23 octobre 1854
Lyon, France

"Are you ready for an evening of fun and Viennese delights?"

A shiver makes its way through Vienna's slim figure, goosebumps covering her as soon as Alexei slides the contraption over her eyes, teasing her with the words. The masque is a thing of beauty, a light frame of wire covered with white lace and dripping ornamental pearls. From behind the frame, the deep azure hue of her eyes gleams like intense power. The way she's lined her eyes with a dark black against perfectly pale skin only intensifies the illusion the contrast creates in Vienna.

"I never recognise myself like this. I suppose that's what makeup is for, isn't it? If it isn't to fool others, it's to fool yourself." Her lightly painted pink lips pull up at the corner, a wry smile making her look slightly less perfect, slightly more human.

The beauty is real. The power is the illusion. Vienna lets people see what they desire to see, but she can't allow herself to fall into the rabbit hole.

Truth and reality are too painful to forget. The forgetting is bliss. After knowing the pleasure of being unburdened, remembering is as cruel as stomping a lovely flower underfoot.

"Don't smile. A confident and wise woman is too easily perceived as a mere girl because of a smile. Your allure is in your mystery. Don't ever let them think of you as anything but untouchable." Alexei knows almost all a person needs to know about other people, and Vienna admires him for that. He's the one who taught her the art of making herself into anyone she wanted to be, anyone the world needed her to be. "Otherwise, they'll start demanding things you're not prepared to give."

Alexei's statement rings with a note of warning. She is a bright girl, and his meaning doesn't escape her. She blushes a soft pink, matching the soft colour dusted upon her cheeks. He is right, of course. All it takes is a smile or a blush, and she looks eighteen instead of thirty.

Some days, she wonders which is the truth. Alexei would tell her it didn't matter, not anymore.

He's the one who gave her a name, an identity that made her feel whole again. Alexei picked her up, put the pieces back together, and taught her how to be a proper lady after she'd forgotten she even existed. She's named Vienna, after the impressive collection of elaborate Viennese masques that adorn her closet. Sometimes, with a slow blink of her piercing gaze, she'll say perhaps the masques are named for her instead of the other way around.

People find that sort of thing charming.

She was someone before she was Vienna, but she can't remember who. Alexei is right. It doesn't matter. That person is long gone, and Vienna is far stronger than that person ever was.

"I get tired of doing this, Alexei. Every night, a different masque, but the same dull conversation. The same cocktails, the same vapid stare that everyone mistakes for interesting. Don't you wish we could just live like normal people sometimes?"

His irritated sigh says everything before he speaks a word. "What normal people, Vi? Everyone in the world wears a masque. Yours is just more literal, more honest, in a way. That's what's so fascinating." His hands fall from her smooth, jet-black hair, smoothed into gentle obedience. "The wealthy people who spend their lives at dull parties, fruitlessly trying to impress one another, their lives are no more real than ours. We simply travel more."

Vienna's eyes dart sideways, noticing Alexei fussing with a cufflink. He wears his own masque, always dressed in the most expensive suits from the best tailors. Sometimes, he even pulls out a tuxedo. Unlike her, the artifice makes him feel alive, and Vienna knows that's the difference between them. He clings to the lack of substance like a security blanket.

She searches for who she really is and what makes her happy. He goes to every length possible to conceal the truth from himself. Vienna supposes only time will tell which of them is the wiser.

"We won't have to, though, not anymore. Travel, that is. Once our plans are over and done with, we can have a proper kind of life."  Her voice is almost hopeful, something it rarely is. Alexei just sighs in a way that matches his weary smile.

Vienna is certain that Alexei, whatever he feels for her, doesn't take her very seriously as a human being. It should be a problem, but Vienna wasn't created to be a human being. She is an illusion, and it's understood that all illusions disappear in the end.

Alexei looks bored as Vienna stares in the mirror, the reflection of someone she doesn't know staring back at her. His indifference bothers her, but she has learned to be cautious with words. "Alexei, you promised."

