The Little Mask Girl (A Story from The Jester's Tales)

Juliet had grown up in her father’s mask shop. She had grown up standing at her father’s elbow, watching him carve wood, fire ceramic, stretch and tan animal skin and then paint colorful faces onto the canvas he had created. Much to her father’s amusement, she had even watched the paint dry.
Juliet’s father had always laughed at his daughter when she did that, gazing with unfocused eyes at the mask he had just created, her dark, curly head tilted to one side as she considered the light shining off the wet paint… or that’s what he thought she was doing.
Really, Juliet was staring at the mask and thinking of the story that went with it. She created a story, and a personality, for each and every mask in her father’s shop.
The pretty silver one with the dark blue feathers around its eyes became a prima ballerina, the most graceful creature that had ever been born, who could ensnare great kings with a simple dance.
The darkly crimson one with the Cheshire grin and slanted eyes became a deadly assassin who took great pleasure in his work and who could never be caught because he could melt into the shadows and even the best hunter could not find him.
There were hundreds more, golden mask kings and clever mask musicians and as Juliet thought of all their stories, they became less like faces hanging on the wall and more like her friends and since she didn’t have any flesh-and-blood friends anyway, she thought it good that she had someone to talk to at all… never mind if they couldn’t talk back.
So as other little girls her age went off to schools, walking right past Juliet as she cleaned the mask shop, Juliet murmured softly to her father’s masks and imagined that they replied… though she was very careful to never let anyone hear her when she spoke to her friends.
When fine lords and ladies came into the shop, for it was the finest mask shop within a hundred miles, Juliet quickly tucked herself behind the counter and quietly waited for them to make their purchases. Though she was sometimes sorry to see her favored masks packed away into boxes and handed to strangers.
“Oh, well,” Juliet would sigh, watching the lord or lady walk down the street with the box under their arm, “They’ll see a better world than these four walls if they’re hugging some lords face.”
Oddly enough, though Juliet herself never thought it odd, she had never tried even a single one of the masks on.
One day while Juliet was cleaning the shop, humming softly to herself and holding silent conversations with the masks, her father peeked in.
Juliet’s father was a tall, lean man with dark eyes hidden behind tiny, golden spectacles and long hair as fair and straight as Juliet’s was dark and curly.
He stood in the doorway that led between the workshop and the shop itself and watched his daughter straighten one of the masks with a delicate finger, as if she didn’t want to upset the wooden face.
“I don’t think anyone will buy you with such a sly smile on your face, my friend,” Juliet said. Her father jumped, and opened his mouth to reply when he realized that his daughter was simply addressing the mask. He smiled; it was one of her little quirks that he quite enjoyed but he knew her to be embarrassed by it so he silently walked back down the hallway and then, making as much noise as he was able, walked back into the shop, giving Juliet plenty of warning.
“Father!” Juliet laughed, looking over her shoulder as he came through the door, “You sound like a heard of wild horses!”
Her father smiled sheepishly, “I’ve just been struck by inspiration, Juliet.”
“A new mask?” Juliet gasped, delighted, hurrying over to see the newest blueprint. Would it be a great warrior? An elegant princess?
Her father held the paper above her and grinned, shaking his head, “This one will be a surprise.”
Juliet leapt, snatching at the paper, undeterred that her father was taller than her by shoulders and head and that her fingers didn’t even brush the paper held tauntingly above her.
“Oh, please!” she cajoled, “Just a peek, I won’t tell anyone what it is!”
“No, no, no,” her father laughed, “This is going to be a surprise if I have to lock you out of the workshop.”
Juliet stopped jumping for the blueprint and gazed reproachfully at her father.
“Pouting won’t do any good, lovely,” he said, dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose. Juliet sighed in a long-suffering way but then smiled good-naturedly; she loved surprises.
“I need to go fetch my canvas,” he said slyly, Juliet’s pout returned; he would not even tell her what the new mask was made out of!
“How long will you be gone?” she asked.
“The better part of the afternoon,” he replied, pulling on his long coat and smiling at her puzzled expression; she was trying to figure out where he could go that would take all afternoon.
“You’ll be good and watch the store?” he asked. Juliet nodded, still considering; the clay pits where her father got the ceramic might take all day. Her father stood by the door, smiling patiently as his daughter puzzled silently.
“I don’t suppose,” she started slyly, “That I could have a hint?”
Her father considered for a moment and then said, “This mask will be my favorite ever.”
Juliet frowned fiercely as three thousand ideas swept through her mind; what could her father’s favorite mask be?
“I love you, precious,” he said presently.
“I love you too, father,” Juliet responded, still thinking about the mask.
