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“Me too,” he replies. “You know, she had a favourite quote from the book. It went like this:If I am the phantom, it is because man's hatred has made me so. If I am to be saved it is because your love redeems me…” His voice trails off as he lifts the mask out of its case and flips it over. “Engraved into the back of the mask is that exact same quote.”
“That’s beautiful,” I say, taking it from him, my fingertips grazing over the cool metal.
“It is. My father always referred to my mother as a whore. He made me believe that she was nothing special, that she was beneath him, and in his eyes she was. Then I found this and for whatever reason he gave me a small glimpse into the woman she was. This quote, it’s significant don’t you think?” he asks me.
“Yes, I believe it is.”
“Do you think she thought she could save him?”
“Almost certainly,” I reply, my heart swelling with compassion for him and sadness for the loss of a woman who he so desperately needed in his life.
“It’s funny, when Leon first suggested we become the Masks the day my father shot Star, I had no idea that my mother loved the book and the musical so much. In fact, I knew nothing about her. I found this mask a few years later. It began my obsession with collecting unusual objects.”
Jakub places the case back on the table, watching me as I hold the mask up to my face. It covers my unmarred side, revealing my port wine birthmark. He helps me to fix it in place, then when he’s done he presses a kiss against my cheek and stands aside so that I can see my reflection in the window.
“It fits you perfectly, just like I thought it would.”
“Jakub, how is this even possible?” I ask, marvelling at how this mask seems to be made for me, its edges somehow meeting the shape of my birthmark perfectly.
“How has any of this been possible?” he counters with a wry smile. “You know, when you first revealed your true face to me, I was reminded of this mask. The fact it fits you so perfectly has to mean something. That’s what I’m holding on to despite my own fears.”
Fate’s touch tracks down my spine, making me shiver. “It has to,” I agree.
“When I first laid eyes on your true face, I knew you were mine even if I kept denying it. I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve seen. You will never hide who you are again. I want everyone to see what I see, Christy.”
“No one has ever looked at me the way you all do,” I whisper.
“Then they are fools, because the kind of beauty you have doesn’t just reside in the surface of your skin or the colour of your hair. It doesn’t just dance over your flesh like the freckles that paint your body or shine in the brightness of your eyes. It lives and breathes in the compassion of your heart, the honesty of your words, the courage you’re scarred with and the kindness of your touch. You are a remarkable woman, Christy. You humble me.”
A well of acceptance fills my chest and I feel the need to tell him how I feel. That I love this man. That I love them all, every broken, damaged part of them. “Jakub, I lo—” I begin, but he takes my hand, shaking his head.
“Don’t. Tell me when you return, when you come back for us.”
Blinking back the tears pricking my eyes, I nod. “When I return,” I agree.
Squeezing my hand once more, he withdraws his fingers and takes a deep, steadying breath before picking up the jet black mask and sliding it over his face. “It’s time to go. See you soon,moja milosc…”
I tip my head to the side, frowning.
“My love,” he repeats, and the manIlove walks away from me, his words ringing in my ears.
* * *
“How long willshe be out for?” I ask Thirteen as we both stare at Nala.
She’s fast asleep, her white gown spread out over the blue cotton sheets of Thirteen’s bed like a swathe of clouds across a summer sky. Ever since I arrived here she’s been a breath of fresh air, a friend when I needed one the most. She’s a good kid and I hate doing this to her.
“For the whole night. She’ll wake up once it’s over,” Thirteen reassures me.
We fall silent for the moment, the sound of Nala’s soft breaths filling the room and somehow helping to soothe the rapid beat of my own heart. “She’s going to be so angry she missed the ball,” I say, marvelling at how peaceful she looks, how effortlessly beautiful she is.
“She’ll be more angry that she wasn’t told about the plan,” Thirteen says. “She’s as fiercely protective of The Masks as they are of her.”
I wince at the thought. “There’s too many people involved already. We couldn’t risk her, too.”
“I agree.” Thirteen nods, giving my hand a quick, reassuring squeeze before striding over to the counter where all her equipment sits, the train of her black dress floating behind her in a trail of silk as she moves.
Nala was spot-on in her description of Thirteen’s dress, it does cover her from head to toe, but what she failed to mention was how form fitting it is, how structured. The boned corset fits her body snuggly showing off her envious hourglass figure. The skirt flows around her in a wisp of smoke as she walks. Her hair is down, curled into soft waves, and the only makeup she wears is a bright red lipstick. She looks stunning, the epitome of a powerful woman, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s dressed this way not for a funeral—as Nala had suggested—but for the men she denies are her soulmates.
