Illusen at the Spring Masquerade

     She didn’t usually go to these sorts of events. She’d left the Faerieland party scene behind long ago.

     Yet here she was, at a masquerade ball celebrating the start of spring—and she was so glad the days were lengthening; the winter had been hard—surrounded by dancing, gossiping faeries, feeling hopelessly out-of-place.

     The music was nice, she supposed; thankfully, no one was playing a lyre. The food was decent. The décor was agreeably floral, if a little too pastel for her liking. The dancing… she’d done a bit, fluttering from one masked partner to another. But…

     The masquerade aspect had been part of the appeal. Like it or not, Illusen was famous; the thought of going incognito for a night had seemed like it might be… nice. She could put down the burden of being Illusen of Meridell—gentle, kind, patient, protective; friend to all Meridell, and enemy of Jhudora—don an enchanted mask, and just be another anonymous faerie in a crowd.

     It turned out that being an anonymous faerie in a crowd of masked faeries felt rather lonely.

     These weren’t ordinary masks, of course; any faerie actually trying to hide her identity would wear a mask enchanted to disguise any part of her face not covered by the mask, slightly alter her voice, and probably apply a few other illusory effects—changing her hair color, the appearance of her wings, or whatever else she thought might give her away.

     But there were other things, less easily disguised, that could give a faerie away. Patterns of speech; the way she stood; the rhythm of her laughter.

     Not that Illusen thought she’d be much good at guessing who was who after all these years living outside Faerieland. And she had no one to speculate with, which was half the fun.

     Being as well-known as she was, Illusen was rarely short of invitations to some gathering or another, most of which she politely declined, but…

     It had been a hard winter—harder still with the Grey Curse affecting Meridell. The heart of her glade was unaffected, for now; Illusen had spent months pouring her own magic into it to keep the curse at bay. Some of the trees in the outer circle—the ones with treehouses nestled in the branches, where her closest followers lived—had the tips of their branches touched by grey, but no more than that.

     Even though her glade hadn’t lost its color, it had still spent months covered in snow, and Illusen had spent all winter craving the colors of spring. So had plenty of other Meridellians; when the snow began to melt and Illusen’s Glade started turning green again, there was a sudden rush of visitors.

     Illusen did what she could for those suffering from the Grey Curse, which wasn’t much—just kind words, crème cookies, and a brief, verdant refuge from the grey. Illusen had no remedy for the curse, yet sometimes visiting Neopets looked at her with such hope in their eyes—like they expected a miracle from their Lady Illusen.

     But Illusen had no miracles to offer.

     And she was exhausted.

     When she’d received a pale pink perfumed envelope with an invitation to a spring masquerade ball in Faerieland, she’d thought… maybe this would help. She could leave her glade for one night. Forget the curse. Forget how powerless she felt. Just spend one night dancing, chattering about nothing important, sipping fruit punch, and eating little pastries topped with sugar-spun wings and candied violets.

     If Faerieland was good at anything, it was diversion.

     But now, after dancing, chattering, sipping punch, and eating tiny pastries, Illusen felt exhausted, powerless, and lonely.

     Maybe I should step out for some air, Illusen thought. And then I can decide whether or not to come back inside.

     “Evening,” said someone from just behind her.

     Startled, Illusen turned.

     It was a faerie wearing an orange-and-red marigold mask. She was more heavily-disguised than most; Illusen had the vague impression of leaf-shaped wings, but they were blurred, and when Illusen looked away, she had no firm recollection of their color or shape. Her hair was… some shade of brown, maybe, but again, when Illusen wasn’t looking directly at her, she couldn’t quite recall.

     She might be any element. In fact, it seemed likely that she was anything but an earth faerie.

     “Good evening,” said Illusen. She glanced out over the dance floor. “Um. Nice party, isn’t it?”

     “Do you think so?” the other faerie asked. “I’m finding it a bit dull, myself. The music’s about to lull me to sleep, and all these pastels… ugh.”

     “The music’s not bad for dancing,” said Illusen, feeling driven to defend the hostess.

     “Yet you’re not on the dance floor,” the other faerie pointed out.

     “Neither are you,” Illusen replied. “I danced a bit earlier. I was just taking a break.” She took a sip of her punch.

