Five years ago, I moved to the town of Brookstone. Tucked into the nook of a large river, and surrounded on all sides by fruit trees, the residents worked with the spirits of the woods to keep the land lush and prosperous. The foliage was so heavy that the houses were built to accommodate and work with the forest, resulting in a few specks of primary-colored rooftops in a sea of green. Castle Brookstone, built into the side of a cliff, barren of trees but crawling with vines, was the only man-made feature that stuck out, with its swirling marble walls and copper spirals that would eventually corrode to the same green as the trees.
The majority of inhabitants were farmers, but I was always more of an artist. Typically, only the tree nymphs used magic, blessing the land with a cycle of light showers and warm sunlight that produced a year-round harvest, but I learned long ago I had some tricks of my own. I spent my free-time crafting masks that lay so smooth against my own skin, nobody would think twice to question whose face I was wearing. I got most of my inspirations from books, adopting characters’ personality traits and incorporating them into the structure and decorations until it resembled a human face. A simple glamor enchantment made it look real, and the masks would convince onlookers I was a more palatable person, one that wouldn’t make them groan and avoid eye contact like they had in my old town before I started wearing the masks.
Working at the town library, I had plenty of time to research between reshelving and playing matchmaker for readers and their stories. As one of the main pastimes, the library was well taken care of, with funding for new books coming directly from the prince of Brookstone. I thought I would have been questioned, working the same place every day with rotating masks as I tried on new personas, however, the librarian didn’t seem to mind that they apparently employed a dozen different people, as long as they continued to cover one another’s shifts, without overlapping.
My time was largely split between the library and my soft yellow cottage, a block down the street underneath one of the few trees out of bloom, just comfortably big enough for one person. The only time I took off the masks was when I was safely behind my front door, locked away and out of view. As I never wore my real face into town, nobody knew where to visit me. It was easy, safer even, only letting the people see the masks I made.
Because of the location and the magically ideal weather, a permanent farmers market stood in the center of town, with sturdy wooden stalls, each one lovingly hand-painted with depictions of the fruit they sold. On one of the rare occasions that I ventured into the market, I slipped on one of my more pleasurable masks, one I modeled after a folk hero whom everyone in their fictional town admired for continually saving their sheep from hungry woodland critters. Wearing it, my smile appeared shiny and natural, my eyes wide and attentive, as I channeled his outgoing nature and waved back to my townsfolk with borrowed confidence.
Smile. Meet their eyes. Nod. Wave goodbye. I went from stall to stall, basket filling up with berries and citrus, everything running smoothly, until I bumped into him.
“My apologies. I didn’t think anybody was behind me,” I mumbled as we both reached for the scattered fruit. Irritation flickered in my throat, but the mask corrected my voice into a cheery tune as the words left my lips. Or at least it was supposed to–it always had before.
The boy’s hand laid on top of mine as we both grasped a peach, and I quickly drew back, dropping it. He paused, biting at his lip in contemplation–contemplation of what I wasn't sure.
“No, no. I should have been watching where I was going,” he said, looking up at me with a far-off gaze, and the slightest tilt of his head. At that moment I realized he was blind, and my frustration evaporated as I scrambled to hand him his cane.
“Interesting word choice,” I commented, my attention turned back to the escaping fruit, noticing that an apple had rolled under one of the stand tables.
“Ha! Well, I suppose I just like making light in the dark,” he laughed. “But, I really am sorry for making you drop everything.”
“It’s okay. I’m just not used to the crowded streets,” I admitted. I bent down to retrieve the stray apple, and cursed as I hit my head on the table, sending a pile of oranges tumbling off with one loud thunk followed by several softer thuds. “I don’t get out much,” I winced, rubbing my head, my mask slightly tilted.
“Neither do I, I’m afraid.” A smile spread across his lips at my fumbling, and I could practically hear a chuckle rising up. “You work at the library, right?”
I felt sweat collecting under the mask, but it would cover up my awkwardness. Surely. I had never doubted my masks before, but something about his gaze sent a shiver up my spine.
“Uh, yeah. I sure do,” I mumbled, quickly raising a hand to correct my slipping mask.
My eyes darted to his arm, which was reaching towards me.
“Well, it was great meeting you,” I added before he could respond as I gathered up the last of my fruit and hurried away.
“Maybe I’ll drop by sometime!” he called as my footsteps carried me towards my cottage.
It was only when my hand was pushing open the front door that it hit me. I had never worn my folk hero inspired mask to work before.
Stumbling into the bathroom, my shaky hands removed my mask and set it on the counter. Staring into the mirror, I ran my fingers across my true face, my breath fogging up the glass.
