The lights danced around like glowing fireflies, while the air felt hot due to
the moisture of love, sensuality and perfume, with a mix of heated bodily odors
that wasn't unpleasant. The wooden floors spun due to the sweet nectar drink,
which infused her with pleasant warmth that reminded her of sad tales told
within the walls of a happy home. The night was warm and still; the stars
twinkled like diamond dust thrown onto velvet shades. Meanwhile, magic flowed
throughout the abbey's marble halls, over the oak banisters, finally settling on
the dresses of the young ladies, in their hair, touching their cheeks, each of
them majestic and beautiful.

This was a Festival of Lights, celebrating the Light and the glorified
Supernals. Always the mystery of the masks, the wearers, not even the citizens
of Celest knew each other beneath those masks.

The costumes! The elaborate costumes! You were not allowed inside the decadent
halls without the Mystery cloaking you, from head to toe, including your ears
and eyes. There were cats, tigers, bears, deer, boars, peacocks, swans and more
elaborate, historical costumes.

So lovely, each woman, so handsome, each man. Where was she to start, gazing
around these beautiful people? Even the waitresses and waiters had dressed up,
in simultaneous steps so that each fold of their costumes matched. They were
dressed as dogs, their outfits molded to their body, giving away their genders.
Not common street mongrels, but beautiful Danes, strong, elegant, obedient.
White, grey, spotted, stripped, unique, plain, each costume to match the
individual's personality; yet all made the same. Their masks were wide, with
long pointed ears and snouts with twitching noses, their hands and feet covered
in cloth to mold and resemble a dog's paw.

She felt shy, walking through the wide glass doors, masked faces turning to
her. She knew none of these people, and none of them knew her, as was to be
expected. This delicate, dark figure walked with a fluidity of only one animal:
The melanistic jaguar. The other recognizable women dressed in white and
elaborate colors, but little or no black was to be seen on them.

The diamond dust settled on her dress, showing up more on her than any other
woman, and it made her blue-black hair shine more powerfully than the starlit
skies themselves. The tendrils from her messily pulled-up hair fell about her
face and shoulders in a tangle, and her black and golden lips parted slightly as
she gazed around herself, soaking up the splendor, the grandeur of the room. How
wonderful it was to be a part of these people!

She had no idea what to expect, but this party exceeded all expectations, and
delighted her. Her arms swung at her sides as she stepped barefoot along the
cold marble, her nails painted black. She was cursed to have light brown skin
instead of the dark chocolate she craved of her elfen race, but she was a
Princess, and though things were said behind her back in her homeland, here her
half human, half elfen heritage had little sway. She was more beautiful than
anyone.

But no one knew who she was. Not on this night.

A merian woman danced her way, her long neck providing a facet of her swan
costume. Her purple eyes danced with the magic spell of an aquamancer, and the
ring on her left hand shone almost as darkly. Her powers did not quite pass
Mabel's. The woman cleared her throat, stifling herself from saying her name.
She curtsied deeply to Mabel.

"My lady, you look stunning, more so than any other lady here. May I offer you
an escort?"

Raising a dark, slender eyebrow, Mabel replied coolly in a purr, "I would love
to accept your offer, as kind as it is, but I believe... I will find an escort
myself."

Nearly taken aback, the woman smiled kindly, the wrinkles around her mouth
showing through the thin sheen of her mask, offering Mabel a chance to guess her
age. The swan glided away gaily, twirling into a panda's arms; Mabel could not
tell whether the panda was male or female, as the outfit was quite large and the
person was only of medium height.

Her muscles rippling beneath her skin, she reached for a wine glass, and
laughed, sipping the gentle drink and spinning her way onto the dance floor.

After her second glass, her life began to spin around her, and her dress felt
as if it were no longer there. The heavy black material still covered her legs
and barely supported her ample bosom, but her happy mood, arrogance, and
influenced mind caused her into thinking she were dancing naked. The wind
outside blew clouds over the cathedral, and rained upon it, the city smelling of
mystery.