     “So, mysterious masked faerie,” said the other faerie, with a strangely-familiar smirk. “Have you come up with a fake name for the evening? Just so I can stop thinking of you as ‘that-faerie-in-the-ivy-mask.’”

     “...call me Ivy,” said Illusen.

     “Creative,” the other faerie replied. “Though it could be worse. There are at least three faeries going by some variation on ‘Rose’ tonight.”

     “Roses are a popular flower,” Illusen noted. “I take it you’re not going by Marigold.”

     The other faerie snorted. “Obviously not. You can call me Nym.”

     “What, like ‘pseudonym’?” said Illusen. “Creative.”

     Nym rolled her eyes. “Better than ‘I-have-an-ivy-mask-so-I-guess-I’m-Ivy. Still, I suppose this event doesn’t deserve that much creativity.”

     “What do you think would?” Illusen asked.

     “Something with a little more creativity of its own,” said Nym. “Look at this room. Piles of flowers, for a spring party—so original. And all these pastels… ugh.”

     “It’s a party to celebrate the start of spring,” said Illusen. “The invitation was on rose-scented paper and covered with glittery pastel flowers. It was obviously going to be a pastel-flower sort of event. If you dislike the theme so much, why come?”

     Nym shrugged, looking out over the ballroom. “I hoped I might meet someone interesting.”

     “Have you?” Illusen asked.

     “That’s yet to be seen,” said Nym, with a sidelong glance at Illusen. “Why did you come?”

     “I’ve… been in a bit of a slump,” said Illusen. “I thought maybe this would shake me out of it. It’s been a long, hard, cold winter.”

     “Hmm,” said Nym, with an odd little smile. “I thought the weather council kept things rather mild in Faerieland this year.”

     Illusen tried to suppress a wince.

     She’d just inadvertently handed “Nym” a piece of evidence to her identity—because Faerieland winters were famously mild.

     Faerieland was, after all, full of faeries talented with weather magic. When Faerieland had still been in the clouds, it had been necessary to control the surrounding climate to keep it from floating off-course. Even now that it was on the ground like every other land in Neopia, its population expected the government to maintain a certain standard of weather—not too hot, not too cold, not too rainy. Oh, sometimes there’d be a little aesthetically-pleasing sprinkle of snow around the holidays, but never any blizzards, and the snow wasn’t allowed to pile up in a way that would cause widespread inconvenience.

     Illusen thought it ironic that faeries—who were supposed to be custodians of the natural world and its cycles—kept their city so sheltered from the regular course of the seasons.

     Yet here she was, back in Faerieland, taking shelter herself.

     And she’d as good as said “By the way, I live somewhere that has harsher winters than Faerieland.”

     “Though we did get some rain last week,” said Nym, still smiling. “I take it you prefer the warmer seasons.”

     Illusen looked back out over the ballroom. “Most earth faeries do,” she said, deliberately nonchalant. Not that spring was bringing much in the way of green back to Meridell as a whole. At least her glade hadn’t been covered in grey.

     Yet.

     “Most do,” Nym agreed, pleasantly. “I’ve always been partial to autumn, myself.”

     Truth be told, Illusen loved autumn, too—the changing of the leaves, the pleasant chill in the air that called for cozy scarves and soft sweaters, hot apple cider and pumpkin pie…

     Jhudora had always seemed to be in a better mood when the days started growing shorter. Darkness was her element, after all.

     There’d been a balance between them, once. Illusen had brightened up in spring as the days grew longer and warmer, and Jhudora had seemed to come more alive as the nights lengthened in the fall. Jhudora had helped Illusen keep her spirits up in the cold, dark winter, and Illusen in turn had done her best to return the favor during summer, Jhudora’s least favorite season.

     But now Illusen was alone.

     It wasn’t as if Illusen didn’t have friends, but…

     There was no one she’d ever gotten as close to as she’d once been with Jhudora.

     She supposed it made sense; with her quest-giving, she’d shaped a significant part of her life around Jhudora—trying to prepare for whatever Jhudora might be planning. Since it was fairly common knowledge that they’d once been close… it kind of gave the impression that Illusen had never really gotten over what had happened between them.

     And that cast a shadow over any new relationships Illusen tried to build.

