The Giocoso Facade

She walked through the grandioso doors of the grosso palace. The air of the masquerade was festivo, hundreds of giubilante people spinning rapide, their vivo laughs sailing to the ceiling, where there was painted the cherubic faces of grazioso angels in ruhrig shades of sunset.

The tempo of the music was allegro for the moment, adding to the overall atmosphere. The agilmente costumes of the masqueraders were bright and elaborate, each person wearing a giocoso façade. She held her breath as the people rushed past her agitato eyes.

This woman, named Regina, wanted to make this, her primo masquerade, an evening filled con brio and appassionato. Regina was built of mezzo stature with soave eyes and raven-black hair that shone in the sunlight like obsidian. Adorned with jewels, braids and curls all through her hair, she was dressed as a Mediterranean Princess-bride, sanft curves flowing through the long skirt of her white dress.

The mask that was poised delicato upon her face was colored glinting silver, mancando to a soft gold trim. The smile was her own as her disguise came down just over her nose and extended up to her hairline.

Subito the animato music changed to a grave beat, allargando. The crowd split and across the room Regina’s emerald green eyes settled on a caped figure that returned her gaze. Both man and woman were entranced by the sight of each other. Beneath the shadow of his mask she saw that his dark brown eyes were filled tanto addolorato. The faces and bright outfits of the dancers around them blurred together. They took adagio steps toward each other, his rustico boots making no noise as they touched the floor.

Regina stared intently into his lamento eyes, intrigued by the ironico contrast between them and his giocoso façade.
“Who are you?” Regina asked cantabile, her voice having the soft timbre of ringing bells.
“I am Prince of this vivace gathering,” he replied misterioso, his voice deep like rolling thunder, pacato and pesante. “However, I allow those I’m fond of to call me Thaed. You are most welcome to do so, semplice lady. Have you a name by which I may call you?”

He took her small hand delicato in his own and kissed it dolcissimo.
“Regina,” she answered dolce, blushing slightly beneath her mask. “This is a splendid masquerade. The music is molto pleasing.”
“Thank you,” he responded, receiving her compliment liberamente. “But troppo adagio. Maestro, accelerando!”
“Primo tempo!” barked the conductor, affrettando to meet the demands of his master. “Tosto! Tosto!”

The orchestra combined together to play in unison, a tempo. Regina’s blood coursed through her veins, surging to the schnell syncopation.
“May I have the honor of a dance, My Princess?” he asked her largamente.
“Of course,” she accepted, her head filled with sognando thoughts.

The two dancers began to spin and swirl, arms entwined and eyes locked, their movements marcato, but filled con grazia. The thing that Regina noticed most about her tranquillo partner was the coldness of his touch. His hands were like ice upon her waist and enclosing her hand. She took the opportunity to study his features con intensita.

He was quasi a head taller than her and of mezzo build. His hair was black and poco curls fell into his eyes that looked upon her doloroso. His mask was bright and filled con spirito and life. It covered only the upper part of his face, as did Regina’s, but it was designed slightly differently, with curved points on the upper part. The coloring made it look like it was a living fire, dancing upon his visage. His costume was certainly that of a prince, with golden buttons and baubles all up and down the elegant overcoat he wore. His cape was crimson and swayed con moto whenever he moved.

“What do you love most of all?” he asked, his gaze pensieroso.
“To dance esuberante, con mosso,” she answered espressive.
“And your greatest fear?” he pursued.
“To die,” she returned.
A smile crept across his face and she smiled in return until seeing his brief happiness smorzando. They began to spin presto. Regina began to feel poco light-headed.

“You dance molto leggiero,” he complimented.
“Thank you,” she replied, the world around her blurring together.
She was getting really dizzy and turned with slightly meno mosso.
“What’s the matter, My Ethereal Beauty?” he questioned con calore.
“Meno spinning,” she begged. “I can barely stand anymore.”
“I request calmato!” he shouted maestoso. “All stop!”
Immediately all the svelto dancers stopped and the music became quiet, morendo. The room was deafeningly ruhrig.

“What kind of music should we listen to next in order to entertain my special guest?” he called out, addressing them as a group.
Replies jumped from the crowd in simultaneous turns.
“Something andante or moderato!”
“Poco cedare than that!”
“No! Something with poco piu mosso!”
“Something that will ramentando!”
“Andantino!”
“Lento!”
“Those are stesso!”

Thaed held up his hands and subito all fell silent. Regina was taken aback by how secco the sereno people were, obeying his every command senza question. She figured that he must be a grosso Prince.
“All wonderful suggestions,” he responded. “But I think maybe a rubato waltz. Largo.”

Without further delay the conductor instructed the orchestra to play a tempo then ritardando, sostenuto. People began to dance again, this time a waltz filled addolorato.
“My lady,” Thaed said, offering his hand again.
The two reeled as before, but piu largamente. The atmosphere had changed and something felt very wrong to Regina. She had chills running up and down her spine.

“This doesn’t feel right,” she said, her confidence morendo.
“And it sempre will, My Naïve Princess,” he answered teneramente.
She looked at him, confusion spreading across her face.
“It is now time for you to be shown the truth,” he said, his sognando voice now grave. “You will spend on eternity dancing to this waltz. Like all of these people, you now belong to me.”

It was then that Regina noticed what was so strange about this masquerade: Beneath the animato costumes and masks of each person were lacrimoso eyes, all on the verge of tears.
“You cannot escape this place,” he repeated. “That which you love so much is in truth that which you fear the most.”

It was then that Regina saw exactly what she was caught up in. The realization stung her like an arrow to the heart. For a minute she couldn’t breathe. She felt tears well up in her eyes, but found that none would fall. Forever would her gaze hold the same lamento look as those of the dancers around her, doomed to sempre dance at this festivo event but never be happy.

“It’s those with beauty such as yours that bring me such pain,” he continued as if hoping to be greeted with pity. “You are now my sorrowful treasure. You belong to me.”
The music hit a crescendo and her thoughts were drowned in the largo accents of the morbid waltz she danced to.