It is easier to hide beneath my mask than show my face to the outside world. I am forever the symbol of sadness, the clown that women cluck and sigh over as he passes by. I know this world pities me, and I'd rather show my mask to them than the anger I truly feel at their condescension.
But, then, how could they not pity me? It is clear for all to see that my heart belongs to one that will never truly be mine. I loved her the moment I first heard her soft footsteps behind me and my eyes caught her twirling in the moonlight. The Lost Ballerina, oblivious to any all around her in those early days. She was a vision in her white gown, her feet never ceasing to move, her arms gracefully leading her steps from one point of the stage to another. For a moment, she saw me and stopped, giving me a smile that captured my heart in an instant. Then, just as quickly, she had resumed her dance, forgetting me in the darkness where I gazed after her.
My Columbina, my love, my life. She is all and nothing, perfection and distraction combined.
I could not blame her. In her innocence, she couldn't know what an effect she would have on those around her. All she cared for was her dance. I would give anything for her to love me, even for an instant, as much as her craft. It was after weeks of watching her that I finally stepped in and offered her my hand. It startled her at first, I suppose. None had ever disrupted her dance, having been too enraptured by her movements to consider it. But then slowly, hesitatingly, she placed her porcelain hand in my own, and I led her into a twirl. She laughed as we fell into the steps easily, the chemistry between us taking the dance to new heights. The sparkle in her eyes was intoxicating and, for a brief moment, I stopped to allow my lips to touch hers. Then I pulled away, unsure of how to take her confusion, and simply resumed the dance.
Over time, I sometimes took off my mask, allowing her to see my true face underneath the stock visage of the Pierrot Clown. I grew comfortable in her gaze alone. Months of our courtship passed as my Columbina urged me to shed all of my layers, to show myself as I was rather than the part that this world's maker had given me. And so, finally, she saw me as myself, the white beneath the steel blue of my costume a match to her own. She squealed in happiness as she saw me that first time. Her happiness, just like all else about her, was addictive.
And then, I made my fatal mistake. I knew that all couples in the world truly matched, and though our whites coincided, my own costume had tints of green that glowed in the light while hers did not. I knew that she, too, was not who she appeared to be, that the Lost Ballerina was a role that my Columbina had been handed. So, in my ignorance, I ripped her skirt from her, revealing the green underneath, taking from her the last layer that was not hers.
Our eyes locked, but then she faltered. She looked over my shoulder. I turned and saw the Pierrot Rouge, my twin, my exact opposite. She smiled at him and moved past me to touch his outstretched hand.
It was only the beginning of our battle.
Author's Note: So, yes, I've been off the grid for a while, and I have my other stories to continue, but I just came back from WDW and saw La Nouba for the fifth time. The story of the Lost Ballerina and Pierrot Clown have always been the Romeo and Juliet of the show. What's less noticed is how what separates them is not circumstances but the fact that she strays constantly, whether to the Pierrot Rouge or the Aerial Artist in Silk. I wanted to explore this relationship in a series of drabbles. Each will be from one character's point of view: first the Pierrot Rouge, then the Lost Ballerina, and finally the Aerial Artist in Silk, with each drabble being followed by another chapter by the Pierrot Clown. Don't know if that makes sense. Anyhow, please review. I really want to know what people think as this has no ebta!