Masks

This is the response to my February 15 writing prompt for my Writing the Year Away blog...I'm posting it here due to it's excessive length (most of the other prompts are quite short, and I usually reserve my lengthy ones for here). Anyway, the prompt was "Don't come in yet, I have to put my face on!" I had a hard time with it at first, struggling with the plot. I knew that I could have taken the easy way out and written something about putting makeup on, but I really wanted something unique and very much my own. Finally, I believe I've succeeded. And so, without further ado, I give you my story, Le Masque*.

*Note (and further ado :P): I chose the title in French for a reason currently unknown to me...I think it's because of the spelling...I don't speak French, but I love the way they spell 'masque,' and I think it adds something that "The Mask" simply doesn't have.
　
　
Le Masque

By Keziah Roy

"Don’t come in yet! I have to put my face on!" The squeal erupted as soon as the entry light blinked. An exasperated chuckle came from outside the door, but the light stopped blinking. The young woman inside sighed in relief and turned back to the mirror, carefully fitting the iridescent mask over her face. It was the height of fashion—to be seen in public without a mask was simply unheard of, in fact, in most places, it was considered a crime to show your unmasked face anywhere other than your own home.

Xhana’s mask was highly fashionable, made of a new bio-cloth, form-fitting and synched with her facial muscles so as to move seamlessly when she spoke, smiled, ate—even kissed. The mask was iridescent, shimmering like water, and making a smooth transition from a pure lavender in the lower left, to a crystalline aquamarine at the right temple.

Xhana smiled into the mirror, gently arranging into decorative whorls the slender strands affixed to the edges of the mask. She tweaked it carefully, making sure that the spirals trailed perfectly down her elegant throat, drawing subtle attention to her flawless skin and low, angled neckline. The upper strands she entwined in her hair, careful not to upset the complex arrangement as she did so. With a satisfied sigh, she added the final touch—colored contacts that gave her eyes the same shimmering effect as the mask. Giving herself one final once-over, she turned to the door and activated the entry pad.

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Dante watched the entry light blink rapidly three times as the door prepared to open. It wavered first, then suddenly winked out, disappearing with a slight popping sound. He sighed, disliking the abruptness of the newest technologies. The sigh quickly turned to a smile as Xhana glided out, twirling gracefully to show off her new mask and gown.

The dress was stunning, created of light, flowing fabric that alternately clung and floated about her like water, the vee of her neckline reaching to her jewel-adorned navel, yet so narrow, it showed only a thin slice of skin. The skirt was dagged, it’s asymmetrical points dancing about her legs in a multilayered cloud of lavender and aquamarine. The decorative tendrils of her mask curled seductively down her throat, drawing his gaze inevitably to the plunging neckline. Slowly, appreciatively, his gaze traveled back up to her face, grudgingly admiring the fashionable mask.

He disliked the custom of covering your face with a mask before letting others see you, it seemed false to him, false and self-deprecating, as if you believed your true face was unworthy of being shown to others. The masks, too, paved the way for deceit, making it easy to present yourself as something different than what you really were. And yet the whole country was filled with them, women wearing decorative, brightly colored ones, and men generally choosing simple, darker ones. Dante struggled with the practice everyday, bucking the system by wearing only a half-mask, one that split his face down a diagonal, leaving visible his left eye, part of his nose, his left cheek, and his mouth and chin. He often got strange looks, and had even on occasion been requested to leave a restaurant or shop.

Xhana flashed him a blinding smile as she completed her final turn, sauntering up to him and leaning in for a kiss. He almost flinched as his lips touched the fabric of her mask. No, he didn’t simply dislike the masks, he hated them. It hadn’t been so bad when he was younger, and the masks didn’t cover everything, but now—now they smothered everything, covering from the hairline to the throat, leaving only the eyes visible. The new cloth was woven in such a way that it could even cover lips, an atrocity in Dante’s mind. There was a certain intimacy about touching your bare lips to someone else’s, an intimacy that was slowly being lost. He knew many couples who had never seen each others’ faces, not even in the bedroom. Dante himself had never seen Xhana’s face, and the two had been together for nearly two years.

