The stillness of the full moon enshrouds the world in a supernatural glow. On nights such as this, when the moon is full, time twists unexpected and impossible. Out of their homes they come, trickling into the nightclub. The Friday night masquerade. Some of them wear leather jackets, black and drab, with torn clothes and boots. Others dress in technicoloured costumes bought from second-hand thrift stores, their hair done up in bizarre, abstract horrorshow styles. Like high school cliques, they know what to expect and all share the same desires as to what overtures the night will tease them with. With the same emotionless, expressionless stare reflecting from one face to another they dance to the beat of an almost headsplitting rhythm and noise.
Primal smells of sweat hang thick in the air. Strobe light effects and smoke ebbflow along with the listless bodies of the dancers. Then she walks in, materializing from the smoke itself. At first, there is nothing noticeable about the newcomer. Her physical features aren’t what draw them to her. No, she looks the same as the rest of the pulsating crowd with her ankle-length black velvet dress, a popular style from the Gothic era. Her hair is long, straight and blonde. Just your average adolescent immaturity hoping the local scene provides her with fun this Friday evening. Nothing too special here except what sits upon her head. A big red velvet crumpled tophat one size too large for her head beckons them from the hypnotic rhythms of the music.
She pauses at the entryway and the big red velvet crumpled tophat slides down over her eyes. She lifts the hat up and sets it right again as her eyes adjust to the scene unfolding around her. A foot slides out from under her dress and then another and she glides into the nightclub. She smiles when the perky goth in pink stands next to her and reaches out to touch the velvet. Soon, a second goth, dressed in black from her head to her toes, stands next to the first in pink. Together, they stare at the hat, admiring it. A few minutes later, the movement becomes a parade. The big red velvet crumpled tophat draws more and more people away from the chairs and stools and the dancefloor.
The nightclubbers flock to her. They are captivated by the big red velvet crumpled tophat and its wearer and what the pair might offer them. To some, the hat becomes the center of intense desire. They want it. They try and steal it from her. One reaches out and tries to grab the hat off the girl’s head. A boy jumps over two followers in an attempt to get a better view of big red velvet crumpled tophat that draws attention. Guys acting cool and tough, their leather jackets shielding them from emotion, lean against the wall. They mutter to one another, taking bets as to who will win this girl over tonight. Others wager how long she will keep the hat.
The crowd of people gathering around her crescendo as the attempts to steal the hat increase in number. A few believe that if they wear the hat, then they too can have the same power that she has over their peers. Two boys slide up to the girl in the big red velvet crumpled tophat, their eyes sparkle mischievous plans. They elbow one another and laugh, daring each other to grab the hat from off her head. One whips his arm out, snakelike, and comes close to snatching the hat from the girl’s head. She sees this and her eyes cut into slivers. A simple warning, do not try that again. The boys quickly back off and vanish back into the darkness. Her face relaxes and once again a smile forms. A few more attempts at removing the hat are made. A few of them almost succeed, but the girl with the cobalt blue eyes and rose red lipstick manages to keep the hat upon her head. She seems to enjoy the attention and jovial atmosphere that it fosters and isn’t offended by her familiars’ playfulness.
“Rancid dreams, knives bleed,” pours out of the loudspeakers as a fight between two rivetheads combusts. A boy with dreadlocks and goggles shakes his head at something a boy with a tall blue mohawk says. He punches the mowhawked rivethead in the arm and leans back against the wall. His eyes follow the girl in the big red velvet crumpled tophat as she moves around the club. The boy with the mowhawk nurses his arm as anger festers inside. A knife appears. The air changes from lightheartedness to something darker, more primal. Perhaps this is where the night begins. A circle of onlookers forms, bloodlust in their eyes. They expect something majical to happen, something violent to kickstart their desires. But the bloodmajic never occurs. The girl in the big red velvet crumpled tophat comes into view before any damage gets dealt. She steps up to the boy with the mowhawk. He growls at her, daring her to make a move. His shoulders sag as the light causes something wet to sparkle on her face. A single tear forms at the corner of her eye, an unspoken sign of broken trust. In this moment of angry confusion the two boys glance between their savior and each other, awkward, wondering where to escape. The knife disappears, concealed, and the two melt away as if nothing ever happened. The circle, broken, parts. Those who were interested in the fight now return their gaze to the big red velvet crumpled tophat, somehow knowing that it offers them something better.
