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Ena couldn't help but gravitate towards her. There's something about her that begs to be released and clawed and removed from her soul, in a way that was all too similar to her own. The cold, sharp demeanour she exuded now was all too different from the others on the ballroom floor and no one else dared to approach. Even if they did, her lack of interest and witting replies scattered them. Her beauty was ice, complete with the total blank and white mask she wore, a brave contrast against the colourfully designed masks of people around her.
Fitting, Ena mused. And the longer she watched, the more intrigued she became. Her actions were relaxed and tired, from the way she dragged her limbs around. Her speech was cutting, somehow sounding bored and monotonous even while spitting the most diabolical, honest truths about the people trying to flirt with her. Almost like a real masquerade doll.
Yet, while being surrounded by other rich guests swirled their wine glasses and awfully plastic laughs and annoyingly loud patrons who spoke too sweetly and too much, the mysterious girl still felt more real than most of the people dwelling here. Ena thinks this was the moment she decided to approach her, though it was more of a rash decision than anything.
She was brash and impulsive, she was born taught to claw her way up and replace her lungs in exchange for glances of admiration, only to ever receive pity. (It was never worth it, but she kept at it hoping for a different result every time.) She was taught to thrash and scream loud enough for only a mere chance to be heard. And perhaps it was her hopefulness and naivety that speaks but she could feel the broken heartbeat of the mysterious girl and the thought of I want to know, I want to see for myself, I want to be heard by her that brings her across the hall.
“This is too much for the both of us.” Ena is shocked to hear the words slip out of her own mouth. No greetings, because that would make her a liar at some point, to conceive the truth behind her approach.
“You don’t know me.”
“I think that's the whole point of the masquerade, no?”
The mysterious girl finally turns to Ena, intrigued. Maybe a crack into her walls, even a miniscule one, but a victory nonetheless.
“We think alike.”
She pauses for a moment, thinking. Ena nods in encouragement.
“Humans are driven by the need to fit in. They put up an act even when there is already a physical one, truly cursed. Even now, it proves that those with the most wealth and fakest smile can climb the ranks of popularity.” And her hand lifts up to gesture at the group of gentlemen near the middle of the ball, to prove her point.
“So you see this ball as an escape to whatever act you put outside of this?”
“Do you not do the same?”
“I certainly don't. I do whatever comes to mind first.” Ena thinks her judgement fails her, this person is the exact opposite of her. Though, she must admit she is having fun understanding her.
“You must not have a lot to risk, then?”
“The only thing I could ever call a risk is something that is not even within my reach as of right now.”
“Good for you. There’s nothing I’ve ever reached for, or wanted, actively.”
“Having something to reach for is good until you start to develop a hating relationship with it but still run back to it, because it's the only thing you’ve ever known and wanted.” There’s something about the mysterious girl that was willing to listen to her only that breaks the dam.
“Huh…me personally, I can’t tell between anything. All of it feels like an empty void.”
“I wish I could donate my overflow of feelings to you, then.” And it is said with bitterness, driven by the selfish motivation of removing the fact of caring so much, loving too hard, and having too much ambition.
But-
“I wish you could too.” The mysterious girl replies warmly, as warm as she could’ve probably ever express. Which wasn’t much, but a tug pulled at Ena’s lips nevertheless.
“There is a certain balance to who you are and who you pretend to be. There is a certain amount of truth in everything you do that makes you who you are.” Ena rambles. “If you can’t find yourself yet, at least let me join you on this journey. Let me help you, even if I don’t understand fully.”
“Oh.” The mysterious girl whispered, the fragility of her voice scaring Ena, before it returned to the stone cold intonation. “Don’t expect anything, this is not what you think you’re signing up for.”
“Of course not. I have better senses than to project expectations.” And the tease must have shown in her voice, because Ena swears she could feel the girl smile behind her mask.
She seems to take pleasure in watching Ena’s authenticity, it dawns on Ena. Flashes of soft laughter and compliments as the girl admires her soul-taking artworks popped up into Ena’s mind, and she waves it away, trying not to act utterly flustered over nothing.
The girl surprises them both by reaching out to grab Ena’s wrist and peeling open her fists gently, leaving behind a piece of crumpled paper.
“My number and name. Call me, please. I would want to see you again.”
The lingering icy cold fingertips melted on her burning hot wrist. Whatever lingering feeling that ghosted her hands slipped away slowly, leaving Ena to grasp at the memory blindly. Her hands were smooth and something of a dream that Ena cannot place, so perfectly gentle and hypnotising. Ena wishes she could see the expression on her face right now. Teasing? Smiling? Regretful? Scared?
The mysterious girl doesn’t look back. She waltzed off to the dance hall, integrating herself so easily amongst the crowd with a plethora of fake laughters that only seemed to make Ena’s skin prickle uncomfortably, though no one else noticed.
Yuki. xxxx-xxxx
Ena could still feel the remnants of her touch. That was real, the touch was real. The conversation and blood pulsing through her veins at an abnormal rate, it was all real. It couldn’t be faked.
Yuki. She repeats the name like a mantra in her head.
And it almost doesn’t hit her that Yuki’s first want was her.