Joker of satin rarely found mirth in life . . . but hark! Twas this the moment to find it? Orbs of amber flickered impatiently, a cloak of the unknown . . . which would remain such. his heart lept at her questions, finding his tongue nearly leaping the same to life in answer. was this the devil's gift sent to bind him in damnation? a compulsion to speak truthfully nearly overcame the dictator's iron will, forcing him to bow before the righteous masquerade a'fore him.

But no, alas. Not quite yet.

Mug slammed shut, a'fore words were chosen carefully . . . for such a beauty's voice and mind seemed sharper than that of a surgeon's scalpel.

Perhaps I dwell here to escape the likes of your kind . . . those whom seek the answers to questions I dare not answer. Or perhaps, I deem my life of an equal state . . . nothing but thought on hold. Take your pick, deliberate . . . I dare you. Either way, you shall not attain an answer from me.

Kindled flame was stoked in tawny dampers . . . as if pleased at her anger, and wistful impatience. But of anything it could not be pleasure . . . could it? He was the shadows . . . an intangible form, here one moment gone within the next. Weary was this game of cat and mouse . . . of which side he was he remained unsure . . .