Liar With A Face

Hello, Ladies and Gentlemen! 

I, the wonderous writer and ponder of daily things Sora, have decided to step aside from the stage tonight and instead another performer shall entertain you. Her name, called affectionally by me despite not being her true name, is Karasu. May her tale of lies, masks, and romance enchants you all. 

Let the show, begin! 

~ Sora

"Here is my guest post: "Liar with a Face"

For my dearest Sky, I have written a love story. 

She asked me to make a guest post related lying and acting, 

...and thus I present to you this story."

~Karasu

I'm not sure how I acquainted myself with the duke's daughter in the first place, but I'm sure it has something to do with the fact that she was my neighbour when I was a child. With blonde hair, blue eyes, and a weary smile that stained her dishonest countenance, she always wrought in me suspicion. Yet somehow, we became gradual friends and remained in touch even when we went our separate ways. 

No one knows her true face, really. She's unsure if she even has one to begin with. But as for me, I would object to such a sentiment. 

She is a compulsive liar, perhaps out of habit, or out of nature, or a combination of both. She never tells big lies, of course. Those are too heavy and she lacks the imagination and energy to hold up such a large façade, so she tells many, many small lies instead. They don't add up to one big lie, as they are all inconsequential and mostly unrelated, in the same way the colour of your shoes has nothing to do with what you'll eat for dinner tomorrow. 

Nevertheless, regardless if her lies are small or large, one thing remains true: her life is a lie.

***

She is a brilliant actress, able to completely immerse herself deeply and wholly into any role given to her. It wouldn't be inaccurate to say that she becomes one with her character. 

It's probably because the stage is the one place where she can be completely honest with herself. The stage is her truth, her reality, and her domain. It is where she reigns supreme as queen of the theatre.

But the instant she steps off, she is thrown into complete disarray. Lost and helpless, she is the fly that struggles in her own web of illusions. 

***

She bows and the heavy velvet curtains close, obscuring her in darkness. The audience stands up and claps noisily, impressed by her performance. Some of them dab at their eyes with handkerchiefs, lauding the four hour long tragedy that had been presented to them so artfully. 

I frown with distaste, not bothering to rise from my seat. I just don't get the appeal of a dragged-out sob story between a man and his lunatic fiancé. Yet somehow, these shallow people are entertained by such contrite drama.

Ironically, half an hour later, I'm the only one still sitting among rows and rows of red velvet chairs. I wouldn't be doing something like this if it were not for her. 

The liar. 

The actress. 

"Hello," she greets me, still dolled up in her stage makeup and shimmering red dress, blonde locks of hair cascading down her shoulders. She is beautiful, but I don't he'll her this. 

There is dissatisfaction in her blue eyes, and I know that she isn't about to forgive me yet. "Good evening."

"What do you think you're doing here?" she snaps. "Don't think I've forgotten."

I look at her for a few moments before rising from my seat. Walking up right next to her, I reply, "Of course not. Look, I'm sorry. I know what I've done was really wrong."

She doesn't say anything.

"But you know what? I think you've done plenty wrong, too. Why won't you just accept the truth?"

Her body stiffens, anxious. "Truth? About what?" she laughs drily. 

I hate that forced laughter of hers. It annoys me. "About yourself. About me. About us."

Those eyes of hers are now widening. She parts her red-painted lips, as if about to speak, but nothing comes out of her mouth.

"I apologised. Now it's your turn. We can still make this right."

"Two wrongs don't make a right."

"Well, this time, it can." 

The corners of her mouth quirk upwards. "Even if I say 'I'm sorry,' it's still forced."

Smirking, I whisper into her ear, "As long as you say it."

She closes her eyes for a moment. After a few minutes in silence, she finally says, "I'm sorry."

"Hah." I stand back, crossing my arms in triumph. 

"Don't think I really mean it," she warns me.

I study her face before giving her my verdict. "Liar."

"I'm not lying."

"You are such a liar," I accuse, closing our distance. "But for a little scion, you're really bad at it. You've always been bad at it."

She entwines gloved fingers in mine, red lips drawing dangerously close. "You're the only one who ever figured me out. Not even I could do it."

I chuckled. "Now you're just flatteri—" 

I was cut off by soft lips that taste like strawberries and cream. 

Sweeping her in my arms, in the dim light of the theatre, I kiss her back.