Closed Doors (Fiction)
Masked guests litter a dance floor as ancient steps whisk fabric across stone. Some prefer the company of gossip and libations; others hide in alcoves and rooms with locked doors.
A few, myself included, come to play.
Moonlight illuminates the halls, lights upon a distraction.
Spiraled curls meet her bare shoulders, a deep hue against fair skin. Her corseted dress highlights feminine curves before folds of velvet cascade to the floor.
“Hey there, handsome. Want some company?” Dark irises sparkle underneath a mask of lace and feathers.
Tempting, but no.
“I don’t think so, princess. Invitation only.”
Intrigue burns in her gaze, draws her close. Painted lips brush my ear. “So invite me.”
A tilt of the head feigns consideration.
“I’m sorry, my dear, but I think not.”
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