Chortling, her father left the shop.
“Not much of a hint, that,” Juliet told the masks and then continued cleaning and murmuring to them as they gazed down at her blankly, “What would father make that would be his favorite mask?”
As she swept and dusted, Juliet threw suggestions at the masks, though they remained silent. When the shop was cleaned she continued to talk to them but finally, after many hours of chatter, her throat hurt, and she fell silent, simply gazing at the pretty, silver mask that was the prima ballerina.
Why haven’t I ever tried it on? Juliet thought suddenly.
She suddenly sat up pin-straight, still staring at the silver mask, her lips parted in surprise.
I’ve never tried on even a single mask! Why’s that?
“No time like the present,” Juliet said with a grin and slipped off the stool that stood behind the counter.
Quietly, almost shyly, Juliet pulled the mask off the wall and looked down at it.
This one as made of ceramic and it covered the wearers forehead, eyes, nose and dipped down to cover the cheeks without covering the mouth… a mysterious mask, that someone could gaze through alluringly and never be caught; a shard of moonlight.
Juliet walked in front of one of the full-length mirrors that stood around the shop and closed her eyes. She held the mask up to her face and carefully tied the silver ribbons behind her head. Only when the mask was secured did Juliet open her eyes to look at herself.
She gasped and stumbled back. But the stumble was the most graceful movement Juliet had ever conducted. The mirror reflected Juliet in a way she had never imagined herself; with the mask covering most of her face, her dark hair, usually pretty but rather plain, became as glossy as a raven’s wing and the wild curls transformed into perfect ringlets that framed her silver face.
“The most graceful dancer in the world,” Juliet murmured and, as if she had done it all her life, raised herself up onto the tips of her toes so that she stood en pointe and swirled around the shop, never once stumbling or faltering.
A young student walking home from school glanced into the shop and let her mouth drop open; there was a silver ballerina dancing around in the mask shop. The student watched silently as the ballerina spun and dipped, more graceful than a swan.
This is wonderful, Juliet thought dreamily, balancing flawlessly on the very tip of her shoes without even wobbling.
When she stood flat on her feet again, Juliet pulled the mask from her face, the satin ribbons whispering as they untied. She looked down at the mask in her hand wonderingly then set it carefully on the counter before she tried to stand on her toes once again.
She wobbled fiercely and would have fallen had she not grabbed hold of the wall and quickly lowered herself back to her normal stand again.
“It was the mask!” Juliet whispered. She picked up the beautiful silver mask again and gazed down into the eyeless sockets… then a new and wonderful thought came to her.
“If one mask can do it…” Juliet looked up and around her at the walls and walls of masks; an entire world was open to her.
Setting the silver mask back in its hook Juliet tried the slyly grinning one that was, in her mind, an assassin. When she slipped the wooden mask over her face she felt a low, smoldering anger start to burn in her breast.
Juliet reached out and pulled long, thin daggers out of thin air, using magic she had never known.
She whirled and spun, with just as much grace as she had danced a moment before but with more violence behind each movement. Her arms cut through the air, silvery daggers shining in the sunlight that filtered through the glass and she imagined the room full of guards; they thought her trapped.
Behind the mask, Juliet gave a sly, Cheshire smile.
“How foolish,” she purred and her voice came out low and husky. She spun and twirled, daggers whipping through the air like a stormy wind and, in her minds eye, she saw a dozen guards fall dead, throats open to their spine and spewing blood all over her and the store.
Juliet laughed and it was a low, frightening noise.
Across the street the young student who had been walking home stared with enormous eyes; the dancer had become an assassin and… had the room just bee full of guards? Shadowy, smoky specters that had all fallen to the daggers that the assassin held now. Sure that the assassin would be on the hunt for blood again, the young student hurried home with a frightened glance over her shoulder at the mask shop.
Juliet shuddered slightly and abruptly pulled off the mask.
The rage that had been slowly burning inside her vanished as if it had never been and, of course, it hadn’t.
Frightened of it now, Juliet put the assassin mask back on its peg and stood silently in the shop, her arms wrapped around her shoulders as she looked around at the walls full of faces… which one to try next?
With each mask, Juliet became something better; a dashing knight, a priestess of light, a forest nymph with vines snaking over her face, a great king, a demon intent on swallowing all of the innocent souls that populated the world.
Juliet pulled off her most recent mask and grinned down at it as if she and the mask shared a wonderful secret.
“Which we do, my friend,” Juliet said and hung the mask back on its peg.
She stood behind the counter, her back to the door and gazed at the masks displayed there, considering.
