The Book of Masks (Vol. 3)

Better Off Red

Previously: "Friday Night Frolics" 

"Wait here a minute," you tell the new Scarlett Bard, as you turn to hide yourself behind some furniture, where you will disrobe yourself. "No, hang on. Wait outside in your car. I'll text when I'm ready for you."

She nods, returns the lollipop to her mouth, and slowly on shifting hips mounts the stairs and goes out the door. You have to wipe away some flop sweat.

* * * * *

You scramble for the phone when you wake: you are groggy, you feel like you've been asleep for hours. But a check of the time shows that less than ten minutes have passed since you started taking off your clothes. And now you are out of the mask and—

You freeze. But am I out of the mask? you wonder. You don't feel any different, and Annabelle's memories and a sense of her personality still swirl about your brain, like a heavy cloud of gnats. You rub your eyes and look down at yourself.

You flinch at the sight of your flat, bony, naked body with the hair stick out in odd places, and your skinny legs. To further confirm the change back, the mask of Annabelle is lying next to your hip. With a groan and a sigh you get up and shake the grogginess from your head.

But still you've got that sense of Annabelle about you. A hot shower and a mind douche, you tell yourself as you grind knuckles into your eyes. That's what I need. There's no prospect of either one, though, so you just pick up Annabelle's phone and text Scarlett, telling her to come back in. You then hide yourself behind a convenient bookcase, with only your head poking out.

It's a minute before Scarlett reenters, and she pauses on the stairway when she sees you. Her jaw drops open slightly.

That's when you realize things are going to be even more awkward than you had supposed. You will have to give some story to Scarlett to explain why Annabelle vanished and you (naked) appeared—and that you are in the one in charge of things.

"Hey, I know you don't know me," you croak at her. "But I'm, uh, Annabelle's boss. And I'm, uh, also part of the gang. I'm one of the 'secret friends'." You can't help rolling your eyes a little at the phrase. "And I need you to, um—" You hesitate, and feel the blush rushing up into your face. "I need you to get undressed."

"Whatever you say, boss," Scarlett says, and to your shock starts to casually take off her top.

"No, wait! You can do it down here," you tell her, indicating the conference table. "And I'll, um, I'll promise not to watch."

"Whatever you say," she repeats.

You turn your back as she comes the rest of the way down into the basement. Her clothes rustle heavily each other, and your blush turns into a sweat. Then the table creaks as she gets atop it, and after the hard bhlunk of shoes hitting the floor comes the softer sounds of clothes dropping. A moment later, Scarlett says, "Ready for what comes next."

You glance over your shoulder. Scarlett is perched on the table with her own back to you, and glancing over her own shoulder at you. Okay, the sooner I get this over with, the better, you tell yourself with a grimace.

"Can you lay down for me?" you ask. "On your back. Um—" But before you can assure her that nothing bad will happen, she complies, exposing her nakedness to you. You feel your eyes water as you try not to look at her from the neck down. "Now hold still," you say as you shuffle over and extend a hand toward her face, "while I—"

Thank God the mask comes away the first time you pull at it. There's no evident change in Scarlett, except that her eyes are now shut instead of staring levelly back up at you. You're not sure, but you might have heard a faint clunk as the mask came away, as though her head had lifted with the mask, and fallen back when the mask released her.

Whatever. You grab up Annabelle's mask and lay it onto Scarlett's face. The change is instantaneous as, without a ripple, Scarlett Bard's face and form are replaced by Annabelle Edwards's. Her eye snap open, and she looks up and over at you.

"What the—?" she gasps as she sits up sharply. Then she grabs her head with both hands. "Oof!"

"What's wrong?"

"Head rush." She grunts again, then drops her hands to look around. "Where's Scarlett?" She does a double-take and peers narrowly at you.

"Um. Here, I guess." You show her the mask of Scarlett.

Annabelle stares at the mask, then jumps a little. "Oh, of course. Dur." She scrambles onto her feet, and only now do you realize you are not nearly as embarrassed by her nakedness as you were by Scarlett's. "Makes sense."

"It does?"

