It was a Masquerade, she said: a place we could go to hide. I wasn't in fright of her. I had it all under control. She took me by the hand, softly, that cold summer morning. The confusion that surrounded us allowed us to see more clearly. We were both wearing horse masks, and she whinnied at me so eagerly. The apple tasted bitter, but when I licked her lips, I felt the sugary sweetness of saliva mixed with cake crumbs and wine. We flirted. We sang together. I saw her naked, twice. When she took off her clothes and threw her tights around my head, I couldn't see the flesh she flaunted to the rest of the room. She licked my chin, all the way up to the tip of my mask, lifting it from my skull with her tongue. When her song was sung, I wallowed in pity and doubt. Her father chased me from the balcony. I climbed faster than he and escaped with my life, barely. The walk through the mangrove was dusty, and spiders kept climbing down my back, spinning their threads along my spine. I contemplated my mirage in the rippling waters before taking the final steps into my doorway. Looking up, greeted by elephants, tigers, peacocks and pigs. They strangled me with their elixirs, and we danced with the moon until our legs abandoned us.