She didn’t hear the door open and she didn’t hear the quite stomp of a heeled boot on the wooden floor… she did not hear these things because the man standing just inside the door did not make a single noise and had not come through the door.
“Perhaps the snake lord?” Juliet murmured to herself, reaching up for a mask that had dark red scales carefully carved and then lacquered to make them gleam eerily.
“No,” said a soft, delicately amused voice from behind her. Juliet spun so fast she almost flung herself to the ground but grabbed onto the counter and managed to stay on her feet.
She looked at the man standing just inside the shop and thought that she had never seen a creature quite so beautiful.
He stood tall and sword-slender with crimson hair falling around his shoulders… but there was something wrong with the color; it was too deep to be natural but too glossy to be dyed. It was like blood spun into hair and stood in sharp contrast to skin as pale as cream.
His face was delicate, as if the bones beneath were made of spun glass and his eyes were enormous and the color of emeralds. He smiled at her with full and lovely lips and Juliet saw that his canines were frighteningly sharp.
“That one doesn’t suit you,” he continued, not looking away from Juliet.
“Wh-what?” the girl managed.
“The snake mask,” the man said, nodding towards it but still not looking away… he also didn’t blink.
Juliet glanced at it quickly, ill at ease with looking away from the stranger. In the second it took her too look at the mask, the man had appeared at the counter, but she had not heard even the softest step.
Juliet jumped back, her heart thundering in her ears and her skin prickling oddly.
“I think it’s quite lovely,” Juliet said, trying to sound defensive but only managed to sound terrified. The man smiled at her and his emerald eyes flickered to silver, Juliet’s breath vanished.
“It is lovely, there’s no denying that, your father is quite skilled,” the man agreed, “But that doesn’t mean it suits you.”
The man looked around at the other masks and, the moment he stopped looking at her, Juliet felt as if a great, burning light had been turned off, leaving her in blessedly cool darkness. Her hands had turned into trembling claws, gripping the counter’s edge and she felt oddly light headed.
“None of these suit you,” he said softly and then looked back at her. Juliet braced herself for that same intense heat and managed to lift her eyes to look into the stranger’s face.
“I… know what you are,” she hissed out between clenched teeth. She was even more frightened when, instead of drawing back in surprise as she had expected, the Jester chuckled softly.
“Of course you do, child,” he said pleasantly, “Why else do you think I came to you?”
“I stand beneath the merciful gaze of the Lady of Light,” Juliet whispered and hoped that her legs would not go out from beneath her. The Jester twitched his head to the side, as if she had slapped him.
“I’m sure you do,” he said dryly, “So many stand beneath her merciful gaze… How will I ever manage to do my dark deeds if so many have given themselves over to the Light?”
The Jester looked at Juliet with dark gold eyes and she felt her heart stutter and stall, as if he had reached into her chest and stroked the tender muscle. She gasped and shuddered, trying to back away from the counter but found the Jester holding her wrist in a bruising grip.
“You are not a stupid girl, Juliet,” the Jester said softly, “You know that everyone has a breaking point… Imagine if I threatened your father and all I wanted in return for his pathetic, waning life was your service for eternity… what would you say?”
Juliet whimpered, pulling at her wrist; wishing that her father would return, wishing that someone would see what was really happening… wishing that the masks would help her.
“All people feel the darkness, my dear,” the Jester murmured, “Everyone has a shadow.”
The Jester’s grip on her wrist loosened and the young girl jerked her hand away, looking at the Jester in terrified peeks. What did he want?
“I offer you no harm,” he said calmly, leaning gracefully on the counter, “I’ve only come to offer you something.”
“I don’t want it,” Juliet said stonily.
“You don’t even know what it is yet,” the Jester said with a smile.
“You never give anyone anything,” Juliet said, “you trade. I know you, Jester, and I will not be swayed.”
“As you wish, child,” the Jester said casually. He turned, walking from the shop as silently as he had come. With his hand resting on the knob he turned and said, “Each mask has a person that inspired it, Juliet. They are all alive. Keep that in mind.”
And he was gone, the door had not opened but he was gone, leaving nothing but a dark shadow on the store and the bracelet of bruises around Juliet’s wrist.
She looked at the door as if the Jester still stood there and then looked about at the masks, expecting them to jump off the walls and attack her. She stayed still for a long, silent minute and when nothing happened she released a deep breath that turned into a fear-induced sob.
Juliet slipped from her feet and huddled on the ground behind the counter and sobbing uncontrollably, her entire body shaking with the violence of her tears.
It wasn’t until she lifted her hand to rub at her eyes that she saw the handkerchief, made of the darkest black, trimmed in delicate white lace and embroidered with an intricate red ‘J’ in one corner. She flung it away from herself and it went sliding beneath a cabinet. Juliet curled up into a tight ball and sobbed and trembled.

