It's been long since I wrote anything for this fandom :)

One look.

I've never been able to see well without my glasses.

That's probably why, under the dim light and the multitude of masked faces, when I dropped my spectacles and bent down to look for them, I didn't realize the person who handed them back wasn't a man.

We stood up, and I thanked him.

And she giggled, a deep, quiet giggle.

Immediately I realized my mistake and, blushing, excused myself. "I can't really see much without my glasses," I explained meekly.

"Don't worry monsieur," she said, "You wouldn't be the first to make a mistake."

The lady had wavy hair, shoulder-length, of an undefined color: under the candlelight it glowed silver. Her dress wasn't eye catching, but when I looked at it and paid attention to the details, I came to the conclusion I had never seen such a beautiful dress in my whole life. Her face was hidden behind an amazing clay mask, which looked hand crafted by someone who was highly skillful. All she wore that night had an artistic quality matched by nothing in the vast hall.

And I, foreigner in that colorful, vivid city, felt for the first time at ease, unpressured. I offered my lady a drink.

Taking my arm with grace, so softly she made me shiver, she led me through the large doors formed by many single glass panels with golden frames to the stone balcony on the other side. She asked some questions, and as I talked she sipped her wine. I told her about Germany my fatherland, my job as a composer, my music, and all the while the lady's face remained a mystery, her mask kept her features from her nose upward a secret, a delightfully well kept secret. And I felt myself drawn to her without an explanation. Her sole smile was fascinating.

She told me she was French. A sculptor.

"I'm an artist," she said, "I guess it's in my blood."

I looked at her. "And I I take a guess you made your mask?"

She smiled enigmatically as an answer. She had perfect lips.

Leaning down, I whispered; "It's the most beautiful mask in Venice." And her perfect lips parted slightly, almost curving upward again into her lovely smile.

The view of the city from that balcony was unique. The buildings were all lit, and their light lit the channels, making them come alive. And outside the city boundaries, the Mediterranean night stretched untamed, black, into the infinite.

Soft music of violin, flute and cello started playing inside, in the golden halls.

She didn't say anything, she just passed her small arm around my waist and placed the other one gently on my shoulder, and suddenly the other persons in the balcony faded to the background. Her floral scent clung to me, pulling me to her, to her mysterious mask, and the face that waited behind it.

We were dancing, though I never noticed when we started.

My lady was beautiful. All about her was.

Just like she hadn't asked to start dancing, I didn't ask to stop. I just did, and she looked up at me. I smiled, and brought my gloved hand up to her cheek. She took it between her two small hands and took my glove off, looking at my hand as if she were reading a map.

"You're a violin player," she stated.

"And who are you?" I asked.

"I told you," her voice said, ringing close to my ear, "I'm a clay sculptor."

"There's more to you than that."

Her enigmatic smile grew on her face again. My hand, bare, sent shivers down my spine as I caressed her silky cheek once more, tilting the mask slightly upward, waiting for her reaction. She didn't do anything that suggested she wanted me to stop.

So I grinned, and lowered my lips on hers.

That took her by surprise, but she gave in, responding in her very own calm way. We parted almost immediately after, and I took her mask off, slowly. Big, bright forest green eyes looked at me with felicity explicit in them, blush tingeing her cheeks and making her look even more gorgeous. One look was all it took to confirm what I thought I felt.

I've never been able to see well without my glasses, but that night, I'm sure I wouldn't have needed them to know I loved the lady of the clay mask.

One look in a slow dance, and I was falling...

No.

One look in a slow dance confirmed it. But I'd already fallen.