Observation
Where did all the colors go?
Maude rubbed her eyes, smearing the last of the night’s brilliance. Around her, the wreckage of revelry: masks abandoned mid-laugh, fermenting fruit, someone snoring in a headdress.
A voice muttered from the vines, “I think I absorbed three people’s body paint,” grumbled Francis.
Maude sighed.
A cough. “The colors never really leave,” muttered Percival.
From a tree, Edwin groaned, “We were promised brighter things!”
Masquerade Rule #1: Everything is permanent.