Ten people enter the grand ballroom,
To celebrate this thing called life.
The excitement is electric,
The cacophony, cheerful.
The dance begins.
One circles the periphery, as stealthily as possible. He’s completely unto himself, hoping no one notices the cleaver inside his coat and the blood under his nails.
Two makes her way to the dance floor, as nimbly as a trained ballerina. Home Wrecker, Succubus, Evil Sprite. Lust has many names, but just one face and purpose.
Three and four begin their own deadly waltz. Watching each other with hawk eye precision, who will fall into fire first?
Five checks for the umpteenth time if her foundation is in place. Seven layers of colour hiding the scars- the price of being the victim and the perpetrator.
Six is just drifting about. Enjoying the show. Sooner or later, secrets will spill. He’s biding his time to scoop it up and steal what doesn’t belong to him.
Seven is his charming self. He’s gambled away his dignity- drowned, as usual, in decadence. He’s just looking to start a fire.
Eight lingers longer than necessary at the bar. He’s torn- to stay clean or to make the deal with the devil.
Nine is making eyes at Five. The foundation clearly seems to be working. He’ll take her home, he thinks to himself. His eyes are fixed on her body, trying to count how many bones he’ll crush before the darkness takes him out.
We, obviously, know better.
Ten is at the center of the floor, one with the music. He cannot help but smirk, though only slightly. He’s careful not to disturb the mask out of place. Ten knows what’s up. He’s just wondering which one he’ll take down first? Maybe, the whole house- at once. He grins at the notion, but stops short. The stitches between his face and the mask singeing in reminder.
Zero walks past the ballroom, but stops when he hears the sweet music chimed perfectly in tune with the glazed laughter, the tinkling of expensive glasses and the heady air of celebration.
Oh, how he’d give up his very soul to be one of them.