Isabelle
Thomas arrived at the masquerade ball, the final party. He wore a dark blue velvet costume that resembled a medieval bard. His mask held large plumes of blues and whites, to mask his blonde hair. The mask was white with gold accents, it covered his entire face and cast a shadow over his eyes. The only part of him clearly visible was just so he could drink freely.
Isabelle was sitting with her friend in the far corner of the room. Margaret wore a tight fitting gown of reds and oranges, her lips were painted bright red. Her mask was golden adorned with sprinkles of glitter, it only covered her cheeks and forehead. Her red hair was done in a flurry of curls. She wore fire red satin gloves that extended up her arms and under the gown as if it were all one piece.
Isabelle sat next to her in draped browns of various shades. Her hair was in loose curls and fell free and soft about her face and shoulders. Her glittery mask had actual leaves saved from the fall. Her lips were a cinnamon brown, and Thomas dared imagined kissing them.
Reginald and Charles also stood close by. Reginald’s costume modeled after a black knight from a chess board, Charles was dressed as the white.
Thomas walked up to the two men and listened to their banter. It was of little interest to him, as it was of some investment or another they were mutually involved in.
The two spotted the well dressed man and inched closer to find out whom he might be. “Are you enjoying the festivities?” Reginald inquired.
Thomas smiled as he took a sip of the fragrant wine being served, “I found the estate to be quite easy on the eye. No doubt it will make for many happy generations in your bloodline.”
“So where do you hail from, Good Sir?” Charles studied the stranger intently.
“From the Northern Counties.” Thomas set his drink on a passing tray. “No doubt you’ll have heard of me, My father just recently passed leaving me sole heir to his fortune.”
“Oh!” Reginald’s eyes brightened under his mask. “Duke Herlington. They told me you refused our invitation.”
Thomas smiled politely, “No, I’m afraid you have me mistaken Sir.”
“Julius Verbing was said to have died recently, but he had no heir apparent.” Charles offered.
“Knowing my identity defeats the purpose of a masquerade ball, does it not?” Thomas let his eyes purposely land on Isabelle long enough for Charles to become unnerved.
“She’s quite lovely isn’t she?” Charles said quickly and pointedly.
“Does this beauty have a name?” Thomas did not remove his gaze.
“She does indeed have a name.” Reginald snapped. “Would that you would know it and destroy the festivities of the masquerade ball.”
Charles chuckled at his friend’s insight.
“I see the relevancy of the two of you being dressed as a horses’ ass.” Thomas excused himself from the two and headed towards Margaret and Isabelle.
“Margaret, you look as if you are the Flames of Desire yourself.” Thomas took her hand and kissed it elegantly.
Thomas then turned his attention to Isabelle, “Is it not dangerous for fragile fall leaves to reside so closely to an open flame?” He offered out his hand to her, “Come, let us away to safety.” He set his other hand over his heart, “For I would hate to see such beauty catch fire, and in instant be gone forever. Especially when I unable to at least admire it first.”
Margaret pushed Isabelle lightly on the arm, bidding her to go.
Isabelle reluctantly took the stranger’s hand and walked with him past crowds. They walked down several corridors til they were in a hallway far from the crowds. The clatter and commotion of the party were so far away now all she heard was silence. Isabelle felt her heart skip a small beat in fear as he pushed gently into an empty dark corner.
“You have forgotten me so soon?” Thomas questioned her.
Isabelle felt a slight panic and urge to run, but he blocked her path.
“You steal my breath as I try to breathe,” Thomas leaned in close to her lips. “Lend me your breath so that I might live.”
“Good Sir!” Charles bellowed from midway down the hall.
“If you would have me.” He pressured her.
“Thomas?” Isabelle had not recognized him.
Charles grabbed Thomas by the shoulder, pulling him away from Isabelle. “That is my intended!” he scolded the intruder. He turned quickly to Isabelle, “Are you quite alright? This is not your fault, you know. Your beauty is more than some men can stand.” He turned back to the stranger, “Or have self control over.”
Thomas said nothing in his own defense. He waited to see if Isabelle would acknowledged him. He could endure all things for her, and would do so without question.