His sharp green gaze lifts up, the colour bursting through the monotony of Vienna's reflection. She does not smile, or frown, or express any reaction to the world around her. It's only her eyes that speak, and they speak volumes. At times, they speak viciously, and she can feel the hatred rising inside her small frame.

"I promised you I would set things right, and those who hurt us would pay, didn't I? Isn't that the goal, before all other things? Revenge is far more exciting and delicious than anything else the world can offer you, Vi. What's the fun in sitting still?" Alexei's hands return to her masque, straightening some imaginary imperfection. "Besides, it's not as if either of us will ever be "normal people." We couldn't if we tried."

"Of course we could. When revenge is done and I never have to hide behind a masque again or force my face to stay still so I can look terrifyingly charming, we will be normal people as we once were." Her voice rises and though her lips barely move, Vienna folds her hands in her lap, fingers trembling against the elegant white silk of her gown.

"As you were, Vi. Not me. I was always destined for something greater. You--you can't even remember how dreadfully dull it is to be anything but what you are now. Is it so hard to take pleasure and be grateful? You have a life that costs you nothing but your presence and a few little deceptions here and there." He steps away from her, admiring his handiwork. She always thinks Alexei looks at her as if she is a rare doll he's proud to own.

Vienna's hand flies to the silver locket she wears around her neck. It is a remnant of a life that's no longer hers. It's the one flaw in the perfect artifice Alexei creates. A lady of quality would choose pearls or rubies, diamonds if she could afford them. Vienna refuses to part with the silver locket. The touch is instinctive, a way to grasp hold of memories that are no longer there.

"Do you remember what I promised you the day we ran away, Vi?" Alexei kisses her cheek, lightly enough that it doesn't disturb the carefully applied cosmetics. "Those who take away our power will always pay."

The power of the words he hisses in her ear causes the muted seas of her eyes to practically glow and shoot daggers through the mirror. It's a phrase she's heard before, accompanied by memories of terrible pain and ecstatic pleasure she can't separate, or place. She knows Alexei says it often. Each time, it triggers something deep within her.

She nods, and her focus is now intent upon the image in the mirror. The illusion of power is the finest accessory Vienna owns, more than compensating for the cheap silver chain.

***

At every event, Vienna dresses to see him, though he has no idea. The Man In Grey has become the unwitting subject of Vienna's fantasies and nightmares. It runs so deep, she doesn't dare speak of it to Alexei.

Instinctively, she knows he'd be insulted because she even cares about the balding,  if somewhat distinguished, older gentleman. He has twenty extra pounds on his frame and has slowed down a step or two, but when she closes her eyes, she imagines a handsome man with slate-blue eyes in a grey suit at her age.

The Man In Grey hasn't ever spoken to her, and she knows nothing about him. The only thing she's certain of is that she's desperate to find him. The parties grow tiring because even though she and Alexei return home with cash gifts for their parlour tricks and trinkets for the pawn brokers, she hasn't seen him.

Vienna squeezes Alexei's hand. "You look wonderful tonight. You'll be a thrilling conversationalist, as always. I envy the way you thrive in a crowd. You're so natural. Though, this time, if Madame de Lyonesse gets you in her clutches, you can't insult her by insisting you can't sing." Madame Eglantine, the toast of Lyon and its tightly-knit social circles, was a woman of at least fifty with enough jewels to appear truly ostentatious.

She also had enough self-importance and remnants of beauty strewn about her persona that she managed to keep young, attractive men in her clutches longer than a respectable lady of her age ought to boast. Alexei was an expert at evading Madame Eglantine's persistence.

Vienna knows she ought to be more protective, as Alexei is of her, but she secretly admires Madame Eglantine and her indomitable will. It is the kind of commanding presence Vienna tries to imitate.

Alexei laughs, and she can tell he's already a more relaxed version of himself than at home with her. He blossoms with even the slightest attention, and she can't begrudge him that. In many ways, he is still a lost little boy needing attention and approval. Everything about Alexei asks to be loved, even the seeming indifference to it.