"Sure." She glances around and spots her clothes. "I was—" She pauses. "I guess it was me," she muses. "I was making a mask and I was going to use it on her. And I got her out here and got the mask onto her and then—" Again she pauses, and blinks, and traces movements in the air with her forefinger. She rests a palm against her temple, then drops it. "I'm not totally sure how this works," she murmurs. Then her expression clears up. "But I guess you do!"

"Do I?"

"Don't you?" She frowns. "You're the boss, shouldn't you—?"

"Yes I'm the boss," you quickly assure her. "I definitely I know what's going on and how it works. I'm just— Well, I don't know." You brush the topic away with a shake of your head. It is tedious trying to figure out what Annabelle knows and how she knows it, and whether she ought to know. "Point is, you should get dressed and I should—"

"You're going to put on that mask now, aren't you?" Annabelle says as she snatches up her underthings. Then again she pauses. "I guess that'll make Scarlett boss."

"Will it? I mean—" you correct yourself as Annabelle again gives you a puzzled look. "Yes it will. I'll still be the boss," you tell her more firmly. "But I'll look like Scarlett."

"Uh huh."

"So you should tell the others."

"I'll do that soon as I get done here," she says as she pulls on more of her clothes. "Um, is there anything you want me to do? I— We've got that mask we made. And we were going to use it on ... Jelena?"

"That's right. But we need to wait. Besides, you'll probably have Luke to take care of."

"Oh, Luke." She rolls her eyes. "But what do you mean? Take care of him?"

You don't know what you mean, so you just tell her to go on with her life and to let you worry about Jelena. "That's something I can do," she say as she ties up her shoes. "But is that all you need from me?"

"For the moment."

"Well, just holler," she says. She looks around with a vague expression, as though she's mislaid something but can't remember what it is. "You're the boss." Then with a dismissive shrug she marches for the stairs.

You let out a sigh when she's gone. Why was that so discombobulating? you wonder. It leaves you ill at ease, and you examine Scarlett's mask now with a sense of distaste. You've got a disquieting sense that these "allies" of yours know more about what's going on than you suspect they do—and that means they know more about what's going on than you do.

Whatever, you tell yourself for about the third time that afternoon. I should finish this up. Scarlett may have places she needs to be.

You settle onto your back on the conference table, and hold the mask over your face. Slowly, after shutting your eyes, you settle it onto your face.

* * * * *

You'd found an old, dusty, floor-length mirror in one of the corners of the basement, and you are staring into it now as you examine your new self. Gingerly you touch yourself, almost with a sense of shock. Your mouth hangs open slightly.

You'd felt a momentary confusion on waking—Who am I and where am I?—but that had quickly cleared up, and you had scrambled onto your feet and clasped your arms about yourself against the chill of the basement. A moment later you remembered the mirror, and hopped over to it.

My God, I'm Scarlett Bard! you gasp to yourself in astonishment. Look at me!

You are quite a sight, if you say so yourself, and Scarlett Bard is often saying such things to herself. The gleeful fascination you feel as you look yourself over is not a new emotion for Scarlett. Behind the mental mask of Scarlett, which can hardly tear its gaze from her reflection, and back behind your own personality, which is almost as fascinated by her face and her naked form, there is a still pool of thought that is your own, and it is snorting to itself and muttering, What a freaking narcissist she is!

Yes, Scarlett loves mirrors, and selfies, and watching herself on the screen of her phone while prepping the selfies. Scarlett Bard is her own biggest fan.

Well, she's got a right to be, you think as you run gentle fingertips over your neckline, and the tops and tips of your boobs—generous but not overly endowed—and down the soft, slightly flabby stomach to her pink, shaved-and-waxed regions. It's not only a beautiful body, but a beautiful form to adorn with clothes and makeup and little pieces of jewelry. So much does she appreciate it that Scarlett changes outfits at least once a day. The thought would surprise you if you didn't have her memories and instincts draped lightly over you, like a silken veil.

And speaking of which, you need to get dressed now if you're going to keep that date with Bastian. He's taking you to see Howling Skies this afternoon, though chances are you'll just wind up necking in the back corner. Mmm! Me and Bastian! A thrill of anticipation runs through you.

Next: "A Self-Made Girl" 

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"Table of Contents (Vol. 3)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 3)"