Again. Again! She runs as fast and hard as she can, and Bella’s here first. Again.

“Stay back,” she croaks, desperate. Not for herself. Not because she’s scared of her Bella. But because she doesn’t want to hurt Bella, she doesn’t want to perform this play, she can’t break her kitten[1]. Not like Mother broke Molech. “I don’t want to hurt you, Bella.” Her words are so stupid! Wheezed, directed at the floor, they come off as false bravado, not a desperate plea to end the tragedy.

Then she looks up and there are ribbons. Very cute ribbons. They bounce when Bella shifts her weight. They’re on top of cute socks and there is a skirt swishing at eye level all full of lace, and it’s so wonderfully ridiculous that Bella would come out here like this, instead of in something practical, and— buttons. When she raises her head, the world is a swell of golden buttons.

It’s the Auspex that rouses her out of a reverie of round, golden, shining full moons, straining in their parade up and down the hidden mountains. The Auspex, which overlays a tiny cartoon Bella, staggering from foot to foot, purple bubbles rising from her head only to pop one by one as she waves a pinecone staff like a conductor leading a servitor orchestra. “Bella,” Redana gasps, “of all the times to be playing dipsomaniac[2]! With the Eleutherios[3] here?? You— you— [i]sillyhead![/i]”

She stands up to shake some sense into her little drunk kitten, only she doesn’t, because her leg decides not to be there for her, and now she’s clinging to those loose sleeves as she makes her way back down to the ground, hitting every button as she goes. Some of them even stay in place!

***

[1]: [i]Golden eyes gleam in a pale face, her body crammed into one corner, and she looks so scared and she doesn’t have to be—[/i]

[2]: the Dipsomaniac is a common palace entertainment: take a Servitor, dress them in bells and purple and black, and have them drink wine meant for their betters. They are under the host’s protection for as long as they find the Dipsomaniac amusing.

[3]: [i]”We have all unmasked save you, master of the revels. Lay aside the wreath and the mirror, I pray you; the servants’ childish frenzy has grown tiresome to us...”
“I wear no mask.”
“No mask? No mask!”[/i]
— [i]The Bloody Masque,[/i] written during the Third Sanctristry of Nossos.