The grand ballroom shimmered with opulence, the high ceilings glittering with chandeliers. Masks of every color and design glided through the crowd, their owners laughing, scheming, and dancing to an orchestra's bittersweet melody. Among the revelers, Columbina stood apart—a figure of soft elegance wrapped in a gown of ivory and gold. Her mask, feathered and adorned with delicate jewels, barely concealed her piercing gaze.
She leaned against a marble column, watching the others lose themselves in the revelry. Her solitude was by choice; the crowd was a cacophony she had no wish to join. The only solace she found was in the steady pull of the moonlight, spilling through the arched windows.
"Do you always keep to the shadows, Columbina?" a low voice asked.
She turned, and there stood Arlecchino, draped in black and red, the edges of her mask sharp as the glint of her dagger. A quiet intensity followed her, as if she carried the weight of something unspoken.
"And do you always seek out what lingers in the dark, Arlecchino?" Columbina replied with a faint smile.
Arlecchino didn’t answer, only stepped closer. The faint scent of cedar and steel followed her—a sharp contrast to the lilac and citrus of Columbina. “The moonlight loves you,” Arlecchino said softly, her eyes darting to the glow that outlined Columbina’s figure. “It doesn’t often fall so tenderly on someone.”
Columbina laughed, though it was quiet and wistful. "The moonlight falls on all who are still enough to catch it." Her fingers grazed the windowsill as she tilted her head toward the night sky. "It belongs to no one. It’s fleeting, like everything else."
"Not everything," Arlecchino murmured.
The words hung heavy between them. Columbina’s smile faltered, her expression softening into something unreadable. "You speak with such certainty."
"Because I know," Arlecchino said, stepping closer. She was close enough now that Columbina could feel the faint warmth of her presence, the way her voice was steady, almost reverent. "Some things don’t belong to the world, or to others. They are ours to keep—mine to keep."
"And what is it you claim as yours?" Columbina asked, her voice a whisper now.
Arlecchino hesitated for the first time, her gloved hand reaching but not touching. "My love. It’s mine. Not to be taken, or shared, or wasted. It’s only for one."
The room seemed to quiet around them, though the music still played. Columbina felt her breath catch, an unfamiliar softness spreading through her chest. She turned fully to face Arlecchino, her hand rising to rest lightly on the edge of her mask. "And would this love find me?" she asked, her voice trembling in a way that felt foreign.
Arlecchino removed her mask, her face bare and honest in the moonlight. "It already has."
For a moment, Columbina simply stared, the world falling away. Then, without a word, she reached up and removed her own mask. Her smile returned, softer now, as if the moonlight had melted something within her.
"Then let us see if it belongs to me, too," she said, taking Arlecchino’s hand.
And as they stood there, bathed in silver light, the orchestra played on—a melody both fragile and eternal, like the love that now tethered them beneath the watchful gaze of the moon.