They stroll toward the front of the grand house, which would not be impressive for Paris, but for a small city like Lyon---it was even further proof of Madame Eglantine's success in all she did. It was, sadly, the kind of place Vienna and Alexei couldn't linger too long. Gossip was a favoured pastime, and their various tricks and persuasions would catch up to them, as well as the shared stories between households of small items of value that had gone missing and wayward servants.

Vienna liked to think of herself and Alexei as aristocratic gypsies, though they were neither. They were con artists who excelled at artifice and illusion. Most importantly, they were impeccably skilled in the art of the perfectly timed departure.

Her stare is transfixing as she enters the room, head held high, accepting compliments on the newest masque. At least, it's one the small-town society hasn't yet seen. She reminds herself not to smile, even though it takes effort. Some of those admiring her masque and gown are sweet and unsuspecting. Vienna feels she at least owes them kindness.

"Madame Vienna, you look positively radiant tonight." Mademoiselle Sophie, one of Vienna's most devoted young followers, greets her with kisses and wide eyes at the attire. Sophie is about sixteen, and she looks at Vienna with innocent eyes that see only the sparkle and glamour. "Will you be reading fortunes? Your eyes look a little haunted. It's like when you see things. I loved the last time you did fortunes, but I have ever so many more questions this time!"

Vienna laughs and smiles indulgently. It doesn't matter that she's not supposed to let people into her world by revealing her smile. Those like Sophie have earned the privilege."That's just my eyes overwhelmed by all the details on this masque. It's a little too much for a simple face. " Vienna lowers her gaze modestly but whispers in Sophie's ear as if sharing a delicious secret. "I may, just for you. First, though, a glass of champagne!"


The young girl offers a giggle, delighted at the promise of champagne and something as forbidden as fortune-telling from someone as captivating as Vienna. Sophie isn't the only one to stop her. As she weaves through the crowd, Vienna offers polite greetings and kisses, along with the occasional curtsy to someone she deems important. It's the typical party dance, and though she doesn't show it, Vienna is weary after five minutes of frivolity.

For those like Mademoiselle Sophie, it is the best evening one could imagine. It makes Vienna happy to consider herself part of the backdrop if it makes others happy. Alexei is nowhere in sight when her eyes narrow, searching through the crowd the moment she catches a glimpse of inexpensive grey fabric.

Finally. Vienna's head spins in a terrifyingly dizzy way. Even at a distance., the Man In Grey both frightens Vienna and makes her heart beat wildly in anticipation.

"Are you alright, Madame Vienna? You look so pale white, as if you've just seen a ghost." Sophie's voice brings her back to reality, and she struggles to find her voice. Her throat is suddenly dry and brittle. Even the glass of champagne doesn't cool it.

"I'm fine, Sophie, thank you. I didn't see a ghost, just someone I've been waiting a long time to see." Illusion being what it is, she doesn't see a short middle-aged man in a cheap suit with too little hair.

She sees the only person in the room who matters.

Sophie makes a curious face at Vienna's expression. "That man? He's hardly worth getting all nervous over. He looks married with a couple of kids, and not nearly rich enough for the trouble of it."  The girl is too young to have learned the art of subtlety, and while she doesn't point, she stares long enough that the Man In Grey catches her glance and smiles.

It makes Vienna cringe wholeheartedly.

"If you'll excuse me just a minute, I'm going to ask him to dance." She knows the girl must look dumb-struck, but Vienna won't have to explain The Man In Grey to Sophie. One dance, maybe two, and she'll distract the crowd with a bit of fortune-telling.

Vienna can't feel her legs or feet, but somehow her body floats over to him. She clears her throat gently, speaking to him in the English fashion. Whenever she thinks of him, she hears a British voice reminiscent of cheap cigars and bad wine.

"I beg your pardon, Sir? Would you care to dance?"

Vienna's eyes shine brightly through the masque, her hands laced together primly so she hides the way they shake when she's nervous. She looks like a schoolgirl approaching her crush at the kind of dances where she still needed a chaperone.