     No, there’s nothing in this world that could bring back what we had…

     She was so deeply, bitterly angry with Jhudora for making her feel this way—and angry with herself, too, because she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something she could have done—should have done—to prevent things from going this far.

     And she also had an awful, sick feeling that maybe she could have stopped things from getting worse.

     “I knew there’d be at least a few figures of interest at this little masquerade,” said Nym. “I even heard a rumor that even Lady Illusen of Meridell would be coming all the way to Faerieland to grace us with her presence.”

     Well, now ‘Nym’ was obviously baiting her.

     Illusen took another sip of punch to buy herself time. How could she even respond to that? An “Oh boy, I’m her biggest fan!” didn’t seem like the best idea.

     “You know, I’ve always thought Illusen was kind of a jerk,” said Illusen.

     “...oh?” said Nym, eyebrows raised.

     “Just… running off like she did,” said Illusen. “Didn’t say goodbye to anyone, didn’t explain—just flew off in a huff, never to return. What a drama queen.”

     There, that should… maybe not make it obvious that Illusen was the one behind the ivy mask?

     “I’m… sure she had her reasons,” Nym said, looking a little nonplussed. “I mean, everyone knows that Jhudora is up to something—Illusen was probably just frightened after she got a glimpse of Jhudora’s true self.”

     Illusen waved that off. “Oh, Jhudora’s nothing but—but an overhyped tourist attraction. I mean, what has she actually done? She’s been giving out quests for ages, and the worst she’s ever done is scare a few questers who didn’t get back to her in time. If she were actually going to do something nasty, she’d have done it by now.”

     But as she spoke, Illusen thought—Wait. I don’t actually—I mean, it’s entirely possible she has some sort of plan that’s just taking a while. That’s why I have to stay on top of her—I can’t be sure. Not after what I saw all those years ago. I have to...

     “She probably wants to be underestimated,” said Nym.

     “She talks herself up,” Illusen continued, because at this point she was committed. “But like I said—she’s a tourist attraction. ‘Everyone knows’ she’s planning something, except if they really believed it, she wouldn’t be getting such a steady stream of questers. What everyone really knows is that her bark is worse than her bite. Well, everyone knows it except Illusen, at least.”

     Which… wasn’t entirely true. There were people who thought Jhudora was running some sort of long con. Illusen had no shortage of reports from wannabe spies who came rushing to report to her whenever Jhudora so much as sneezed funny.

     And now Nym was looking at her kind of funny.

     But after a moment, Nym smiled in a way that made Illusen think that perhaps she’d misstepped.

     “I suppose you’re right,” said Nym. “Illusen is overdramatic, isn’t she?”

     Wait, thought Illusen. No—you’re not supposed to agree with me!

     But at this point Illusen couldn’t very well go back and say “Wait, no, actually Illusen is actually very reasonable and totally right about everything.”

     “Well,” said Illusen. “Yes. But… they both are, aren’t they? Her and Jhudora. Jhudora plays up her image as this big bad dark faerie—who somehow never gets up to anything all that bad, so far as anyone knows—and Illusen… acts like she believes it.”

     “It’s more than that,” said Nym. “Sure, maybe Jhudora leans into her public image. It seems to work for her, after all. But Illusen… she just wants to play the goody-goody earth faerie fighting against the oh-so-wicked dark faerie. A tale as old as Neopia, and everyone just eats it right up.”

     The disguise spell masked Nym’s voice, but Illusen thought she could pick up a note of bitterness.

     It was an old, old story.

     Dark faeries had a reputation, after all. In fairness, all the elements had their stereotypes: hot-tempered fire faeries, self-righteous light faeries, stubborn and hedonistic earth faeries—but dark faeries probably had things worst. They were crafty, always plotting something, naturally deceptive—easily drawn to evil. You couldn’t trust them.

     Those old attitudes had always been a specter in Illusen’s relationship with Jhudora, however much Illusen had tried not to think about them—however much Illusen had tried to make it clear, however she could, that of course she trusted Jhudora.

     But then…

     Illusen had seen what she’d seen. And after that, all trust was gone.

     And maybe that had hurt Jhudora more than anything else, except… what else could Illusen have done?

