Snippet #1644212

With each brush stroke, the canvas began to come to life. The stretched hide has begun to burst with bloody crimsons, vibrant blues, and golden ray of sunshine brighter than a lemon. In the picture, sat a man. His pale skin was illuminated by the twisting flames behind him as salty water began to burst through the walls around him. The stranger wore a black top hat that hid his eyes, though a mischievous smirk played endlessly upon his alabaster lips. Despite the fact he was not speaking, a thousand words filled her ears as if an angry swarm of bees had flown through the cracked windows. Slowly the room faded to black. Colors exited their positions and swirled into her eyes, though, the painting stayed the same except for one small detail. The once small playful lip curl morphed into a twisted smile. He looked mad. Simply mad.

___

Arcadia was suffocating. Something with the texture of sandpaper rubbed viciously at her neck. A damp clammy sweat beaded up upon her skin as she fought to escape. Quickly, she shot up in the bed, her chest rising and falling heavily in a desperate attempt to breath in enough oxygen. A dim yellow light filed the barren room. On the left wall was a massive wardrobe that was blacker than night, its lacquer surface glowed in the light. In the right corner, where she sat up was the bed, more like a mattress on stilts, covered in a rough blanket, but still a bed nonetheless. The room had two doors. The one across from the dresser was large and made of a dark rich mahogany wood and to the left of the bed was another door, this one was frail and pale white. It was apparent which one led to the powder room and which one led outside.

The doe like girl dropped her feet off the bed, allowing the cool floor to lightly grace her skin. Each nerve in her body was on high alert and the slightest of touches from fabrics or a draft sent chills up her spine. While clutching the worn burlap sack of a blanket against her naked body covering her bare skin she lifted herself from the bed. Standing inf front of the wardrobe, Arcadia raised one finger and ran it along the smooth wood, pressing her fingertips against the cold tarnished handle.

As she opened it a cool draft tickled her skin forming goosebumps along its once flawless surface. On the inside of the door was a floor length mirror in which Arcadia delicately gazed into. She had always liked her appearance. Her height was average and she had a slender frame with a full busy and hips, a more womanly figure than she herself desired, but the men around never seemed to mind much. The figure in the mirror met the realists eyes. It was almost comforting, being able to stare back at herself. She could almost see old memories painting themselves in her iris. Her pale blonde hair was accentuating with dark brown streaks in her under layers, each lock of hair gleamed while twisting around itself in lightly wavy tendrils of silk. In addition, her large orbs of eyes gleamed a miraculous bright blue. On a regular day they were an icy silver, but today, for whatever reason, they were blue. A curious sparkle swam through the bright turquoise.

She was not afraid nor sad of the situation. Where she was from, there was no home. The only time an emotion worth remembering crossed her mind was when she learned she could paint. The emotion that had filled her stomach was astonishing, she had never felt anything as powerful ever since.

In the closet, there was a plethora of clothes, but one dress caught her eye in particular. Arcadia pulled it from the hanger to look at it in the light. The bust was a sweet heart top, one side was a dark orange and the other was black with a strip of white dots. It had a fringe of black down feathers. The dress was fitted to the waist where the fabric went out, extending to form a tea cup shape. Though, none of that was the most marvelous thing yet. The design itself was of a monarch butterfly and each layer of the bottom was a wing. It looked as if it would stop directly above her knee.
Arcadia looked back into the closet after hanging the dress back up for the moment. On the shelf below was a pair of black lace undergarments. She was not used to such a lavish fabric and it felt good on her skin, but it felt inappropriate to her. All her bare skin, the sex appeal that the lingerie gave her, it was all so foreign, but for not it was her only option. She pulled the dress back from the wardrobe and slipped it onto her skin, lacing up the side string perfectly. Strangely enough, it fit as if it had been sewn for her. Using two fingers she twisted her hair over one shoulder over her collar bone, the dark brown mingling with the pale blonde.

Once again, she looked into the mirror. Instead of a poor orphan girl, she looked like a woman. A real woman, the kind that would be found in a magazine. It had to be magic. Arcadia knew she never looked that enchanting. A gleam caught her eye. Next to the bed on a small stand was a note and a mask.

Welcome to the Masquerade. As I am sure you have awakened by now, please forgive me for what I've done. You have been selected to stay at this wonderful mansion by me, the Mad Hatter. Here, you will hopefully find your soul mate and learn a thing or two about yourself. Please read the following instructions on this paper:

1. You will find that I have provided clothes for you. Look in the closet.
2. You may not leave this mansion under any circumstances. If you do, there will be punishments. Or you will be eaten by wolves and bears.
3. Do not attempt to ask who I am, for I will not tell you.
4. Please be kind to others and do not bother the servants.
5. You are here for a reason, whether it be theft or murder, arson or hate, misery or behavior.
6. You must leave the mask beside this paper on at all times while around others. Failure to do so will result in punishment.
7. You will not leave until I say you can.

-The Mad Hatter

Mad Hatter? It had to be the man she had painted before she well- What exactly did happen? One moment she was painting and the next she awoke in the room she resided in now. Arcadia tiled her head to one side and picked up the mask. It was cool to the touch, made of a black metal and carved with a magnificent design. On the forehead there was a large silver gem, followed by a smaller black one, then an even smaller silver one. She slipped it onto her face, feeling the chilly material curve around her cheeks and her nose. Once it was secure on her face she looked back to the mirror.

Arcadia enjoyed the way the mask fit. She looked like she should be the subject of one of her paintings. Before leaving she slipped on a pair of black heels. They were higher than she was used too, but withing a few steps they felt fine. Suddenly there was a knock at the door in which she rushed to tend to immediately, swinging the door open, but no one was there.

Well, she was dressed, why not explore? With that she exited the room, opening the large door and walking down the hallway. The artist herself appreciated each painting hung from the wall and the beautiful architecture of the corridor. Everything was symmetrical and balanced and soon enough Arcadia became lost in the art work, aimlessly wandering the halls.

Without even realizing how far the had walked, she came upon a ballroom. Music filled the room and waiters and servants stood around holding silver trays with food or drink. It seemed to be empty. Arcadia placed both hands behind her back and made her way into the center of the floor, not caring if she looked silly, and looked around. She could not be the only one in the mansion.

Then where was everybody else.

(click this to see her dress)