SINNER, BAKER,
FABULIST, PRIEST; RED
MASK, BLACK MASK,
GENTLEMAN, BEAST
Eugie Foster
EACH MORNING IS a decision. Should I put on the brown mask or the blue? Should I be a tradesman or an assassin today?
Whatever the queen demands, of course, I am. But so often she ignores me, and I am left to figure out for myself who to be.
Dozens upon dozens of faces to choose from.
1. Marigold is for Murder
The yellow mask draws me, the one made from the pelt of a mute animal with neither fangs nor claws – better for the workers to collect its skin. It can only glare at its keepers through the wires of its cage, and when the knives cut and the harvesters rip away its skin, no one is troubled by its screams.
I tie the tawny ribbons under my chin. The mask is so light, almost weightless. But when I inhale, a charnel stench redolent of out houses, opened intestines, and dried blood floods my nose.
. . .