A few days later, I was restocking shelves at the library when I heard a faint tip-tapping from behind me. I turned to see the boy from the market. I hadn’t paid attention to his clothes before, but today he wore a casual black suit, a stark contrast against the bright white of his cane. He must have been from one of the wealthier families, considering most of the town only wore overalls. A strong wave of nausea sent the food in my stomach churning like a ship out at sea. If he had some sort of influence in the town, and discovered and deemed my masks as troublesome magic, I could be in danger. It was unheard of for a human to have magic, so I had no idea how people would react if word got out.
I considered slipping away until the librarian raised an expectant eyebrow from over the top of their book. Right. I had a job to do. Taking a deep breath, I adjusted my mask, and greeted the boy. Hopefully he wouldn’t recognize my other persona.
“Hello, sir. How may I be of assistance?” The words rolled off my tongue, transforming into an eloquent dialect. It was thanks to the customer service mask, one that I had based on a butler from a sappy romance novel. He was a background character, but his poise caught my attention as something useful for dealing with customers.
“It’s nice to see you again,” he grinned, ignoring me, his smile reaching higher on one side than the other in a way that I couldn’t tell if his comment was genuine or not.
I choked and broke into a coughing fit, earning me a glare from the librarian.
“Are you sure we’ve met before?” I cleared my throat and lowered my voice in hopes he would do the same. He did not.
“Obviously! I never forget a face,” he laughed, feeling for my location with his cane.
“Right.” I pushed my foot out for him to tap, my turn to ignore his words, and offered him my arm. “Can I help you find something, sir?” I tried again.
He took my arm and I tried not to grimace at the touch. “What is a blind guy even doing in a library?” I blurted out, covering my mouth with my other hand in horror. My mask should have prevented my bluntness from slipping through.
To my surprise, my comment only made him laugh harder, the noise echoing painfully loud against the high ceiling. “I guess I’m just looking for some light reading.”
I paused for a moment, opening and closing my mouth as I stared at his eyes. “Uh, but–”
“Read to me.”
“What?”
“You’re doubting my reading comprehension, so read to me,” he smirked, nearly running us into a bookshelf.
“That’s not what–” I huffed, pulling him out of the way. My words continued to slip off my tongue unchecked. “You know, you’re not nearly as funny as you think you are.”
He clutched at his chest in mock pain. “Ouch! You wound me!” he moaned, dipping us towards the ground.
“Would you stop that–”
Suddenly, he smacked a hand across my mask. “I knew it! You’re using some kind of magic!” he exclaimed, fingers exploring the wooden surface.
I pushed his hand away, letting him nearly stumble to the ground, my face a bright red under the mask. “Get off! That’s none of your business!”
Regaining balance, he dusted off his suit and stuffed a hand in his pocket, the other grasping his cane. “Not so fancy now, sir?” He raised his pitch on the last word, letting the ‘r’ trail on for far too long as he rummaged around in his coat.
I dug my nails into my palm, face growing hotter. I knew I couldn’t afford to start something with him and whatever rich family he came from, but my anger was getting the best of me. “Why can’t you just leave me–”
He held out a peach, my peach. “You dropped this, thought I should return it.” His voice grew softer, the laughter disappearing. “I just…wanted to know who you were. Who you actually are. I assume your magic relies on tricking the eyes so it doesn’t really fool me, but it does make me wonder…”
I took the peach from his hand and stared at it, the eloquence from the mask failing me completely as my tongue sat drying in my mouth, useless.
He titled his head to the side, waiting for a response that never came. With a tap, he started to walk away.
“You’re not afraid to tell it like it is. I don’t know why you’d try and hide that,” he paused one last time, before leaving me alone, clutching the peach.
“I’m–” I whispered, my voice trailing off in soft echoes around the room. I stood frozen for a moment staring at the small bruise across the peach’s fuzzy skin, before my cheeks heated, and I stormed outside after him.
“Hey!” I yelled, and quickly lowered my voice as I tapped his arm. “Uhh…may I?”
He nodded after a single eyebrow raise. “You have something to show me?”
I let out a loud huff in response and gently linked our arms, dragging him off towards my cottage. We spent the walk down the block with our tongues held, listening to the birdsong flitting through the canopy overhead.
What am I doing? My heart pounded in my ears, drowning out the rational part of my brain screaming to be careful.
I dragged him through the front door and into the kitchen, plopping him down on a stool. He said nothing as I rummaged through my cabinets, opening and slamming the doors as I searched. Finally, I found what I was looking for and slammed it down on the counter next to the peach.
“Hmm, fascinating,” he chuckled, leaning back on the stool to prop his feet up on the edge of the counter.
I shoved his feet off and jammed the peach into one hand, and the object in the other.
