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Chapter 32
CHRISTY
The air thrums with heat, it’s thick and cloying. The scent of cigarette smoke lingering, a blanket of silvery-grey clouds hangs above us. The theatre we’re performing in is small, intimate and situated on the southern side of the castle where the guests are to remain this evening. The theatre seats a maximum of twenty-one people around three round tables.
Every seat is filled.
Faceless men and women sit in the audience wearing gowns, dark suits and masks. Konrad, Leon and Jakub are seated amongst them, one at each table. They talk in low voices, laughing and entertaining their guests as wine and food are served by the castle staff. Tiny candles flicker on each table, and high above them Two is perched on a swing, gently swaying back and forth in the darkness, waiting for her moment to perform. Right now it’s the break between acts. Half of the numbers have already performed, the rest will do so after my solo dance.
In less than two minutes I will step onto the stage and dance for these men and women, for The Masks. I will show them a glimpse of my soul. A pieceIchoose to share, not something they’ve ripped from me.
I will make The Masks see what they’ve enslaved, trapped.
I will prove to them that I’m more than a number, more than a toy, more than a puppet.
By the end of this performance I will become Christy the girl.
I will becomehuman.
At least that’s what I’m hoping for.
Then I will escape as the girl they brought here, not the number they reduced me to.
“Are you sure about this?” Three asks as she ties the ends of two long lengths of string around each of my wrists and hands me the small pair of scissors I requested.
“I am.”
“One won’t be pleased, she hasn’t approved this.”
“I don’t care.”
“And the dress… I thought Konrad told you to wear something else?”
“He did. I’m not.”
“You’ll be punished,” she says gently, her voice wracked with concern.
“I don’t care.”
Three sighs. “Okay. Then are you ready?”
“Yes,” I say firmly, nodding my head, feeling claustrophobic beneath the mask I’ve been given to wear. Ironically, it’s the same shade of pale pink as the dress I wasn’t supposed to wear and covers my whole face, not revealing even a glimmer of flesh. Of all the Numbers, I’m the only one wearing a mask, a last minute addition that I’ve been ordered to wear. I guess this is The Masks’ way of claiming me as theirs, of letting their clients know subtly that I belong to them, despite me performing in The Menagerie.
“It’s time to get on stage,” she says, hugging me before stepping back into the shadows of the backstage area with the rest of the Numbers who aren’t performing.
Breathing in deeply to settle my nerves, I step onto the stage. One begins to play the grand piano, a spotlight switching on and covering her in a soft white light that makes her seem impossibly beautiful. The chatter in the audience dies down as they listen to her play. She’s naked except for a sheer black kimono that hangs off her shoulders and flows over the stool she’s sitting on, revealing her pert breasts and perfectly toned body. The grand piano itself is made of white lacquered wood, contrasting her dark hair, dress, and soul perfectly.
Despite it all, I get a rush of adrenaline as I take up my starting position, still steeped in darkness, and watch her delicate fingers move over the piano keys. As she plays, another spotlight flicks on revealing Six and Seven as they stand to the right of the stage. Six is wearing an emerald green bustier with heeled black pumps, showcasing her curvaceous hips and legs. Next to her Seven stands with his chin tilted up and his chest bare. He wears sheer red trousers, his cock and neatly trimmed pubic hair on display. They’re both stunning.
A shiver cascades down my spine as I watch Seven draw in a deep breath. When he opens his mouth, that first exquisite note passing his lips, my whole body shudders. This song,Dancing After Deathby Matt Maeson is utterly perfect for the way I’m feeling. There’s a morbidity to the song, a gentle sway of secrecy,sorcery, that fits this night and the darkness in this room perfectly.
Seven’s voice rings out around the theatre, a perfect accompaniment to One’s piano playing. The beauty of his voice is haunting, emotional, eerie. When Six joins in, harmonising, it becomes goddamn orgasmic.
I’m wet just listening to them sing.
They’re both sin and virtue. Celestial and fiendish.
They’re exquisite, rare, utterly irreplaceable.
