“This is your kingdom.” He pointed his paddle at me accusingly, like I was to blame. He’d hit me with the paddle once, and it bloody hurt. I pointed at him with a look that said don’t you bloody dare, and shook my head as I looked at his paddle, which I suspected was about to come at me. “You need to get this place under control. You have allowed too many things to go wrong since you decided to play in that circus upstairs.”
Most everyone joined in the cheers, but gradually, they all started asking the same questions I had. Who had invited all of us, and why did we all come if we had no clue who our host was? The only person who could answer any of these questions was the odd man out.
Eyes like obsidian peek from behind his Guy Fawkes mask. Its twisted grin is like the antithesis to the gaping frown of mine. And yet, the foreshadowing of anarchy feels all the same. There’s a suave air to him as he dances up alongside me, just within reach and yet so far away. The energy between us feels static, like a live wire connects us.
So, this is strange. There’s a tragedy mask sitting on my kitchen table. I don’t own a tragedy mask. I have no idea where it came from or how in Tartarus it got in my house. It’s giving me a weird vibe, too, like déjà vu. It’s so bizarre. I think I’ll keep it.