The fast beat lingers throughout the hazy world this girl creates around herself. Dancing, she entices her followers like a messiah leading a chosen few to salvation. Along the way, the club’s atmosphere changes noticeably from the common angry, reckless demeanor to a more friendly and caring mode. People standing near the bar look into the mirror and see her. They turn and stare at the hat as she passes them. Those who gather around lose interest in the music, and become exhilarated by the felicity the girl in the big red velvet crumpled tophat kindles. Those still in the groove of the night also begin to glance around and whisper among themselves as the smoke obscures their vision of the wandering parade.
It’s obvious that this girl is alone. Not a single person emerges from the crowd to claim her, although they all desire her. She shyly smiles and giggles at the attention she draws as the tophat slips down her eyes, obscuring them and her smile from those gathered about her. Innocent and pure. All this attention is one big happy flirt to her. Her intentions seem no more devious than the big red velvet crumpled tophat that sits atop her brow. Yet, at the same time, her path seems planned, as if she is searching for someone or has a mission to fulfill tonight.
Off to one side of the nightclub an altar stands. Two figures clothed in black attire sit at a table laced with purple silk. A man sits on the left, a Victorian poet’s shirt ruffles as he languidly gestures around him. Deep black kohl burns rings around his eyes. To his right, a woman with tight fishnet stockings on her arms and legs eagerly listens to him. The chair masks the crinkle dress she wears. Her hair is done up in braids. Ten cards lay silent on the table, their wisdom locked in static pictures. A candelabra burns between them, casting dancing shadows across the familiar pattern in cards.
As the music rises and falls, so do the hands of the reader who divines answers from the pattern. “Ashes to ashes. Fallen rose to dust. Tarot cards, speak to me of trust,” the conjurer whispers into the cards. Just as he does, the girl in the big red velvet crumpled tophat crosses their path. The client glimpses the big red velvet crumpled tophat as it passes in front of their table. The reader, half expecting the cards to provide insight into the life of the woman across from him, sees a new vision crying out instead. His eyes widen, his face becomes even more pale, as a forlorn story unfolds from the cards.
Love is fragile. And when the last petal fell from the rose, a voice cried out from Heaven. I fell in love that day. It was you, wasn’t it? The one with the soft blonde hair and dreamy blue eyes. The one who leapt into my mind stirring crazy thoughts around? Yes, it was you. It had to be you.
My friend. The secret desire of my heart. If I knew what awaited me on the other side, I wouldn’t have given up my halo for mortality so quickly. I feel it now as I felt it the first time you touched my hand. Then I understood the feelings inside. Something mortal, something real. I wanted you. Wanted to throw my arms around your neck and scream, “I LOVE YOU.”
But, I couldn’t.
The tarot reader’s eyes flicker back and forth, darting from the card with an image of two people chained to a devil to another depicting three dancing women. The cards, the story, nothing aligns.
Fear wouldn’t let me. Fear of rejection, stupidity. Perhaps I’ve gone too far, my mind screamed. But there was no turning back. I am condemned, my penance is life. To show others kindness so they can walk into the light. Yet the desire for you still burns within, intense and bright, even more so.
His eyes jerk from the client and then back down again.
You are the only cure to my disease. We are dangerous together. Fiery inspiration consumes me when you are near. Deviant thoughts enter my mind. I imagine what it is to kiss you, to probe your body with my tongue. Never knowing how you feel in return, but knowing that out of friendship a petal can never a full rose make.
Lucifer, my sweet. My fallen, my beloved. You called out to me, touched my heart in places I dare not know existed. One passionate kiss was all it took. I want to play a special role in your life, but know that I cannot. We are separated by a destiny that is greater than our friendship. Tonight… perhaps redemption.
The reader looks up, his eyes search the room. But she is gone. He cannot spot the girl in the big red velvet crumpled tophat. He reaches down into his pocket and retrieves a smooth folded up piece of currency. A shaking hand slides the currency across the table, over to the woman in the fishnet stockings. She looks at him, confused, but gladly takes the money back. She shrugs once more, as she leaves to find some other way to get the answers she seeks.
From out of the void, a voice emerges and approaches the girl in the big red velvet crumpled tophat. The voice shakes, fearful desire, as he carefully forms the words, “Are you having fun? Would you like a drink?”
