Beauty, Unmasked by A.W. Cross

Author:A.W. Cross
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-9995711-6-0
Publisher: Glory Box Press
Published: 2019-07-18T00:00:00+00:00

Beauty was nearly blinded as she crossed the threshold. Never in her life had she beheld such color, such shininess. Everything gleamed—the walls, the floor, the ceiling, the people…even the food seemed covered with a glossy sheen. It was so different from the muted browns and grays and grime of The Vault that her eyes couldn’t make sense of it. A soon as she was able, she retreated to the wall, pressing her back against it for comfort.

The longer she looked, the more her eyes adjusted, and at last, she was able to truly see what was before her. She’d never seen anything so grand. It was just like the castles in her books, the vast room decorated almost entirely in gilt. She’d hadn’t known so many shades of gold existed. It covered everything, from the soaring, arched ceiling to the silver-veined marble floor. Even the walls were a textured gold that seemed to shift before her eyes. Had Cybel known when she’d chosen Beauty’s dress, hoping it would help her blend in? If so, it worked. Hardly anyone seemed to notice her, and she took the opportunity to stare.

Just off the main foyer was a large doorway leading to a ballroom, where couples dipped and spun, their masks and clothing a swirling, glittering myriad of rich color painful to look at. It didn’t seem real. She’d expected to see people at a party, of course, but the amount of wealth, the sheer flaunting of it was staggering.

In the corner where she stood was a large painting of a young woman reclining on a chaise, her face pale and wan but for two rosy spots on her cheeks. She was dressed all in white frills, and her hand was raised to her forehead as though she’d been caught in a swoon. Beauty knew the painting well. She’d recovered it months ago. In fact, if she looked closely enough, she could still make out the specks of blood on the underside of the frame where Red had touched it after slicing herself on a shard of exposed metal. She’d caught a fever from the wound and almost died.

Beauty hadn’t doubted Cillian, not really, but the painting was a fist to her stomach. All that time she’d truly believed that the rarities they’d been risking their safety for had been sold to other countries in exchange for aid, or broken down, or sent to the front as symbols of inspiration to the forces there. But no, here they were, just another luxury among millions, a momentary pleasure soon forgotten. Everything Cillian had said was true.

Cillian. Where was he? She’d promised to keep him in her sight. Beauty pushed herself away from the wall, her eyes scanning the cavernous room. There. On the staircase speaking with a man in a bird mask. Whatever they were talking about, Cillian didn’t look happy. His face was creased into a frown, his shoulders stiff. And yet, in his suit, with his silver hair falling over his eyes, and his cyborg hand gripping the rail, he was striking.

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