     “I suppose they do,” said Illusen. “And they pick whatever story they want to believe—the scheming villain and the ‘goody-goody’ fighting against her, or the poor, misunderstood victim of rumor and her persecutor.”

     “They say I'm bad, I brush it off. They say I'm evil, who gives a toss? But then there's you...what is one to do?”

     Jhudora had always claimed not to care what people—at least most people—thought. But Illusen didn’t think even she was completely immune to the churning of the Faerieland gossip mill.

     But then there’s you...

     “And which do you prefer?” Nym asked.

     Another baited question.

     Illusen wet her lips with her tongue, thinking.

     “Neither,” she said at last. “Neither one feels right.”

     Nym scoffed. “I suppose your feelings would never lead you astray.”

     “I wouldn’t say that,” said Illusen. “But nothing is ever that simple, is it?”

     Nym looked out over the dance floor. “Most people are simple. They like simple stories. A hero, a villain—and once they’ve decided who’s who, they’re not likely to change their minds.”

     Illusen had been having more doubts, as of late, about who Jhudora truly was.

     It was easy for anyone to fall into a rut—to let their way of thinking harden, their opinions calcify. And faeries, long-lived as they were, had far more time to get thoroughly stuck in their ways than the rest of Neopia.

     But during the first Faerie Festival she and Jhudora had co-hosted, not only had Jhudora seemed genuinely concerned for Illusen’s faltering health—though she’d expressed it in her usual acerbic fashion—she’d also come to rescue Illusen from Balthazar.

     Which wasn’t the sort of thing you did for a much-hated foe.

     But afterwards, nothing had really changed between them. They’d descended back into bickering soon enough.

     And Jhudora’s voice, forced into song this last Faerie Festival, still rang in her ears: I hate you. I utterly despise you...

     “That’s a pretty pessimistic way of looking at things,” said Illusen. “People change their minds all the time when they learn something new—something that changes their view of things.”

     “Most people don’t care all that much about the truth,” said Nym. “Or else they’d look harder for it in the first place.”

     “Sometimes... it’s hard to know who, or what, to trust,” said Illusen.

     “Is it really,” Nym replied, flatly.

     Illusen took another sip of her punch. “It can be. Sometimes you think you know someone, and then they do something that makes you wonder if they were ever who you thought they were.”

     “If that were to happen to me,” said Nym, “I’d probably talk things over with that person and make sure I had my story straight—that I hadn’t overreacted to something without getting the full story. And if we just couldn’t work things out, then we’d split up without making a massive overdramatic thing of it. But that’s just me.”

     “Well,” said Illusen, “if I thought someone had drastically misunderstood something I did—if there truly was some innocent explanation behind everything—then I’d reach out to clear things up. And if I didn’t, I could hardly blame that person for not somehow reading my mind.”

     “Well,” said Nym. “This is all hypothetical, of course, but if someone were to think something I’d done was so irredeemably awful that she had to flee Faerieland without so much as a ‘forget you, we’re through, see you never,’ I wouldn’t think she was worth chasing after.”

     “And hypothetically,” said Illusen, swirling her punch in her cup, “if someone were to suddenly leave the area after something I’d done—perhaps to get herself some space and time to think—and I decided to take on the persona of a wicked faerie who offered quests in exchange for dark, poisonous gifts… well, I don’t think I’d blame that person for not coming back and asking further questions. Because actions have a voice all their own.”

     “And if, very hypothetically, I were to do something stupid and overdramatic,” said Nym, “something that got everybody talking—something that sparked rumors about another person—and those rumors turned her into a pariah overnight—well, maybe I wouldn’t blame her for deciding, if she was going to have a bad reputation, she might as well lean into it! She might as well get something out of her dark faerie dealings.”

     Illusen flinched.

     “What do you know, with your Dark Faerie dealings!”

     “That’s a low blow, even from you…”

     It had been. Whatever had been possessing Orion’s lyre had pulled something cruel and hateful out of Illusen, and a cowardly part of Illusen still wanted to blame Jhudora for making her so angry, for always seeming to draw out the worst parts of Illusen…

     ...but no.

     “At least to myself, I know how to be true.”

     And here was Jhudora—why even try to deny it at this point? Illusen knew her—knew the way she stood and spoke; knew her smiles and scowls both. It was absolutely her, disguised as something she very much wasn’t in order to approach Illusen.

