorunna’s song came to an end, and her head turned to her friend. “Is that a bell you hear outside? It is rather loud and clear, and it has had no end since I arrived here.”

With a shrug, the friend laughed. “I don’t hear anything. Nothing but your gorgeous voice and guitar, my horn, and their sitar. Why? Is that a bell you hear? How about we run out and search for it?”

Yorunna only smiled and shook her head, hair bobbing with her refusal as tired fingers played with a faded string, tied to her smallest finger. “Nah. We’ve got songs to play today. I mean, have you seen this crowd? I’m pretty sure the pay will make up for whatever the bell might bring.”

The evening passed, money was made. A whole hat-full of copper and silver shook, clanging and clattering. It was divvied and shared amongst the members of their troupe, but curiously, as they searched out the dregs and much to their confusion, a single, silver bell dangled and jangled from the stem of a dried, blue flower.