Her dress fashioned to cling to her, black and silver, as if moonlight hit the
material with her movements. This gave her a cat-like grace. Her mask had a
small snout with long whiskers, legit fangs hanging down past Mabel's chin. The
eyes to the mask were outlined a dark golden color, her own eyes turning green
and gold in the strange candlelight. Reaching up slightly, Mabel adjusted a
small cat ear in her hair, smoothing her dress but twirling in alarm as a voice
rung loud and clear above her, causing her lithe cat tail to swing.

"Ahh, all is perfect!" a smooth male voice yelled from atop the banisters. He
gazed down at each lovely lady, his black outfit full of glittering dust, as
Mabel's was. She stopped dancing, her skirt and tail twirling around her. No
other woman seemed to notice him, and no man even glanced up. She blinked
through the sweat in her eyes, through her mask that constricted her. He wore
soft leather pants, a wide black shirt that revealed his muscular chest and
stomach. His hair was slightly tousled, as his clothes were, as if he'd just
woken up... or left a lover's arms. He was also barefoot, only had extensions on
his feet to resemble claws. What was this man supposed to be? His mask was
simple, and not elaborate. His warm brown eyes twinkled and his lips curved just
so, Mabel felt herself hot with need by them.

He looked down at her, noticed her hidden gold eyes, her glittering lips, and
her mask that covered the rest of her face, besides her eyebrows and forehead.
He imagined her cheeks, flushed red with wine and high spirits, and felt himself
roused.

She slowly walked between couples and up the banister stairway, letting her
arrogance fall through, allowing herself a swing in her step, a grace only a
jaguar would possess, and as she passed him, she growled ever so slightly, her
black nails scratching along the material of his shirt. It was then she noticed
why his hair had seem so tousled from below: they were a mess of darkened black
feathers, and he was not wearing some elaborate jewelry, his own feet were
clawed as trill's often are. His wings were tucked close to him, small-looking,
but she was not deceived.

"Why, you are a hunter, aren't you?" he said, his voice purring a foreign
accent.

"A huntress," she whispered back, noticing the wings embroidered in silver on
his shirt. She glided her hands along them, between where his own real wings
rested, and over his shoulders. "And you would be... a raven?"

He growled low in his throat, gazing over a broad shoulder at her. "Yes." He
turned around and bent into her neck, smelling her gentle perfume, her
haughtiness the scent coming off her. He loved it. "And you would be Princess
Mabel?" he asked softly. He felt her stir, ever so slightly, and compose herself
quickly.

"And you must be...?"

"Ah, ah... you know better, Princess Jaguar." He took her hand and placed it at
his belt, and led her away from the crowd. Curiosity kept her holding onto him,
along with her desire for him.

He opened a small door, tucked neatly between two shelves in an empty library
room, and took her polished hand. With a bow and a kiss, he led her through the
small door, snapping it shut behind him. The room was small and dark, and Mabel
laughed a soft, silky laugh.

She felt him smile, and crept forward as he kept close to her back.

In his odd accent, he said, "Stay there."

As he lit the candles, slowly, one by one, Mabel felt herself tingle with
delight. The room had a bed, very close to the ground, covered in pillows. The
room itself had nearly one hundred candles by her guess, and lit the room
softly. Her eyes hurt as they adjusted to the scene. She breathed a little
heavier, watching him as his fingers rubbed his elegant ring to make the
enchanted fire, and she licked her lips as his lustrous mouth curled into a
smile.

He helped her down from the little platform, setting her onto the dusty floor.

"Haven't used this place in a while, have you?" she whispered, suddenly afraid.
Her conceited aura suddenly dropped, replaced by a scared Princess's lack of
power in making her own life's decisions.

"Only for those I am attracted to..." he moved towards her, swiftly, taking her
into his arms, and leaving her slightly breathless. He leaned his seraphic lips
towards hers, his head bent as they made contact. She melted instantly, her
knees turning to water and her stomach flipping within her.

She pushed aside her fear. "Magic," she murmured, gasping at him.

"Yes," he said with a short laugh.

She reached for her mask before he stopped her. "No, no, Princess, leave it
on... in the spirit of the Festival, we should respect that."

"Thank the Supernals for galas," she laughed as she kissed him again.