Disclaimer: Glass Mask is © Miuchi Suzue, Hakusensha, etc.. This is a nonprofit fanwork.
Rose of memory, rose of forgetfulness
The flashes and sharp snaps of the shutters didn't stop as she stepped off the stage, still waving graciously, her statuette cradled in her arms. It was her fourth. It was not, common consensus said, her last.
But no one was concerned with that. Gossip was rampant that tonight would be the long-rumored proposal. And indeed, Sakurakouji was standing by the stage waiting for her, a bouquet of roses in his hands. They were red. She stood transfixed, then smiled, a blush coloring her cheeks, congratulations roaring down around her ears like confetti.
If there was hesitation in her heart, no one could see. An actress's greatest role is always herself.
But before her outstretched hand appeared a single purple rose.
Her eyes followed the line of the stem to the long, gloved fingers, to the white fabric of the sleeve. Up and up her eyes traveled to the shoulder to the neck to the unruly hair to his eyes looking at her.
The statuette fell from arms suddenly grown numb amidst a multitude of flashes. The color had drained from her face as though a mask had suddenly dropped. The world narrowed to a space just large enough for the two of them as stars exploded and popped around them and their naked expressions were imprinted on roll after roll of brown film.
Her lips moved. Sound did not carry.
But he had never needed to hear her to read her as easily as a book. Her eyes, her body, each and every aspect of her, conveyed her meaning more clearly than any words.
The universe spun sideways and away.
She folded like a length of silk. He draped her over his arms.