I’ve been having this strange dream lately. I’m sitting in the corner of this gorgeous ballroom. There is a mirror on the wall next to me, and I turn to look into it. Something is wrong with my reflection. The face looking back at me is mine, the wild hair pulled back with a barrette and falling loose over my shoulders, but there is something different….
Before I can figure out what it is, my thoughts are interrupted by a voice saying my name. Only it is not my name, though my dream self recognizes it as such. Forgetting the mirror, I stand and curtsy to the man who has spoken. He is taller than me, with dark hair and appears to be in his early twenties, though he wears a mask and I cannot see his face. Looking out through that mask are the most gorgeous eyes I’ve ever seen.
I cannot tell who he is, yet my dream self knows him. When I look at him I suddenly feel shy. Staring at my feet, I stumble through some sort of greeting as the song that is playing comes to an end. Those few moments seem like an eternity, and I am certain that my furiously blushing face must clash with my emerald green mask.
“You look stunning,” he says. As the next song begins, he offers me his hand. “Would you grant me the honor of a dance?”
“It would be my honor,” I reply. The hand I give him is mine, but not mine. The scars are gone, as are the ragged, chewed up fingernails. The dream me has lighter skin, and perfectly manicured nails. I stare at that hand in confusion as he leads me onto the dance floor.
The man is an amazing dancer, and my dream self is more graceful than the real me could ever be. The skirt of my medieval inspired gown flares out elegantly as he spins me away from him, and then back. He pulls me a little closer and whispers, “I think I’m falling in love with you.”
My heart skips a beat, but quickly sinks. He is a terrible flirt, and surely he’s just saying this. He has all the ladies wrapped around his finger. This is a game to him, and he must see me as nothing more than his next victory.
“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” I tell him, just before he spins me away again. I am not one of those giggling, flirting teenagers he always seems to be surrounded by, and I refuse to let him treat me like one. “Love is such a powerful emotion. Throwing the word around like that causes it to become meaningless.”
Although the mask hides his expression, I can still see the hurt in his eyes, and I mentally curse myself. What was I thinking to say something like that? He’ll probably hate me now. I try to push away that thought. I wish he would argue with me, tell me I’m wrong, call me a stupid sentimental fool, or at least say something. Instead, we continue the dance in silence for awhile. As lost as I am in my own self-pity, I still have to admire his skill. He moves as though he were a part of the music, and even with the growing tension, neither of us takes a single misstep.
I prepare to apologize, but just before I can open my mouth, the man speaks. “I meant what I said,” he tells me. “Despite what you might think of me, I don’t use that word unless I mean it.”
Is he just playing games with me? I want to believe him, want him to love me. Can I give him my heart and trust him not to break it? I’m not sure if I should, or even if I can. Is it worth the risk of getting hurt, if there’s a chance I might find happiness?
Does he really love me? I can’t read his expression. If only he weren’t wearing that mask! Seeking answers, I look into those beautiful eyes, but that proves to be a mistake. It’s like falling from a high cliff into a deep pool. I could drown in those eyes.
“I really do love you,” he says. His voice is like a lifeline, pulling me back to reality.
I decide to take the chance. “I love you, too,” I whisper. I will play this game of his, but he’d best be careful because I’m playing for keeps.
The song is almost over, and as we finish the dance I am seized by the sudden desire to see his face. The music stops, and slowly I reach out with the hand that is mine, but not mine. Time itself seems to move more slowly as I find the edge of the mask with my fingertips. In slow motion, I pull it away from his face, and see that the man behind the mask is….
But I always wake up right there, just before I can get a look at his face. The dream leaves me filled with questions. Who is my dream man, and what is the significance of the dream?
Before I can figure out what it is, my thoughts are interrupted by a voice saying my name. Only it is not my name, though my dream self recognizes it as such. Forgetting the mirror, I stand and curtsy to the man who has spoken. He is taller than me, with dark hair and appears to be in his early twenties, though he wears a mask and I cannot see his face. Looking out through that mask are the most gorgeous eyes I’ve ever seen.
I cannot tell who he is, yet my dream self knows him. When I look at him I suddenly feel shy. Staring at my feet, I stumble through some sort of greeting as the song that is playing comes to an end. Those few moments seem like an eternity, and I am certain that my furiously blushing face must clash with my emerald green mask.
“You look stunning,” he says. As the next song begins, he offers me his hand. “Would you grant me the honor of a dance?”
“It would be my honor,” I reply. The hand I give him is mine, but not mine. The scars are gone, as are the ragged, chewed up fingernails. The dream me has lighter skin, and perfectly manicured nails. I stare at that hand in confusion as he leads me onto the dance floor.
The man is an amazing dancer, and my dream self is more graceful than the real me could ever be. The skirt of my medieval inspired gown flares out elegantly as he spins me away from him, and then back. He pulls me a little closer and whispers, “I think I’m falling in love with you.”
My heart skips a beat, but quickly sinks. He is a terrible flirt, and surely he’s just saying this. He has all the ladies wrapped around his finger. This is a game to him, and he must see me as nothing more than his next victory.
“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” I tell him, just before he spins me away again. I am not one of those giggling, flirting teenagers he always seems to be surrounded by, and I refuse to let him treat me like one. “Love is such a powerful emotion. Throwing the word around like that causes it to become meaningless.”
Although the mask hides his expression, I can still see the hurt in his eyes, and I mentally curse myself. What was I thinking to say something like that? He’ll probably hate me now. I try to push away that thought. I wish he would argue with me, tell me I’m wrong, call me a stupid sentimental fool, or at least say something. Instead, we continue the dance in silence for awhile. As lost as I am in my own self-pity, I still have to admire his skill. He moves as though he were a part of the music, and even with the growing tension, neither of us takes a single misstep.
I prepare to apologize, but just before I can open my mouth, the man speaks. “I meant what I said,” he tells me. “Despite what you might think of me, I don’t use that word unless I mean it.”
Is he just playing games with me? I want to believe him, want him to love me. Can I give him my heart and trust him not to break it? I’m not sure if I should, or even if I can. Is it worth the risk of getting hurt, if there’s a chance I might find happiness?
Does he really love me? I can’t read his expression. If only he weren’t wearing that mask! Seeking answers, I look into those beautiful eyes, but that proves to be a mistake. It’s like falling from a high cliff into a deep pool. I could drown in those eyes.
“I really do love you,” he says. His voice is like a lifeline, pulling me back to reality.
I decide to take the chance. “I love you, too,” I whisper. I will play this game of his, but he’d best be careful because I’m playing for keeps.
The song is almost over, and as we finish the dance I am seized by the sudden desire to see his face. The music stops, and slowly I reach out with the hand that is mine, but not mine. Time itself seems to move more slowly as I find the edge of the mask with my fingertips. In slow motion, I pull it away from his face, and see that the man behind the mask is….
But I always wake up right there, just before I can get a look at his face. The dream leaves me filled with questions. Who is my dream man, and what is the significance of the dream?
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