For the next few days, Juliet’s father went off to run errands, leaving Juliet alone in the shop and each time her father left, Juliet fetched a book from the small selection her father had collected over the years and buried herself in its pages, ignoring the masks completely.
Then, all too soon, Juliet finished the book and she was left sitting alone in a shop full of masks.
She stared at her favorite, the silver ballerina, with an almost tangible longing; she wanted to be able to dance gracefully through the store again, she wanted to be able to stand on her toes and not wobble…
Carefully, Juliet slipped from the stood and walked over to the mask. She lifted it from its peg and cradled it in her hands.
“Just one more time,” Juliet whispered, “and then I’ll never do it again.”
She lifted the mask to her face and a curious feeling of being pulled forward, towards the mask, swept over her. Her head felt like it was going to fly into a thousand pieces and her stomach was flipping over and over and over like a dying fish.
Juliet opened her mouth to let out a long, pained scream as if she was being ripped apart with a thousand white-hot hooks but the only noise that issued from her throat was a soft, rusty gasp.
Then she stood in the center of a stage, a sea of faces staring back at her expectantly. She stood en pointe, a satin toe slipper hugging the lines of her foot like a lover, her other leg was bent gracefully, the point of the toe slipper resting as lightly as a butterfly on her calf and her arms arching above her head, long, silver nails shining beneath a bright light that warmed her body that was immodestly clothed for a poor little mask girl.
The music swelled as slow and as stately as a swan opening her wings to the mornings pale light, and without thinking about it, Juliet began to spin. The rustle of satin and lace filled her ears as she turned herself again and again in the center of the stage. The eyes of the audience lit up and they murmured to each other in appreciation; who could be lovelier than the prima ballerina?
Juliet looked out at the audience and did not see the edge of the eye holes of the mask. She wondered what was happening to her as she continued to dance across the stage. Other dancers looked at her with obvious envy and hatred and Juliet felt a smug joy at their jealousy; they would give their souls to be able to dance like she did.
Warm hands rested on her waist and she was lifted into the air with the elegant strength of the cavalier who stood as Juliet’s counterpart and was just as graceful as she was.
The cavalier and the ballerina danced over the polished stage, her glossy curls pinned high on her head with a few ringlets accenting her long, shapely neck and her enormous dark eyes focused with dreamy admiration on her partner. The cavalier matched her every step flawlessly, following her across the stage when she retreated, lifting her into the air, spinning her with one hand resting protectively on her waist and looking down at her with jewel-bright eyes.
Juliet knew her dance, had labored over its intricate steps and the pattern of her body for months and preformed without a single falter. When the performance reached its climax and ended, the audience surged to their feet, their eyes alight and inspired as they applauded the Ballerina and her Cavalier.
Juliet and her partner bowed and exited with just as much grace as they had exerted when dancing.
Hidden behind the shield of scarlet velvet, Juliet allowed herself a true and proper breath, listening to the thunderous applause. She smiled to herself; she had preformed better than she had ever dreamed.
And just this morning I was a lowly mask girl! She thought, her smile growing a little. The smile suddenly died.
That’s right, Juliet thought, I am a mask girl! What happened?
“M-Madame,” a voice spoke from her shoulder. Juliet looked over curiously and saw a small, weak-eyed man standing there, his watery blue eyes staring at her admiringly and his hands twisting around one another in an intricate dance.
“Yes?” Juliet asked in a voice that was not her own; it was too lovely, husky and sensual as hers would never be.
“I have never seen dancing like yours before,” the man said breathlessly, “I would be most honored if you would meet my daughter… she is here with me… would you?”
Juliet smiled at him graciously and said, “I would be flattered to meet her!”
The man smiled gratefully at her and walked away only to return a breath later with a small, blond girl holding onto him and looking up at Juliet with shy adoration.
“Hello, little one,” Juliet said gently. The little girl’s eyes became as large as saucers and she uttered a brief, squeaky greeting.
“She wishes to become a ballerina herself one day,” her father said proudly, looking down at his daughter lovingly. “Do you have any advice for her?”
Juliet considered for a moment and then smiled down into the girls eyes before she said in a soft, melodic voice, “All ballet comes down to two things; practice and love. Remember that without love of your art you cannot become an artist… If you love to dance than all you have to do is practice and you shall become the most wonderful ballerina in the world.”
The little girl gaped at her and nodded slowly, taking the words to heart. Juliet smiled and the man beamed then led his daughter away, stroking her hair and the two of them talking quickly… they reminded Juliet of her and her father. She smiled a little sadly, knowing that, even if she was a prima ballerina, envied and loved by the world, it would not compare to the love of her father.
Could I have fallen asleep? Juliet wondered, her eyes becoming distant and unfocused, Is that what this is?
She doubted it; the ache in her toes told her that she was wide awake and, despite the impossibility of it, this was all real.
Could it have been…? Juliet trembled; the Jester’s magic could do this…
“So,” his voice was magnificent but Juliet turned, stumbling away from him. The cavalier stood opposite her, shining eyes filled with barely suppressed laughter, “Finally you have figured it out.”
“I do not accept your offer!” Juliet hissed, clinging to that as she would a shield.
“This is not my offer, fair Juliet,” the Jester murmured, stepping forward. The moment he moved, the world began to blur and run like a chalk drawing beneath rain. Juliet swayed, unsteady on her feet and suddenly she was back in the mask shop, pitch dark now with the silver ballerina mask on her face and the Jester standing before her.
Juliet wrenched the mask from her face and glared at the Jester who was nothing but a dark shadow against the pale lamp-lit windows.
“Leave me, Jester,” she growled, “I have no need of what you offer!”
“So you say, child, but I danced with you and I have never seen more joy,” the demon sounded a little repulsed by it.
“It was all an illusion! A trick!” Juliet snapped.
“And what in life isn’t?” the Jester hissed back, finally showing something other than amusement. “If you fall in love with a man who is unfaithful to you, isn’t that also an illusion?”
“Leave me!” Juliet cried.
“Listen to my offer and then I shall,” the Jester said quietly. Juliet opened her mouth to deny him his request but found her tongue thick and heavy, lying like a dead rat in her mouth.
“It will be easier if you aren’t screaming that you won’t accept my offer,” the Jester said dryly. Juliet closed her mouth and waited, hating the power he had over her.
“All I ask is this; you may become any and all of these masks at any time you wish in exchange for your eternal servitude,” the Jester said, “Imagine, Juliet, being anything and everything besides a lowly mask girl… and for something as simple as your obedience… surely that is not too high a price?”
Juliet felt the life return to her tongue and spat out, “I accept nothing you offer!”
The Jester recoiled, his eyes glowing crimson-black in the darkness. He spoke next in a voice that was guttural and dark, as if the beast within him was speaking, rather than the refined mask he had cultivated: “So be it.”
Suddenly searing hot claws locked around her throat. The Jester loomed over her, wings made of shadows opening around him and filling the dark store with the chill of the Forevernight, the hell that the Dark One ruled. His crimson-shot-with-black eyes filled the world around her as her breath was choked from her body and his claws burned her flesh, making the air ripe with the stench of cooking human.
“This is what awaits the foolhardy followers of the light, Juliet,” the monster snarled, breathing frozen breath into her face. Juliet’s eyes rolled back in her head and her last thought was of her father.