The Man In Grey looks startled, then a smile quirks on his lips, indicating he can't believe his good fortune. Vienna does everything she can to keep from smiling, though on the inside, she's even younger than Sophie and even giddier.

"I'd love to. Not to be rude, but are you sure you have the right person? I'm not exactly the guy that everyone wants on their dance card." The Man In Grey gives a self-deprecating grin that covers up the slightly lecherous one from earlier.

Somehow, Vienna finds the words. They're whirling around her head like every other scenario in which she's imagined meeting him, and what she'd say.

"I have never been so certain of anything in my whole life." The strange murmur sounds more self-confident, more alluring than Vienna intends, but the phrase is perfect.

***

It is not one dance but two, and then three, and Vienna loses track of the way her body glides along with the music. He is not a strong leader, and at times, she fully believes she is the one with all the power.

The Man In Grey is no longer frightening, but a fly caught in her web.

"Lift my masque, just a little. Go on. I dare you." Vienna lets out an almost flirtatious giggle, leaning closer to her dance partner. Even though he is balding and smells of old cigars and cheese, somehow, her eyes manage to look enraptured by his proximity. As his fingers touch the delicate white lace, she murmurs a quiet sound of assent and encouragement.

It's almost intimate, the unveiling of a precious thing in the darkness.

His hand slides to expose her face with the same tenderness one might reach for a lover in the stillness of the night. The tender touch makes Vienna cringe. She knows what he will see, the web of purple and blue blotches, white and red lines of scar tissue, the occasional blister from the skin being concealed behind such elaborate disguises.

The weight Vienna carries with her is far more than skin deep.

She's prepared for the reaction, the rejection. She's prepared for the pain before it happens. After all, she's the one who invited it.

The quickness with which he attempts to pull away from her is matched only by the way his other hand flies to his mouth, stifling any sound. The look of abject repulsiveness on the man's face tells Vienna he sees the truth she's left to face every day. "Madame, I must beg your pardon. I'm feeling unwell."

Her grip holds him tightly, and her face is so close to his that he never feels the small but lethal jab, a pinprick of a needle sliding into his thigh. "Why, Sir, I think indeed you must. If I were less kind, I wouldn't offer forgiveness. Five minutes ago, you were half in love with me, and now you look at me as if you couldn't imagine anything more grotesque."

Vienna lowers her masque and her voice with it. "The truth is a difficult thing to face, is it not? How easily reality can shatter what the world wants us to see. Most of us prefer the lie."

Vienna can feel him swallow, the way his body nervously gasps for air as she dances close to him, the enchantress and her victim. "You're right, of course. I was unkind. I am sorry for what happened to you, Madame. It is indeed a tragedy when beauty is destroyed."

Her whisper matches the intensity of her smouldering gaze. "There are far more important things one can lose besides beauty, Sir. I've come to terms with my loss of vanity. It is hardly what makes a person. " There's a gentle quality in her voice as she spins the man around in time to the music, aware that his eyes are likely already seeing double and his heart pounding in his ears.

Vienna is tempted to smile at his lack of response, his heavy breathing as she picks up the pace of her sensual, enigmatic movements. "Very true. You are a...good person...with a...tragic story. Poor Madame Vienna."  He manages to breathe out droplets of conversation. "Some..young man...will still...love... you."

"It's true, but I don't need your pity. Save it for yourself. You know better than anyone the damage fire wreaks upon human flesh. You couldn't stand to see it then, and you can't now."  Vienna fights the cruel smile lurking behind her blank expression and mesmerizing glances. "Did you not believe me, Sir, when I told you I see everything?"

The Man In Grey reaches for his handkerchief, coughing so intensely that his eyes don't see the bright red stain he hides. It's his own scarlet brand. "I thought...parlour tricks. It can't.. be. You can't see ..what's not there. You're some kind.. of witch, some ...demon."