     And that stung in a way Illusen struggled to articulate.

     “You know what?” said Jhudora, “I think I’ll go and see if there’s anyone actually interesting to speak with at this part—”

     “Dance with me?” said Illusen, before she could stop herself.

     Jhudora blinked. Once again, she seemed taken aback.

     Illusen inhaled sharply, hoping Jhudora didn’t notice how her breath caught in her throat. “I mean. We could… if you wanted to—I’d like to dance with you. Please.”

     Please don’t go. I’m sorry.

     Besides, that was what these events were for, wasn’t it? Dancing the night away with a supposedly-anonymous masked stranger.

     Illusen was certain, at this point, that neither of them had any doubt as to who the other was.

     But they still had the faintest shred of plausible deniability.

     Just once—for one dance—let’s pretend you haven’t caused me so much pain over all these years, and I… didn’t hurt you, either, and that we can spend at least a little time together without getting into a fight.

     Please?

     “Well,” said Jhudora, “Since I’m here, I suppose I might as well.”

     She held out her hand. Illusen took it.

     Then she drew Jhudora onto the dance floor, leading her into the steps of a dance they both knew.

     For a few moments, it was like all the years of distance between them had disappeared—that they simply slipped back into old patterns, old closeness, old trust as they moved across the floor, hand in hand, swaying to the music—a far gentler tune than that of Orion’s lyre, and one they moved to willingly.

     And for a moment, as the current piece of music came to a close, and the two of them came to a standstill, their eyes met, and lingered, and Illusen thought—I could just… keep holding on. Not let go. Pull her closer...

     But…

     ...a brief dance was one thing. Illusen didn’t know how Jhudora would react to a hug.

     The thought of Jhudora pushing her away—even pulling back in disgust—was horrifying enough that before Illusen found herself subconsciously drawing back.

     And Jhudora, noticing, tensed, then stepped back as well.

     Because they could never truly forget, could they?

     No, there’s nothing in this world that could bring back what we had…

     “Well,” said Jhudora, voice gone tight, “I suppose that was… nice. But I think I have other things to do tonight. Have a pleasant evening, ‘Ivy.’”

     “You… you too,” said Illusen, heart sinking. “I…” She swallowed. “Perhaps we’ll see each other again sometime.”

     “Oh, I’m sure we will,” said Jhudora, turning to go.

     “Jhud—I mean, Nym,” said Illusen. “Wait.”

     Jhudora paused, looking over her shoulder.

     “I’ll probably wear the same disguise, if I come to another one of these,” said Illusen. “But… you don’t have to.”

     You don’t have to pretend you’re a different element.

     I’m sorry.

     “Oh, please. You think this was for your sake?” said Jhudora, gesturing vaguely at her disguised wings. “I’m trying not to be completely obvious. Maybe you should follow my example.”

     “Maybe I will,” said Illusen. “Maybe I’ll come to the next one in purple and green.”

     “As if anyone would ever mistake you for… your much more intelligent and powerful rival,” said Jhudora.

     Illusen rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll wear something else. Something you’ll never guess.”

     “And I’ll find you anyways,” said Jhudora.

     “Not if I find you first,” said Illusen.

     “Oh, good luck with that,” said Jhudora. “Good night.”

     With that, she slipped away into the crowd, leaving Illusen alone on the edge of the dancefloor.

     Alone, yet less lonely than before.

     She and Jhudora were going to have to work together against the shades, after all. Maybe… there could be something more than that, too.

     It was true—there was nothing in the world that could bring back what they’d once had.

     But maybe there was a way to build something new.

     Maybe, someday, they could both lay their masks aside.

     At some point, they’d need to talk—really talk. And… they both had apologies to make, Illusen thought.

     But tonight was a start.

     Perhaps that was enough for now.

     I think I’m ready to leave, Illusen thought. But now, she felt less like she was fleeing, and more that she was simply… finished.

     She’d gotten what she needed from this party, even if it hadn’t been quite what she expected.

     Illusen reached up, gently running her fingers over the edge of her mask.

     Then, letting her hand fall, she left the dance floor once more, music growing fainter behind her as she headed out into the warm spring night.

     The End.