Juliet jerked awake, her body coated in a layer of cold, grimy sweat and a scream clogging her throat.
Sunlight streamed across her, stabbing into her sensitive eyes and blinding her. Juliet lifted an arm to shield her face and squinted, looking around bemusedly.
She lay in the center of the store on the hard, wood floor without a blanket or a pillow… which would explain the ache in her back and shoulders but it didn’t explain the burns on her neck or the ache in her toes.
Juliet looked down at her feet and winced as she saw that all of her nail beds were bleeding and that the tip of her feet were deep blue-black.
“Not a dream,” she whispered and lifted her other hand to wipe her eyes. She stopped when she felt her fingers curled around the edge of a mask. She looked down at it and saw that it was the silver ballerina… but that she was no longer a ballerina… simply a mask, devoid of life and sparkle.
Juliet stood, crying out as she rested her weight on her feet and shuffled across the store, walking on her heels as much as she could and carefully set the mask back on its peg then wandered out of the shop and into her room where, without even getting under the covers, she fell fast asleep.
A while later she heard her door open and rolled over, staring blearily as her father tip-toed across the room and stroked her hair aside.
“Juliet?” he whispered.
“Yes, father?” Juliet yawned. Her father sighed in relief.
“You didn’t come down this morning,” he said softly, “I thought you might be sick!”
“No,” Juliet said, sitting up and smiling at her father, “I was just very tired.”
“Well… alright. Do you suppose you can watch the shop today?” he asked gently. Juliet looked down at her feet, wondering how she was going to wander about the shop when she could barely stand and saw that they had been carefully wrapped in gauze and didn’t hurt nearly as much.
She looked up at her father and he smiled at her.
“I don’t know why you thought it would be a good idea to kick the wall until you couldn’t walk but I paid a healer to help a little,” he said. Juliet smiled brightly at her father and carefully got to her feet, not putting too much weight on her toes.
“Thank you, father!” she said hugging him tightly. He kissed the top of her head lovingly.
“You’re very welcome, Juliet,” he replied, “Just don’t kick anything else for a while, alright?”
Juliet laughed delightedly and shooed her father away so she could dress to watch the shop.
The next few weeks were calm ones. Juliet stopped talking to the masks and started to make friends with a few girls who came into the shop to look at her father’s handiwork. She even surprised herself by flirting a little with one of the young boys that came in with the rest of the released classes.
Then, one day, her father brought home a beautiful wooden box.
Juliet looked up from her drawing curiously as the bell above the door rang. She grinned when she saw her father and gazed curiously at the box he had in his hands. He smiled at her and set the box on the counter.
“What is it, father?” Juliet asked, looking up at him. He winked at her.
“My favorite mask ever.”
Juliet gasped, amazed that she had forgotten such a thing and leaned in close to see what her father had made that he was so very pleased with.
He opened the box carefully and there, staring up at the two of them was a hard, leather mask. Around its eyes and mouth black fire spun and twirled and its jaws were filled with small, sharp teeth, painted white in contrast to the shiny black lips. Juliet’s eyes widened and her breath died in her throat as she stared down at her father’s favorite mask… a mask that had been inspired by the Jester.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” her father asked proudly, “I never tried something so… dangerous before, even the one with the Cheshire smile couldn’t compare to the Jester!”
He laughed and lifted the thing from its box and as he did, the black paint shone with a thousand different colors. Juliet felt her throat constrict and started to shake but her father took no notice.
“And then I had a dream about making a mask like this and couldn’t not! It turned out just like I imagined it… Here, how does it look?” her father asked and lifted the cursed thing to his face. Juliet tried to cry out but, like so long ago, all that issued from her throat was a breathless, rusty sigh.
The moment the mask molded to her father’s face he gasped and then started to scream. He stopped holding it up to his face and started pulling on the sides, desperate to get it off.
Juliet stumbled away and watched blood flow down from where the mask touched her father’s skin, falling into his eyes and coating his throat as if the entire inside of the mask was covered in broken glass.
He screamed for her desperately as he tried to pull the mask from his face, throwing himself around the shop in desperation. The other masks, hanging on the walls watched and all of their painted and carved mouths curved upwards and started to laugh. The store was full of malicious mirth; high screaming giggles; low, throaty guffaws; shrieking cackles; hissing chuckles… Juliet wished she was deaf so she didn’t have to hear their amusement and still, her father screamed.
“No, no, no, no, no!” Juliet shrieked, tears sliding ignored down her face.
Then it all stopped.
She stood in a silent shop; her father frozen where he stood, his fingers hooked on the sides of the mask, drops of precious blood stilled in the air. Masks still leered down at him but none of them laughed and outside, people stood frozen.
“Juliet,” the Jester murmured. She turned, staring at him through eyes blurry with tears.
“Why?” she screamed, “Why me? What the hell am I to you?”
The Jester, now with long, silver-blond hair and enormous dark eyes, looked at Juliet’s father for a moment then turned his ever-changing gaze on the girl.
“You brought all of these masks to life,” he told her, “just by imagining them stories and personalities, they became whatever you dreamed… through your magic, Juliet, they actually lived… I find that invaluable.”
The Jester looked back over at Juliet’s father and she followed his gaze. “I can make this all stop,” the prince of darkness said softly, “I can make him like he was… and all you have to do is accept my offer.”
Juliet was silent, staring at her father. He would die that way, she knew, with the mask digging into his face, he would die in agony… with the mask forever attached to his face. If she still refused, her father would die.
“Fine,” Juliet whispered brokenly.
“I want to hear you say it,” the Jester hissed, his breath tickling her ear and cheek. Juliet shivered and closed her eyes. She swallowed hard and heard something click dryly in her throat.
Slowly, Juliet opened her eyes and looked hard into the face of the Jester, his true face; black paint danced and swirled around his lips and around eyes the color of her father’s blood.
Slowly, as if each word cost her dearly she said, “I accept your offer.”