Vienna enjoys the terror on his face as her free hand moves to her silver locket. She can feel the flames consume her, the memory of her pain competing with the reality of his whirling dance with death. "Lydia. Alexander. Virginia. The names of your family. They adored you, a pretty wife and two small children. Yet, you grew tired of them. You grew tired of the debt collectors who never stopped calling, the old house that reminded you that you couldn't provide better, the nagging mistress on the wrong side of town. They all wanted so much. It was suffocating, wasn't it, like you simply couldn't breathe. You remember that feeling, don't you?"

She holds his hand tight in his as she practically drags him around the dance floor, the jaunty spark of the violins hiding her ominous words. "Stop---I can't. I can't..breathe. You're...casting...a spell."

Vienna shakes her head in mock sympathy. "You did what you had to do. You waited until they slept so peacefully, and took a log from the fire to the curtains. I can only imagine the way that cheap house exploded like a bonfire. It was liberating, wasn't it, running into the distance? The flesh from your hand looks much like my face, doesn't it? It makes you sick in the same way. You even wear gloves to sleep, I'm willing to wager money on it. Your hair never grew back. You never found another woman who could tolerate you and figured that was your price for freedom. You were wrong. This is your price."

"Who are you? Even a witch--a seer---couldn't be...so..cruel..." The Man In Grey is helpless, just a man struggling against his own demons. Were he anyone else, Vienna would pity him.

"Cruelty is inherited. For instance, a son can learn it from a father who burns his mother alive. Alexander tried to save her, you know, even as his own body burned. I believe that was the last time he felt love. I wonder, though, do you believe in irony?" Vienna's eyes blaze, hoping that cruelty is an emotion that glows in the candlelight, clearly visible to the man as he lets out his last gasps. "Had you not burned me, Father, perhaps your death wouldn't in the arms of a witch."

It is with an effort that the balding man's blue lips manage to form the words. "Virginia...she died...so young."

"I suppose she did, and yet, she didn't. You didn't stick around long enough to find out. You weren't about to take your chances, not with that telltale glove branding you. Still, I am truly sorry for your loss. As I told you, there are greater things a person can lose besides beauty." The acidity in Vienna's words is potent enough that if she could drip it upon his skin, he'd look much like she did. His monstrosity wasn't as obvious.

"Your eyes---you...are...not. Her. She was...feeble...and." The rattle in the man's chest tells Vienna his breath is likely his last.

The anger in Vienna's voice is unmistakable, bitterness stronger than even Death. "And? And what? Dull, plain, stupid? What was she?"

"Fragile. Powerless..little...bird."

The man falls heavily into Vienna's shoulder, and she dances him to the nearest fainting couch with a flirtatious laugh. "I don't recommend doing that too often on a stomach full of whiskey!" Some of the others laugh merrily with her, others clicking their tongues in sympathy before returning to the merriment. She can hear the strains of Madame Eglantine attempting to sing, ageing fingernails against a chalkboard.

Vienna yanks the silver chain from her neck, throwing the locket onto the man's body. Only then does she smile, a smile of true freedom as she releases an albatross from her neck.

"Those who take away your power will always pay." Her whisper is gentle, yet savage, a secret between just the two of them.

She stands as Alexei offers his hand, always the gentleman. "Shall we dance, Madame Vienna?"

A rare bubble of laughter escapes her. "I'm afraid the old man wore me out, spinning me around the floor. We really should be going."

Vienna's piercing gaze is as sharp as the tiny poisoned needle so delicately concealed in the folds of her dress. She knows if they don't leave now, they may never do so.

As always, Alexei seems to understand without words. Years behind a masque will give a girl that talent. "Of course. Where shall we go next, Madame Vienna?" He punctuates the offer with a low bow, and she offers her arm in response.

They make a dashing pair, and she knows many sets of eyes acknowledge that fact as they make a casual exit. Through the sleeve of his expensive suit, Vienna can feel the scars that cover Alexei's arms, and indeed, most of his body.

"Home." Vienna murmurs the word softly. "The only place I've ever wanted to be."