“Yes, I’m having a good time,” she replies mechanically, “and no, I wouldn’t like a drink.” Her suitor appears crestfallen, distraught. This softens her, wakes her up. She reaches out with her hand and gently touches his cheek. She allows herself to break free from her meandering mission to dance a song or two with the starstruck admirer while onlookers watch in jealous contempt.
Swept away by the ambiance, the girl in the big red velvet crumpled tophat suddenly spots a faint outline huddled alone in one far corner of the room. “She’s not insane. She’s gone insane,” a voice cries out in lyric. Excusing herself from her partner, she glides her way over towards the form, leaving him with tears streaming down his face.
“Mind if I join you?” the girl in the big red velvet crumpled tophat asks, her voice barely audible above the fast-paced beat of the music’s drum machine.
A thin girl perches on a cold, metallic barstool. She appears as if a halo were hanging from imaginary horns upon her brow. Black raven locks veil dead eyes from the chaotic world smothering her. Plain jeans and a Skinny Puppy concert t-shirt are all she wears. Unlike the others in the club, who are drawn to the big red velvet crumpled tophat, this one is different. She’s undisturbed by the hat’s presence.
The girl adjusts on the stool, pauses, cockshuresmile, and replies noncommittally, “Sure, why not,” and bows her head back down.
“Inner darkness only provides a false sense of security.”
Taken back by the girl in the weird hat, she replies, “What did you say?”
“Look Kelai, death is not for you yet. I see the real you and you’re different than the rest of these lost souls. As much as you’d like to disbelieve, your life is yours to control. What you have inside of you carries hope to this world seeking salvation.”
The words cut cold and feel shocking to Kelai’s ear. Her skin shivers with bumps. Stunned, Kelai looks over her shoulder, afraid some’s listening in to this bizarre conversation. Her body shifts uncertainly on the stool, poised to run. “I don’t know you. How did you know my name?”
The girl in the big red velvet crumpled tophat leans in closer, so her words weigh heavy with understanding. Tenderly, she places a cold hand upon Kelai’s arm and says, “That is not important. Take what precious thoughts I offer you. Your dark moments will pass in time. They will pass. To be here is to be among the living. Allow yourself to revel in the moment. Enjoy the life that has lovingly been given to you. It’s too early for you to retire, and there is so much more for you to become before you give up.”
The music in the background fades into a melody. Kelai’s brown eyes gaze upon the girl wearing the big red velvet crumpled tophat searching for traces of deception, but cannot find any. Suddenly her eyes widen, then glass over, as waves of released feelings fall forgotten onto the floor. A pang of recognition awakens Kelai as the music behind then climaxes in a fury of anger. An arm extends and the two embrace, a soft touch during a moment of chaos. The girl in the big red velvet crumpled tophat lets the embrace linger for a few minutes before detaching. The girl in the Skinny Puppy concert t-shirt smiles once more and becomes lost in the grasp of the dance floor.
Feeling satisfied, the girl in the big red velvet crumpled tophat also returns to the dancefloor to treasure the moment for a few more hours. She relishes this opportunity to come out tonight, to this nightclub, have some laughs, flirt, and dance to the beat of the drum. Her feet move delicately, purposefully. She allows the music to carry her arms high into the air. She tosses her head back and allows the light to shine down on her perfect skin. The fog and light chase her fingers and wrists as intricate patterns spiral in and between them. She dances as if tonight were the last. Yet, as the moon sets and the climax of the night comes and goes, she leaves.
The club now returns to the way it was before her miraculous arrival. Hardly a trace of her remains as smoke once again fills the room and the faces in the crowd become as blank and untouched as they were before. The reader, disturbed by the visions the cards laid out for him on the table, slinks quickly out the door. His hands buried deep within the pockets of his pants. The deck of cards still sits on the table, in that familiar pattern, abandoned. The girl in the Skinny Puppy concert t-shirt dances late, well past closing, a few people scattered around her. They spin and laugh and enjoy life as only those who have gone to the edge and come back can.
There wasn’t anything too extraordinary about the girl in the big red velvet crumpled tophat. But things changed because of her. Nothing truly extraordinary about her. Except, maybe the pair of wings that never once disturbed the delicate balance between man and angel.