Art (WARNING: Ennui and Angst Up ahead! Proceed with Caution)

Why is it every time I draw something I’m more impressed with it than any one else?

And why is it, sometimes when I doodle something while watching TV everyone thinks it’s so fantastic? How does that work?

My medium is, more often than not, windows paint. Everyone who has some form of windows, has paint and usually it’s used for doodling when you’re bored and you don’t want to play another game of solitaire. For the most part art on windows paint is boxy and messy but I’ve actually developed some skill on it and, when I draw something, you can usually tell what it is without it being a stick figure.

True it’s usually very surreal and I make full use of the copy/paste tools but still, I have some pride in my computer art, especially since (in my opinion) I can’t draw in real life to save my life. Plus it’s something I enjoy doing and it wastes a lot of time.

And yet every time I finish a piece of computer art and I show it to mom for her approval she seems unimpressed by it. Not only that but more often than not she just gives it a cursory look over and says (in that horrible voice that parents employ when they don’t have an opinion but they don’t want to hurt their kid’s feelings) that it’s pretty cool.

To Moms and Dads of teenagers: do not use that voice on your kids after they learn to understand inflection. We don’t like it! It’s like when you say, “I’m not angry… just disappointed.” AUGH! Just cut us off at the knees why don’t you?!

Anyway.

I just finished this really cool (I thought) piece of computer art and went downstairs to show mom and as usual she did her little, “Oh. Neato.” Thing that just drives me nuts! And she’s been using it more and more often with my art… It’s like a passive-aggressive way to smother my art. And I know she doesn’t even mean to do it! Grr!

At least I’m happy with it. Geh.

I’ve been sick but my grades are still good. Friends are still good. Uncle is still dying. Mom is still in school. It’s a pretty blah day over here.

Maybe it’ll be better when I wake up. (5:30 in the morning and I still haven’t gone to bed! Thank you insomnia… and school, but that’s my own fault.)

Write again, sooner or later.

Finally...

I thought it was time to update. I’ve been meaning to for quite some time but every time I think about it, something else comes up and needs my attention… Bow down before the ultimate procrastinator.

News for my faithful readers: I saw 300 four times and am completely addicted. It’s not just the beautiful half naked men running around, which is very nice in an of itself, it’s also the fact that those beautiful half naked men are killing things. With spears and swords no less… My best friend, Eden, explained it best when she said, “I wan a guy that looks like he just cut someone’s head off.”

See in this day and age you have people killing each other with guns, bombs and dinky little knives that aren’t all that impressive. No more swords, spears, axes or anything that really cool like that. Not that guns are any less effective and can, at times, be quire impressive… it’s just that guns don’t have the same oomph as a sword.

I guess I’m just weird, but we all knew that.

More news: I just (relative term) finished reading Alice and Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass, which I’ve never read before. It was great fun and I know that had I been younger I would have just LOVED Alice… though she didn’t have a lot of common sense. Older now, I prefer the Cheshire cat and the Mad Hatter.

But what I’ve figured out is that all from earth-to-other-world stories follow the same basic outline as Alice and Wonderland You have your Alice Character, who is of course the protagonist, and then you have your White Rabbit character who leads the protagonist into the other world and so on and so forth. I’ve applied it to books like The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis and they Alice and Wonderland rules have applied as well as to more recent books like Clive Barker’s Abarat Series (great set of books, if you’re looking for something to read), where they also fit in really well.

One more thing about Alice and Wonderland before we move on: I’ve decided that my first tattoo will be the White Rabbit. Not like the little drawings in the book but something of my own design, probably borderline creepy but not openly scary. And the reason I’ve decided this is because a few weeks ago, before I started reading Alice and Wonderland, I had this dream that I was just going along to get along in this really crowded city street and that at my side there’s this white rabbit just hopping right along with me. And since I’ve woken up from that dream I’ve been seeing white rabbits EVERYWHERE. The day I woke up from the dream, Alice and Wonderland came on and I’ve seen white rabbit candy and statues and bundt cake pans until finally, when mom and I were at Costplus, I saw this little clay mask, about the size of my palm, of a white rabbit for the Chinese Zodiac and I bought it. Now it’s staring at me from my bulletin board every day and since I put it there, the white rabbit’s have stopped following me around.

