By Jack Cavicchi

In dreams. It was in dreams that I heard the command to awaken. It must have been, since when my eyes did open, I was alone.

In the dark of my bedchamber I rose and felt immediately assaulted by the chill of the winter night. The fire had grown low and only a small red glow of embers lit one corner of my room.

I knew from the fire’s waning and the pitch black outside the window it was still the small hours, not yet near dawn but well past the witching hour.

I heard a buzzing, low but constant, and I knew that far below me, in the great hall of my family home, the feast continued.

The gaiety had gone on all day, as is the want of my parents and their cohorts. Yet it was the final day of carnival and all celebrations should have ended at midnight if not earlier, when Shrove Tuesday came to an end and Ash Wednesday began. I sat in bed considering that. No matter how boisterous and wild my family could be, surely even they would not sin in such a way.

I went to the door of my bedroom. I snuck into the hall, which was empty and silent, save the din from below.

I made my way to the stairs, feeling less of a chill, even though I wore only my nightgown. The halls were warm from the great fires downstairs and the mass of people.

I crept down one flight of stairs and followed the great hum of voices. Music became audible, a piano and an accordion and a few merry singers. On the floor above the dining hall I could already smell the wine and perfume and warm bodies. I felt like a spy. I felt daring. Yet the fact that their revealing had past into the hours of sin made me worried for their souls.

I went to the last flight of stairs between me and the celebration.

Amber light flickered at the end of the stairs. Laugher peeled and shouts and song. It all sounded so wonderful and frightening. I crept slowly, carefully, knowing I would be skinned if caught. I jumped as I saw someone at the end of the staircase, someone small and immobile.

Getting near the spot, I realized it was not a person at all, but a bundle of clothes. A long green cloak, beautiful shimmery emerald with gold embroidered leaves and vines on the sleeves. I picked it up and saw a mask under it, a white featureless face with two holes for eyes and the ears of a rabbit on top.

Looking around, seeing that no one had noticed me, I slipped the mask on and slipped into the cloak.

A new wave of sound exploded as some new song began and a beautiful soprano voice rang out so gloriously I had to hold on to the wall to steady myself.

Was it my cousin Charlotte? Perhaps my father’s youngest sister, my sweet Aunt Adélaïde?

I walked further, hoping my new disguise would keep me safe. Round the hall of the ground floor, past the kitchen, to where the noise and light and smells emanated.

Shadows of dancing couples spun and passed the half open door. The singer reached the crescendo and just at her highest note, broke into a laugh and a shout.

“Whose greedy hands! Ha ha! Naughty Nanette!”

It was Charlotte! The greedy hands of her best friend, Nanette from across the river?

I came to the precipes, the door that led to sin, to the satisfaction of my curiosity, to the feast that had become forbidden.