Morita's first thought when she woke up was breakfast. Her second was apologizing to her father for being out so late again. She expected her stomach to rumble, since she had eaten so little yesterday, and her father to pound on the door. Then she noticed that her body was as light as a feather, like she had been weighted down before.
Before opening her eyes, she splayed her fingers and felt a smooth silky material under her. Gasping, she bolted up and frantically looked around. The hairs on her arms rose as she got a sense of the new surroundings. It was a small and white room, the edges of each wall decorated with sky blue patterns mimicking frost webs. The room was bare except for the massive bed underneath her, translucent white curtains flowing down from the ceiling around the bed frame, and the frosted up windows next to the headboard.
Besides her gown, there were only three colors in her room: white, blue, and the black of the shadows. Morita noticed that the windows gave about as much light as an unlit candle, yet the bed cast shadows in all directions like there were multiple light sources. The room glowed with an unnatural cool light.
Where am I? she thought and rolled out of the bed, shuddering when the curtains brushed her arms like webs. Then she remembered the masquerade and an uneasy feeling settled in her stomach. Her father was going to be so angry. But first, she needed to sort out the deities or whatever they were. Morita internally groaned. She clawed at the gown that was setting her skin on fire. She noticed that her mask was missing.
She left the void room and slowly ventured down a white hallway. It led to a balcony looping around a large rectangular area that reminded her of the ballroom in the Château of Peroutte. It was big enough to be a king's throne room. Similar to the room she had woken up in, there were no lights but still was lit brightly. Even the glass chandeliers high about her held no candles. She peered down at the lower floor.
There was a grand piano in the middle of the floor, blending well with the polished white material. The strange thing about it was that it had all white keys. She imagined running her fingers across the glassy keys like she had a sense for music.
Morita frowned. No. She imagined Pianist playing and suddenly wanted to hear him play again. Thinking about his playing, she thought back to the masquerade ball, slightly angry and disappointed she didn't even get the full experience. Underneath the irritation, she felt...small. Scared.
If Pianist, who had so kindly knocked her out, was right, she was one of them. A deity. One of the powerful beings Melbands worshipped. It wasn't a question if where deities real, they certainly were. No amount of trickery could explain the things she had saw. However, she refused to believe that she was a deity. Deities didn't bleed. She bled.
Falor bleeds too. Yet he was a deity. There had to be an explanation.
"I'm surprised you're alive."
YOU ARE READING
Silver As GlaceFantasy
They took her life, so she will destroy everything they have. Masquerades are dances of the night, ploys to cover identities as tricks are pulled behind the masks. As an outcast deemed freakish by her society, it's all 17-year-old Morita has ever w...