I asked mom what all the white rabbits could mean and she told that it might be a sign that I was on the right path. I agree but I decided that I wanted to be the white rabbit for other people… SO That’s the story behind me wanting the white rabbit tattoo… so there.

Subject change.

A while ago I sent away for a book that I once had bought read to pieces (literally) and I got it on Monday! Yay! I’ve been reading it voraciously but it’s been kind of odd. When I was younger and I read it I remember thinking that Marian was just the coolest woman-warrior that could be! She was soft hearted, but knew what she had to do and did it, and brave and beautiful and so on and so forth and I also remember thinking that the sheriff was just a horrible, manipulative, hard hearted dog who deserved everything he got in the end!

WELL! Now reading it I keep thinking, “Holy mother of mouthmuck*! Marian’s a naïve, little wide eyed moon calf!” I was floored by how much I had changed in just a few years.

There’s this one scene in the book where the Sheriff’s daughter, Eleanor, having been caught in the act with a wandering mistral, claims rape when everyone knows about her wonton behavior. The minstrel is sentenced to have his tongue cut out for his trespass and Marian went to the sheriff to try and convince him otherwise because everyone, including the Sheriff himself, knows that Eleanor was more likely the aggressor. Obviously Marian fails her tactics and the minstrel is still going to have his tongue cut out and Marian is all sorts of bent out of shape because of that because he’s innocent.

GAWD! What else is the sheriff supposed to do when his daughter claims rape? Call her a liar in front of everyone and ruin any even slight chance she had at a normal life? He had no choice, damn it! I know if I had claimed rape against the minstrel my dad would have ripped the man’s tongue out himself!

I was just floored by the fact that I could have been so… young and naïve. It’s especially horrible because I look back at how girl I was and just wince. I much prefer what I am now.

Kinda funny how I got all sorts of twisted over Marian being so damn stupid, huh?

One more thing before I sign out.

Mom and I saw Grindhouse, which was great fun… if a little long. She and I didn’t realize that they were full length movies, though we should have guessed.

Planet Terror by Robert Rodriquez was wonderful. Lot’s of fun and wonderfully gory and the lead actress, Rose McGowan, was so damn cute and sexy. I had a lot of fun with that one.

With Deathproof, by Quentin Tarantino, had great car chases at the very beginning and the end. But the time between those wonderful crash ‘em up scenes was just pedantic. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m a firm believer that good dialogue can save an otherwise horrible movie… but it was just a wee too much for me… Plus they killed Kurt Russel who played Snake Plissken in Escape from L.A. and Escape from New York.

That, my dear and faithful readers, is unforgivable in my little book of offenses.

See, Snake Plissken is my ultimate hero and has been since I’ve seen him. He has ‘white knight’ qualities that appealed to my little-girl nature but he also had a tattoo, scars, an eye patch and a Harley! So he was the kind of guy that would save you from getting shot and then hand you a shot gun so you could shoot back!

And that appealed to me as a little girl as much as it appeals to me now.

So to kill him… I was all sorts of funky about it afterwards. Like, if I was an emotional person, would probably have been crying outright. I had to sooth myself with cold ribs that mom had made before we left and then watch Escape from L.A. before I felt better.

How bizarre is that?

Pretty damn bizarre.

Alright, I’ve basically brought you up to speed in my life so I think I’m done now… I have homework that needs my attention anyway.

Hopefully I’ll post sooner than later!

-Rose-

*Mother of mouthmuck is a curse the Augrha from the Dark Crystal says to the Skekses when they capture her in place of Jen. In case you were wondering.

Up to Speed

Harry Potter is available for pre-ordering today.

As a completely obsessed fan girl not immediately reserving a copy is making my head hurt but I have no money because I have no job. I need to get a job so that I can by Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows… My sanity depends on it.

ANYWAY.

I’m signed up for the insight online school of Washington and I’ll be starting that in Monday, I believe. I’m so excited; I never did really well in public schools because I’m not that confident in person, but online… I’m completely and totally at ease online. I think it has something to do with my real life self image.

Meh.

Next item of business: my upcoming birthday.

I’m turning 17 on Feb. 10th… that’s nine days away! I still can’t get over it but I suppose time flies when you take two naps a day *grin*. It’s been a very, very lazy year and I don’t plan to have another one of them. But then again, summer is just around the corner and I plan to hide in the cellar with my laptop in the summer… Which means being lazy again. The universe is trying to deter me from my plan of active-ness.

I hate summer. It’s too hot and too bright and there’s never anything fun to do because we have no monies and everything fun takes lots of monies… Sigh!Oh, well. Maybe mom will win the lottery or I’ll suddenly get inspired and finish a book, have it published and maybe it will become a number one best seller and we’ll all be rich beyond our wildest dreams!!!We can dream.

