The Crowman

The flowers withered at her touch.
"Oh," Turning, the woman set the dried husks on the balcony's stone railing. She stayed like that for a moment, a hand hovering over the bouquet as she stared out into the twilight.
The young man who'd given her the flowers shifted behind her, possibly regretting his decision to waste that night's token on the enchantress.
That is what they called her, though such disrespect was unbecoming in courtiers.
Taking a quiet breath, the woman stilled her expression, though her silver mask hid all but her red lips.
Red like the roses he'd given her, before her touch destroyed their beauty.
Turning back to the young man, she twisted those lips into a smile.
"I accept."
He straightened, though the stiff movements as he offered her his arm betrayed his apprehension.
As they strolled into the ballroom, the women studied the courtiers which filled it. Men. Young men, filling the room with the musky scent of their cologne and the sickening stench of roses. Yet there were only three things all the men had in common.
They were beautiful.
They were noble.
And they were prisoners.
As she and her escort moved to the center of the dance floor, the crowd of men parted to allow eleven other couples through.
She barely glanced at the men her sisters had ensnared tonight, or at the lovely corsages that graced their dainty wrists.
Instead, she stared at the one man who didn't move to the edge of the room with the others. Older, with hair darker than a crow and a feathered mask to match.
Her sisters settled into their positions on either side of her, forming the crescent moon which always seemed to embrace the old crow.
The young man shifted to face her, and the crowman was blocked from view. Draping one hand on the young man's shoulder as he took her other in his hand, the woman noted his clumsiness.
It wouldn't take long for him to tire.
Yet as the music began, she almost found herself hoping that he would last to the end of the night.
They danced slowly at first, their crescent spinning around with the crowman always at its center. The young man did better than she expected, making it through that first dance without stumbling.
During the second dance, the tempo increased, and the dancers broke from the crescent.
Weaving through patterns that shifted into another just as the young men figured them out, the twelve sisters never lost the music's rhythm.
Their feet moved with each note, pulsing, aching as the soft slippers they wore deteriorated.
The women knew the moment her partner slipped.
His hand lost its grip to hers, and her hand grasped empty air instead of his shoulder.
On she danced, partnerless.
She savoured those brief beats, almost allowing herself to hope that she hadn't been the first.
Then a cool hand with a puckered scar on the palm clasped hers.
"My enchantress." The crowman's voice was soft, with its usual allure that called the ear to heed.
The woman turned her head away as his other arm wrapped around her waist. "How is it that my courtiers always faint before the fifth dance?"
The crowman rubbed her back with his thumb. "Perhaps if the lady would tour the ballroom with her sisters, a more capable partner would present himself."
The woman turned to face him, resting her hand on his shoulder. Spending her free moments in the ballroom wouldn't get her a stronger partner, even if she flirted with the men as her sisters did.
No, being in the ballroom would mean placing herself beneath the crowman's gaze.
Spending most of every night dancing with him was more than enough.
She stared at that feathered mask, and they danced in silence for a while. Beneath the music, she heard as her sisters lost their partners to exhaustion and received shadowmen as replacements.
Her feet were a constant agony, but they refused to obey her desires.
They wouldn't stop until the music did.
"We could end this now." The crowman said, in that persuading tone that almost begged her to give in. "One word, and the dance ends."
"One word, and my sisters go home, along with all these courtiers." The woman's voice was ragged, breath coming in quiet gasps now. She knew the night must be near an end. The crowman always waited until then to voice his bargain.
"They all go free. Your sisters wake in their beds, feet sore but minds free from any memory of this place." The crowman shook his head, as if such a fate was horrid.
"They would forget me." The woman glanced toward the other dancers, but all she saw were glimpses of masks and shadows.
"Else they might be tempted to venture into my domain a second time, and I'd be forced to keep them." The note of pleasure in the crowman's voice sent a shiver through the woman.
One word, and she could end the dance. Send her sisters home.
And condemn herself to the crowman.
If she held her tongue until the dawn, then she would have a reprieve.
Another day to ease the pain of tattered feet, and dread the coming of night.
Another night of new courtiers in the crowd, and the previous night's dance partners nowhere in sight.
It all hung on a single word.
Staring at the feathered mask, the woman took a breath.
"Adelaide."
The music stopped at the sound of her name.
Her legs gave out, and the crowman caught her in strong arms.
The ballroom was empty of all but her and the crowman.
He laughed, a caw of a sound.
"Adelaide, my enchantress." He spun her around, and she could imagine his smile beneath the mask. "Such a beautiful name for my bride."