The Night of Lies

A man walked into a masked ball. A stranger in town, he thought he might take his time to join in the local festivities. Like any masked ball, it was held in a large hall, with music and dancing. Everyone was dressed up in ornate costumes. It was a night where you could be anything you wanted to be, whether it was a character from a fairy tale or a famous historical figure. Or just take it as an excuse to be blindingly beautiful. Coloured figures whirled around the dance floor, faces all hidden behind gorgeous masks. A man could never identify his best friend by looks alone, for the entire world changed its face on this night. Everyone could dance freely, without fear that perhaps their partner was an enemy waiting with a hidden dagger or a jealous rival, because no one was recognisable by their outward appearance.

Many of those who went for the ball would spend many a day, even weeks, in advance, planning and designing their entire outfit, including elaborate headpieces that were integrated into fancy masks. Nobody would ever wear their costume twice, for it was deemed unoriginal to do so, and besides, the entire point was to be unrecognisable. Sometimes entire fortunes were spent on this attire, for the event was but one chance in the year one could play at make believe and forget themselves, a single chance to do whatever one pleased at a party and not be judged by others. Most importantly, it was the Night of Lies, so named for obvious reasons, the only chance in the year to fake things, to lie, and get away with it. Anybody could attend, so long as they had a costume and an invitation which could be procured, very simply, from people handing them out on the streets and in the taverns or inns.

Greeted at the door by an attendant with the head of a donkey, the man was asked to produce his invitation. When presented with it, the attendant could not help but compliment, "Sir! What a mask! What an exquisite thing! What skill, what thought must have gone into such an item." All the man could say in reply was a 'But', for the next moment a beautiful creature with a cat's face whisked him off in an energetic dance not unlike a waltz. Once again he was complimented for his mask. "What creativity you have put into your outfit, my friend! Such detail and wit! Ah, this is a creation that must be shared, to inspire us all to do the same for ourselves next time!" Before he could respond again with a 'But', his voice was caught by the air as the dancers switched partners in a crazy dance they called Change. Dancers would change partners when the music changed.

Partner after partner, the man was spun around the ballroom were equally eager to comment on his mask as the donkey-head and cat-face had done, and partners were changed always before he could respond, as if the music had some cruel conspiracy to never allow him to speak. Soon it became such that every drumbeat, every musical note had the intent to quieten him, as if they knew what it was he was going to say, something so terrible as to go against the ethics of such a party. But of course it was inevitable that the song should end, to allow weary dancers a drink before they rejoined the throng.

The man found himself next to Cat-Face again. The feline features stretched themselves into a grin, and a pink mouth opened to inquire, “You were about to speak before. It has been such a pleasure meeting you.” A hand extended as a gesture of social greeting. A hand taken, and promptly shaken. “I was just saying what a wonderful mask you have got on. It has the make of a great craftsman! You must have paid a great deal to have it made.” The face seemed to turn green with envy, but at once swiftly changed to reflect a grin. “You were about to say?”

“You say how wonderful my mask is. But, I am not even wearing one.”