Silently these two men take the seats next to you, one sitting on either side, settling down a little closer than you might have thought appropriate.

A mild anxious panic mixes with the allure of excitement. You wrestle with a survivors instinctive resistance, questioning yourself, is it time to leave?

Yet somehow you manage to overcome the swell of panic and remain rooted, wrestling with inner emotions, willing yourself to appear outwardly calm, seemingly able to disobey and resist the internal commands that flood your agile mind, ignoring the summoning that calls for you to escape the attention of these two men.

No one knows who I am here, you soothe to yourself, reassured by the concealment of your identity, empowered by the notion of being outwardly visible and overtly attractive, yet reassured, knowing your inner vulnerability remains invisible, hidden behind the masquerade mask, leaving you free to be whoever you want to be…

Looking across from you, a very well-proportioned man sits wearing a fabulous full face mask of his own making. He’s dressed elaborately in a flamboyant European style, reminiscent of the lavish costumes familiar to the bourgeois aristocracy from earlier centuries.

You consider him, and how reminiscent he is, of a time long before the revolutions, when rogue men, like the Marquis de Sade might fashionably and exotically have served their purpose, seducing the women who wanted, commanded, and demanded, a subject to pay them such attention.

You’ve gleaned from earlier eavesdropping, and people-watching, that this masked man is known here as Dante, and while you can’t be certain who it might really be behind the mask you have a strong inkling.

Privately you smile, possessed of a naughty secret, entertaining a possibility that brings mixed feelings of security and mischief surfacing inside you, gratified with your own imagination and fantasy, you casually and seductively sip from your champagne cocktail, pondering the impossible.

Dante sits across from you on a large weathered, leather, chair. Baroque, and similarly rococo styled, matching the wide couch where you sit, sandwiched between the two men: Aragorn and Robert.

Either side of Dante, two women sit, flanking him flirtatiously, perched high on the wide, padded arms of the leather chair, both with one arm resting across the studded back, posing playfully before you, as if he, Dante, were the emperor of this underworld and they were the first and second select from his underworld harem.

You dub the angels Minerva and Angelica and, as with the two men either side of you, they too are unmasked. Their features contrast, yet also strike you as very similar to one another, certainly they’re not sisters but both are beautifully classical.

Their cat like eyes blaze with hi-jinx, minx and mischief, you catch their light, deep swirling galactic oceans of green, with tiny splinters of amber fleck floating like flotsam and jetsam on the surfaces, catching and refracting the candlelight whenever closely inspected.

Their cheekbones, like yours, are high and refined, their neat perfect noses centered above the prettiest of tender lips. Both brunette, but Minerva by far the darker, possessed of a winter hue, a deep mahogany, rich, dark and lush, while Angelica is by far the lighter, with a summer-like bleach of chestnut hazel hues and copper tones.

Each woman, slender and tall, both wearing lace edged silk Chemise’s. Minerva’s ink black, clinging above her incredibly slender thighs, her legs, like yours, long and toned, tapering. Your eyes draw their pencil lines down over her knees, following the magnificent flow to where the perfection of her statuesque feet slip into black Gothic heeled sandals, doubtless, you’re certain, drawn from the sadomasochistic imagination of Geiger.

Angelica’s frame is equally slender and tall, her delicate Chemise a shimmering satin-silk, regal midnight blue with intricate lace details plunging between her small, firm breasts, her nipples, like Minerva’s, are just like yours: dark, brooding and enticing, seductive beneath their slinky satin covering. Her long bare legs, similarly stunning, toned, waxed and oiled, shimmering smooth.