That’s not to say that he had never seen her skin, no, Xhana preferred the simple half-masks when she was at home—she said they were more comfortable—but even though he’d asked her, she simply refused to take it off completely. She wasn’t harsh or angry when he asked, she just laughed and shook her head, as if she found it comical that he would want to see her paltry features. Why would he want to see her face when he could look at a beautiful mask, designed specifically to give pleasure to the viewer?

Dante had given up trying to explain to her that he would find her face more beautiful than any mask, and had reluctantly accepted the fact that he lived in a world where the human face was considered an abomination.

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Dante and Xhana left the show almost as soon as it was over, both with differing opinions of the performance. It was a new show, a historical romance that took place back in the 2100s, a time when, historically, there were no masks. Dante had been frustrated from almost the moment the show began, for although the time period was maskless, the actors were not. Granted, the costumers had given them masks that closely mimicked human features, but still, they were masks nonetheless. Xhana, on the other hand, had gushed about it, admiring the ‘accuracy’ and ‘detail’ of the costumes. Not wanting to upset her, or waste his energy on a futile battle, Dante remained silent on the matter.

When they arrived back at Xhana’s apartment, Dante went in with her. He usually spent the weekends with her, as his apartment was near the Industrial Sector, where he worked as manager of one of the many automated factories. Xhana’s home, on the other hand, was in the University Sector, only one block away from the Entertainment Sector. Xhana was a student, but had the entire weekend off, so that was the time they spent together.

After settling in, taking off their coats and such, Dante excused himself, going into the bedroom to change. The first thing he did upon closing the door was rip the mask off his face and sink down into the hoverbed. He lay back on the soft blankets, allowing the bed to cushion him gently. It had been a long day, and it was a relief to get the stifling fabric off his skin.

He allowed himself a few deep breaths before standing and stripping off his suit. Comfortable sweat pants were tugged on, and he went to stand in front of the mirror, staring at his face in the silvery glass. He had dark brown hair, almost black, and his skin was a light tan. His eyes were the color of dark chocolate, deep and thoughtful. His nose was straight, his cheekbones well defined, his mouth expressive. It wasn’t an unattractive face, he thought, but attractiveness was governed by different rules now. Rules that didn’t include an actual face.

The soft popping of the door startled him, and he turned swiftly, just in time to see the stark look of shock on Xhana’s features as she beheld his naked face. Rather than snatch up his mask to hide it, he met her gaze, holding it, refusing to feel ashamed of himself. Her face slowly turned from shock to wonder, and she took an unconscious step forward, then another. In moments, she was standing before him, her eyes wide under the glittering mask. She reached out, brushing her fingertips lightly across his cheek, brow furrowing slightly as she felt the roughness of his unshaven skin.

"You’re…you’re beautiful," she breathed.

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Xhana stood enraptured, her eyes fixed on Dante’s face. So this was what was underneath the mask! Why, there was nothing hideous about it, no reason to cover it up. He was right, had always been right, someone’s face was truly important, it was truly who they were. She could tell just by looking at his face, at his proud cheekbones and strong nose, that he was a man of strength, of courage, of independence. His mouth, however, was softer, prone to sudden smiles or laughter. These were all elements that were lost when a mask was worn, even a half-mask like Dante’s.

She leaned forward, cupping his face, her mouth inches from his. She feathered a kiss across his cheek, then frowned, sensing that something was wrong. She stepped back, lightly touching her fingers to her mouth, to the mask covering her lips. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she raised trembling fingers to the edges of her expensive mask. In one swift movement, before she lost her courage, she snatched it from her face and tossed it to the ground. Her eyes stayed shut, unable to look at him, unable to see the inevitable rejection in his eyes when he saw that she wasn’t beautiful, that without her mask she was just Xhana, not the brilliant student, not the life of the party, just Xhana, the young woman.

The soft touch of his hands on her cheeks caused her to open her eyes slowly, looking up at him through the haze of tears that threatened to fall from her eyes. He was smiling softly, tenderly, and as he bent to touch his lips to hers in a gentle caress, he whispered two words, just two, and her world was changed forever.

"Thank you."

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Well, I hope you enjoyed it, and thanks for reading!