Angora stood, paused, behind the thick red curtain that stood between the amphitheater and her. It was quiet, only one person in attendance. She knew that. By all accounts, to a seasoned performer like her, it should be a cakewalk! She'd performed to packed crowds in the capitol and far and wide as even her inscrutable mind could describe. Had princes and lords kiss her hand, enamored with her act.
Her… act, yes. It was an act, she reminded herself. And tonight was no different- just a show, a performance. The magical rabbit mask she wore- the one with one eye covered with a heart- was gripping her face like a vice… just like every night. Malvina had sworn up and down the whole circus tent that it needed to stay on- talking about how people just couldn't handle what was underneath. "We all wear masks, sweetie!", the old Harlequine ringmaster had said, electric smile beaming through her skin- "yours is just more literal!"
She'd found that out, alright. Angora had dared to dream before- manifold dreams of tearing off this damned mask, pressing herself against someone and feeling them against her skin… her true skin. The one that shimmered like oil on water and blinked with a thousand red eyes. The one that bristled with teeth and tails too numerous and shifting to count… the one she kept hidden under her red-and-black balanchine.
But all for naught. Just like Malvina said… they ran- screaming. Each and every time, Malvina would find her in her trailer, throwing the door open, raving about some exorbitant amount of money she'd have to pay to the lawmen to convince them that the "poor fool" had been so tipsy as to imagine a "nightmare". But Angora would make up that money, wouldn't she? She'd learn her lesson.
Angora hadn't HAD schooling, of course- and one of the magician-mathematicians had rather embarrassingly had to pull her aside the first time and explain what a "lesson" was. He'd somewhat-crossly asked if she'd LIKE a few, but Angora had simply shook her head and slunk off, leaving the man bewildered. He could never have understood- "nightmares" didn't get "lessons" like that.
So here she was, huh? Guess she never "learned". Just like Malvina's eldest son Jyre, who had run off with the fox- oh, that one smarted. Malvina had been drunk that time, drunk enough to forget that Angora ever entered the room, hiding in the shadows and listening to her increasingly-incoherent sob stories. The ones about how her prodigal younger son had abandoned her the first chance he'd got, designing starspokes for the flying trains which crisscrossed the sky islands… leaving her living a *financial* nightmare.
They'd halfway crashed on this island, she remembered. The island was urban enough to live decently, but she was their only big act left- a chance to repair the train and escape to a life of luxury in the capitol once more. Would Angora really leave behind the only people who could- would- help her?
It was foolish… But it just felt like too big of a chance to miss up. The voice inside her- her "heart"- could never bear to tell Malvina how unhappy she was… staying confined to this form even when no eyes were on her… She was happy with her voice, with her outfit, but couldn't she stretch every once in a while…? Angora steadied herself, praying that the stitches the seamster-machine had inlaid for the nth time would hold. Those kind of thoughts, emotions, were… dangerous to her clothing, and to the perfect mask she'd been gifted.
And it was almost starless-hour.
She'd called in so many favors tonight- to make sure the ringmaster wouldn't find out, to make sure that the "audience" could get in without any trouble, to make sure that nobody else would get near… this was a private show. Old, gentle Monsoirno had closed his eye- his biological one- and gently put his powerful hand on her shoulder, sighing as he'd promised to make sure security was given a different patrol tonight, if she would just please not take too big a gamble?
And one of those favors… had been to the chief mechanic, who'd said she'd set the automatic spotlight and music to go off… now.
The lights along the amphitheatre steps dimmed, leaving the audience in darkness… well, it would have. Fetch was a Phantasm- and peeking around the curtains, she could see his grey ecto-flames still peeking out from under that wide-brimmed hat he wore. The one he liked to pull down over his face to hide the fiery blush he produced whenever he said anything "improper". The one that clanked with little silvery trinkets he'd collected from scrounging and high-end shops alike. The one he'd held between them and the screen when he'd kissed her on the nose at the end of the imprompteau motion-picture she'd managed to pull together.
…and he was poised with anticipation- she could feel it. Phantasms still had hearts, and it was beating awfully quick as the mechanical violinist behind the stage put bow to string. A slow, simple piece… impossible to foul up… right? It was now or never!
Angora threw aside the curtain, "legs" propelling her out onto the theatre with an overexaggerated spin- powerful form beneath expelling the kind of movement most could only dream of. With a curtsy and ribbons arcing out behind her, the diva felt the solo rise within her- a solo joined by a singular cheer and ecstatic clinking, clapping of hands. Fetch beamed at her from in the dead center of the audience, clunky metal work boots propped on the bench below.
