I wore my mask proudly, since it was the most expensive thing I owned, even if it was cheap and of poor quality. It was a pale pink with golden designs on either cheek, and holes only for the eyes. I stared into my reflection in the window as I put on the mask and let my 'lovely' face disappear for the night. I don't like to be lovely at night. I've seen what has happened to lovely girls on those streets, the ones who decided not to wear their masks or barely any of their clothes, and I didn't want to be them. I didn't want to be the girl that the Queen had made me out to be.
Once I left the estate, I hurried down the path and down the winding streets. The houses had their lights turned off and every window and door was locked, wisely. I listened for the sound of a beating drum, beating in the same rhythm as my heart, and followed it. I slowly heard the singing and the laughing, and I felt my heart quicken excitedly as I stepped into the town square. The street vendors yelled at me, trying to get me to buy their services, I ignored them and kept walking, and watched the harlots grind on the drunks and junkies. I ducked into one of the stores where there were tall African gypsies beading and braiding girls' hair. I apologized and backed out.