She sat, sobbing, shoulders shaking.  The world was cruel to her and shattered her heart.  The broken shards shot through her body, maiming her motions and emotions.

            The earth revolved, carrying her on, though she did not, could not feel it.  Unseeing, others walked and ran by her, laughing and talking, giddy with the spring morning.  Sun filtered through the treetops, barely penetrating the bracken she hid herself in.

            To let the world see her tears was taboo.  It was not Done.  In a world of masks and masquerades, she danced like a fairy, forever behind her mask, teasingly untouchable.  She led them all on, surrounded herself by other dancers of life.  They bowed and curtsied, admiring each other’s manipulations.  They courted within the dance, leaving at midnight, dissipating into the night, their masks dissolving to show another underneath, more benign and wholesome, sweet for their parents. 

            This particular Cinderella danced more and more often with a certain prince of the dance, every other dancer murmuring how their masks seemed to match each other, the blue in hers the perfect shade to blend with the soft green of his.  Eventually, they lingered together, showing each other their other masks.  Families became acquainted and it their two masks soon melded to form a new social mask to provide a united front against the jealousy of the wallflowers.

            She gave him everything he asked for.  Anything she could possibly give was his.  The connection between them deepened and no one could remember what exactly was the color that their individual costumes had been. 

            One day, the mask shattered, leaving ribbons of blue, torn away from the structure, the tattered remains of her heart.  Her prince ran off, tired of her dance steps.  Nabbing someone else’s glass slipper on the way out, she was left in the middle of the dance floor with half a mask, quickly unraveling.

            Which is why she sat in this hidden place, letting out the pain of a broken heart and a seemingly irreparable pile of ribbon, feathers, and sequins.  Without her comfortable shell, she walked among them with head bowed, hiding her eyes with shadows.  No where near as useful, she tried to reconstruct her covering, pasting the bits together with a wide smile, brushing hair over her eyes to conceal the pain of betrayal.  No one noticed. That would spoil the party.

**Sorry, this was strange.  I was in a bit of a melancholy mood and this sprang to mind.  The allegory is a bit repetitive, I know. **Shrugs** what can you do?**