“A lemon?” He ran his thumb across its rough hide.
“Take a bite of one. Your pick,” I spat.
He looked towards my voice, his head cocked to the side in thought. A crooked grin spread across his face as he tossed the peach over his shoulder, sinking his teeth into the lemon.
“What the fuck!?” I exclaimed as he started to chew, lemon juice dribbling down his lips. “I was trying to make a point! It was a metaphor–”
“For you? Point made, you’re delicious,” he mumbled, mouth full.
“I’m bitter! Sour, unpleasant!” I flopped down onto the stool next to him, shaking my head. “The only way anyone can stand me is if I’m coated in sugar...”
He swallowed, face surprisingly straight despite the taste. “So what? That thing on your face–your masks? They’re your sugar coating?”
“Yes! It’s easier to try to be a peach than a lemon.” I picked up the peach from the ground and frowned at the even larger bruise.
The boy snorted. “No offense, but that’s a stupid metaphor.”
“Hey–”
“You’re right about one thing–you really don’t get out much.”
I bit my lip at his insult, my grip tightening on the peach until the soft skin split open. The two of us sat there in silence, and I wondered if he could feel the heat radiating off me like a stove top.
“Look,” he started, hand feeling around for mine. I held out the one grasping the peach and he gently took it. “You don’t want to be a peach. When you’re a peach, everyone treats you like you’re fragile. And everything they say to you is sugar coated, and that sweetness–it gets old. It rots your teeth. It’s so…fake.”
He took another bite of the lemon. “Sometimes that bitterness is refreshing, because hey, at least you know it’s real, right?”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a slip of paper and set the peach on top of it on the counter. Lemon held tightly in one hand, he got up and tapped his way out the front door.
The paper was a flier for the upcoming harvest dance, which was held every few moons given the bountiful land. Castle Brookstone was a sight to behold; it wasn’t every day the royal family opened their gates to let the townsfolk dance amongst them in their ballroom.
I had never gone before–even I grew tired of wearing my masks for that long around that many people–but something about our conversation stuck with me. If he was going to be there…well, maybe I wanted to see him again, or maybe I was just suspicious of his position of power and fearful of what might happen should I decline his invitation. Definitely the second one. Surely.
I wore my nicest dress shirt and my most charming mask, based on a prince who had once been cursed to wear the form of a beast, freed by the love of a beautiful girl. I then made my way to the castle, a gift for the boy in my pocket, should he be there.
Of course he was there, leaning up against one of the marble pillars holding up the domed copper ceiling, looking absolutely bored. He was wearing a fancier black suit than before, with gold embroidery that also adorned a more intricately carved cane at his side.
Taking a deep breath, I pushed through the crowd, the faces and bodies surrounding me fading to a blur as I made my way towards him.
“You’re looking splendid tonight,” I said, letting the mask guide my shortened breath into words. My heart fluttered in my chest.
“And you’re wearing another one of your stupid masks. They make it terribly difficult to understand you,” he mused, picking at his cuticles.
“I can’t just–” I stammered, losing all charm. I glanced down at my shaking hands, and the object tucked against my palm. Slowly, I tapped his arm and placed it in his grasp. With a deep breath, I pulled the mask from my face, and let it clatter to the ground.
“There. Fine. I’ll stop playing pretend.”
The boy raised a brow and his fingers danced across the object. “A pit?”
“Yeah. A peach is soft on the outside, but tough at its center, right? Most people only see the outside, but if they dig they’ll find the pit.”
“Am I the pit in this metaphor?” He attempted a chuckle, but his voice stayed steady.
“Yeah, because you are also infuriatingly difficult–I mean tough,” I blushed, feeling exposed without my mask.
He reached out a hand towards me. “May I?” he whispered. I guided his hand to my cheek and let him explore the curves of my face, holding my breath as he did so.
“Now why would you ever cover this up…” he murmured before pulling away. “Would you like to dance?”
“Uh, yeah. That sounds nice–great, actually,” I stuttered, taking his hand.
A crooked grin spread across his face. “Okay, but you’re gonna look pretty foolish as the only guest at the masquerade without a mask.”
I looked around, and sure enough, everyone around us wore a mask, non-magical of course, but a mask nonetheless. Everyone but us. My mask was nowhere to be seen, having vanished from the floor.
“You bastard, you did this on purpose!” I tried to be angry, but I couldn’t stop laughing.
“Perks of being the prince,” he shrugged, confirming my suspicions, and putting his arms around my shoulders. “And I do believe you promised me a dance, lemon boy.”
“Anything for you, peach pit,” I laughed, spinning us across the ballroom, feeling the warm evening breeze across my true face for the first time in a long while.