The Major Arcana from a Steampunk Tarot - XIX

XIX – The Sun

“Dance with me.”
“Why?”
“Because life is amazing.”

– Clarity that brings joy.

       The masquerade ball was quite extravagant, alright. Already, the clankerton guards were starting to relax, due to the pleasantries of the orchestra, sighing and breathing; the intermingling with the chirpy guests; the way the sun draped through the curtains as it exhaled it’s last breath of the day; and the dubious amount clankerton guards dressed as guests only speaking to each other, free to speak of whatever they wanted to. Only, I could tell easily who they are – a boy that grew up the street knew the difference between a guard and a High Priestess just by the way they moved their heads – if not with their eyes.
       I had never been to such a formal event – my father, the clocktower engineer, who passed his legacy to me, would have fit right in place with his caretaker and our Mayor. His suit, now my suit, was not of the times, yet still fashionable. Dark grey trousers with black vertical pinstripes, with a white collared shirt that was covered by a black vest with cogwheels shimmering in all sizes. A grayscale tie was striped diagonally, tucked and hiding behind the vest. My jacket was also my coat, a thin yet very strong fabric of black tailed all the way down to the top of my knees when standing. And lastly, my father’s tinkerer goggles, draped my neck, sturdy by years hunched and strained over clockworks and devices.
       ‘My dad should be the one here. Not me. I wish he was here…’
       The masks. All colours, all sizes, depicting and distorting, demeaning and decanting, yet deliberately delightful to gaze at – the only similarities between the mingling bodies were the wine glasses that everyone held graciously in their palms.
       I took a sip of mine. A smooth red, chatty and smooth with fruit, and a tinge of pepper to keep one guessing the other subtle changes in the taste. As if the tinge made one crave the wine more.
       ‘Clever,’ I thought to myself.
       A white-masked, black-and-red dressed mademoiselle glided a silky path towards me, neither rushed nor hesitated in her stride. I looked up from the pool of crimson that was in my palm and filled my head.
       “Dance with me,” she spoke, offering her left hand.
       No ring.
       On her right, a grey-metal something glimmered a dull glimmer, simple yet powerful.
       “Why?” I questioned non-quintessentially.
       “Because life is amazing,” she answered quintessentially, cupping my hand and wine glass, while gently lifting my body – and somehow my spirit – up from the chair that I became accustomed to rather fondly.
       And I smiled. She smiled too, a grey that flashed through the eyes of her white, simple mask.
       I thought I saw a brilliant white flash though the mouth of her mask – but it could be the sun glinting off of the astonishing white. She bent to my ear and spoke again,
       “Because life is amazing,”
       as her teeth grazed my ear.