Those boots, which somehow matched his long, silken dress- STOP with the thinking, you're in the middle of a performance, Angora scolded herself! The violinist pulled back its bow, launching into a lilting melody- there, her "legs" saved her, throwing her high into the air where she caught herself on one of the near-invisible steel wires which crossed the amphitheatre. It was child's play as she flipped over it, falling back down to earth with a spin and another great leap, caroming off the floor into the wall back onto the wires, form making more minute movements per minute than muscles could ever muster.
The show went on and on, desperately keeping her left "blind" side to the audience so she wouldn't get lost in that smile- DANGIT! Thinking about it again! But still the violinist played, stanza by stanza of the song she'd picked for this very occasion. It had a big, dramatic finish… and so, she hoped, did this night. Fetch had been more involved than any other acquaintance that she could remember, pulling off far more risky meetings within the bigtop grounds than even her favors could shield him from. Talking about how his father owned the biggest forgeworks in the city, and even outright threatening repercussions on the few times one of Malvina's private guards had found Angora outside the wire fence. He'd been terrified, his heart pounding, but had still shielded HER, in spite of the two-foot height difference.
He deserved to know, didn't he?
That he was dating a monster.
It was all very self-destructive, she allowed herself to admit. Just like those doomed romances the storytellers had told when the show was off for a holiday. She'd never known anything else, so how could they end otherwise? Well, just this once, she'd rip the bandage off and bring herself back to reality… with a suitably grand end.
The music spiralled and swirled, one violin doing far more work than it had to as the solo neared its end. she'd practiced this, spiralling along with the music as the ribbons wrapped her in a halo of red. The seams the seamster-machine had put in, the seams she'd intentionally weakened in just the right places, felt ready to burst. It would be so easy to put back together this time, to slip back into her costume. But now… they split!
Inky void, sharp as a butcher's knife and smooth as shattered glass, burst out in an explosion of scarlet and sable as her true form piled out onto the stage. Large, clean tatters that split cleanly along the seam lines. Her form was feminine, yes, she'd gotten quite fond of that, but there was nothing "proper" about the tendrils that ended in heart-shaped hooks with beaming red eyes.
Nothing "ladylike" about the jagged mouths, lined with coal-colored teeth that fit together like puzzle pieces.
Nothing "beautiful" about the half-dozen unevenly-dispersed humanoid arms which grasped at the world around them.
All that was left was the mask… hopelessly small on her equally small false head. She basked in her own eldritch glory, stretching up and around the wires and then back down into the audience… looking into the startled eyes of her newest dashed hope.
Well, she would, if he'd just move that hat up off of his face.
But… it stayed there. Just… shaking a little bit. Had she finally gone too far, could this one even take to their feet and flee?
Then… she felt it. The heartbeat. It was fast, startled, yes- but… it was still… holding on? To…-
"A-angora…?"
The voice was soft and scared, yes, but also… feebly gentle. Like it was reaching out, to something deep within her she'd sworn she hadn't had. "Yes?" answered the thing-that-called-itself-Angora, speaking in a thousand tongues.
"Is that… still you?"
Angora didn't even know how to respond to that, tapping her tendrils on the benches rhythmically… she registered with some dull surprise that she was still tapping out the melody she'd just been dancing to.
An aeon of silence passed in a second… until slowly the hat was lifted. The flames had gone almost white with shock, but still, beating at the heart… was still that grey-blue faint tinge of a blush.
Angora- shocked despite herself- stood still as a statue as Fetch, termoring like an earthquake, barely peeped out from under the hat… and touched her mask.
Touch.
What…?
The next thing that touched her mask were his ghostly lips. That black lipstick of charcoal and magic which left marks that never came quite clean. That… were pressed so firmly to her mask.
The violinist finished its last flourish, going still and silent as the sky. The spotlight dimmed and faded as the amphitheater lights came back on. What…? Was she still… dreaming?
No. This was real.
"I… thought those stitches on your outfit always looked oddly-placed." Fetch stammered out. Slowly, Angora began to shrink once more, no tattered clothes over her compressed form. She stared, dumbfounded. He… what…?
"…"
"…"
"…wh-why aren't you saying anything, A-Angora?"
"My… name…?"
"Yes. your name!" he sputtered, cross in spite of himself. "I-I… really enjoyed your performance, and- Eep!"
Another recoil. Not of fear, but startling at her proximity. For once, Angora could not move her ever-moving form. They shared a breathless moment, there… beneath the moonless night… until she collapsed into his arms. He startled, but grasped her close on sheer instinct alone. An instinct… she could not imagine until this point.
With a feebleness she'd never imagined herself displaying, Angora wrapped her arms and tendrils around Fetch and held him close. This had never happened before… and quietly, the acrobat let her many eyes weep. Somehow, some way… that dream… felt just a little bit truer than before.
