The trouble with these masks is that they conceal your faces far better than your relationships. Take our matching Lords. When asked whether they were together, there was a pause before the Black one supplied "close friends," followed by the Blue one agreeing with all the confidence of someone being asked to corroborate an alibi. Perhaps that is precisely what they are. Perhaps I am the Condesce. Whetever their arrangement, they move like they are accustomed to the same foxhole. Curiously, this has not prevented the Blue Lord's attention from wandering. The Vixen noticed. Of course. She seems to notice every one of these wandering eyes and takes them as invitations. First the Flare, then our bashful Lord, each approached with the confidence of a woman choosing something from a display case. The Blue Lord insists they are poor at recognizing flirtation, which became substantially less convincing when the Vixen appeared behind them barefoot, took their hand, and simply carried them away to dance. The Black Lord, for the record, seemed more amused than threatened. Make of that what you will. The Rake is a separate issue. Trying to determine whom she favors is rather like determining which glass at a bar the tender favors. The Demoiselle received the first concentrated assault: dancing, whispered compliments, a stolen kiss, and enough blushing to threaten the anonymity. I assure you, madame, we do not know who you are. This affair aside, affection is another dance to the Rake entirely. It is performed beautifully and changes with the music. The Noir and Raven are harder to diagnose. There is an intimacy peculiar to two people who realize they are both watching the room and, eventually, begin watching one another. Whether that develops into anything warmer remains to be seen. @expertSleuth Feel free to weigh in. More interesting to this reporter is the Mourner and the Shikabane. No obvious courtship there. Something strange. The corpse speaks of his shadow as familiar. The Mourner listens closely, and accepts contact with no hestitation. He admits that certain company improves an otherwise miserable evening. Old acquaintances beneath new masks? Kindred spirits? One dead thing recognizing another? I have no evidence. Fortunately, this is a gossip column. #OutGlutMasquerade