Ciao

The World Is An Even Stranger Place

Once upon a time when I was young, innocent and naïve, I moved from Oakland to Moscow, Idaho and I met two girls who would change my life forever. One’s name was Ava and the other, Caitlin.
The three if us hit it off and became friends.
Over the years that I knew them they lied, tricked and hurt my innocent little heart until I had made a complete turn around, on top of that my parents were getting a divorce and I was slogging my way through my teen angst.
By the time the dust settled I was what I am today; bitter, aloof, untrusting and jaded. Over time I healed but I did put up massive walls and masks so that something like that wouldn’t happen to me ever again.
And it hasn’t. The few that have gotten close enough to see what lies beyond the walls and beneath the masks know not to hurt me… they know I would hurt back and I had excellent teachers.
But now, three years later, Caitlin has contacted me… and she says she knows that what happened was her fault and that she wants to be friends again.
Of course part of my brain immediately scoffed at the thought of ever being friends with her again but then a wise voice spoke from the back of my head…
How will I ever heal if I don’t forgive? How will I ever grow if I don’t move on and let go of my anger? Hatred is one of the most tiring things to me and I decided that I was done hating a memory.
I replied to Caitlin and we’re starting again… we’re going to try to be friends again.

STOP STEALING FROM THE PENGUINS!

I saw Happy Feet.
God damnit.
You know, I could watch a hundred people be blown up or smashed or starved or ANYTHING like that and I wouldn't even bat an eye...
But... Hurt the penguins and I will kill you.
Poor penguins.
THEY DIDN'T DO ANYTHING TO ANYBODY! THEY WADDLE FOR GODS SAKE!
STOP STEALING THEIR FISH!!!
See how these movies effect me? I'm never eating canned tuna again... Not if starves the flightless fish-birds.
Poor penguins...
Anyway, I don't want to get on a tirade about how human beings are the most worthless creatures on the face of the earth so lets talk about something closer to home.
THANKSGIVING!
Oh, boy! The mass consumption of 'seasonal' food!
I don't like turkey... I'm the only person in the world that looks at Thanksgiving and goes, "Hey! Let's go out for Chinese! : D!" Dad, brother and I did that for Christmas one time; strung up the lights on the tree while watching the Vampire Hunter D movie... That was so much fun... We should do it again.
However! This Thanksgiving promises to be some fun as we have three different kinds of pies! The classic pumpkin, bought from our local grocery store
Sweet Potato with a really yummy pecan topping which mom discovered last year and we haven't been able to let go since.
And, behind curtain number three, the weirdest pie you ever did see; Watermelon! You read that right, folks! Watermelon Pie made with the RIND and with vinegar. Yum!
I can imagine the faces I'm getting so I feel obligated to assure my faithful readers that it is indeed quite yummy... Oddly spicy and very season-ish. It tastes like autumn, ya know what I mean?
ALSO!
More fun things; GAYLE IS SPENDING THANKSGIVING WITH US!!!
This makes me so unbelivably happy, it's not even funny. Last night I was up at 2 am vacuuming so that I could show off my room (s). She'll be here on Thanksgiving between 6pm and midnight and will be leaving on Friday at seven... Which is way to short a time for her to enjoy my crazy company but I think it'll be enough.
SO! Look! A post! Be happy and go away.
Later.

Stand On Your Soapbox Now

Been talking end of the world scenarios with the mom unit. For once I’m not really nervous or anxious about it… if anything it’s annoying because more likely than not the entire ‘end of civilization’ thing is gonna put a major kybosh on my writing career.
Damn it.
That’s all I ever wanted to do was write and be published and all… Ah well; I’ll still be able to write, just not on my laptop… which sucks… I suppose I should print out all my stories so I don’t lose all that. Not tight away or anything but when the end is starting us dead in the face, ya know?
You know it would be really nice if the end of the world would be just that; the end of the WORLD… Everyone goes on about it like when America falls the entire planet will just collapse. Ha! I wish, as I said that would make things a ton easier.
But no, no. It’ll be an entire mini-series deal. The economy will collapse; the coasts and big cities will turn on themselves like the Donner party to the empth degree and the people left alive will be standing in the wreckage and have to work towards a new and better civilization.
I’ve already thought of a couple laws that I’ll try to enforce to stop this entire thing from spinning out of control again. They would offend people so I’ll keep them to myself and avoid all of the grief I would get.
Man! All I wanted to do was write! But I’ll bet I’ll have to be one of the revolutionaries and lead the stupid little sheep out of their empathy and fear! Have to teach quickly that there will be no mercy on my part… ooooh! I’m gonna be HATED! Buaha!
That is, if I survive at all…
As I said, I would rather have the sun explode or something so we were all destroyed in the blink of an eye. No revolutionaries then, huh?
Depressing ass thoughts.
No worries though, my faithful readers, I’m not just coping out or anything; I’ll keep writing for as long as I can. Maybe we’ll even avoid disaster entirely and actually become a proper nation again.
Yeah, and then we can all ride unicorns over rainbows while singing.
Heh… I’m so cynical.
Other than that little end of the world tirade, I’ve been sick as a dog for the past week, which would be why I’ve not been on the computer at all; the thought of doing anything but sleeping was enough to make me roll over in bed and scrunch up in a tighter ball, trying to ignore the world around me. Run on sentence.
So that’s what the past week was spent doing. This most recent weekend however was spent with my younger friends talking and talking and talking and TALKING and laughing… Much laughing. I hut myself with all the laughing as I always do.
AND SODA!!! YAY SODA!
HAHAHA!
And I am not delirious so stop lookin’ at me like that.
(She says to the empty blog)
Anything else to report?
Nupe.
Later.