But a woman is a changeling, always shifting shape
Just when you think you have it figured out
Something new begins to take

23rd December, 1894 — Christmas Shakespearean Masquerade, Dempsey Estate

“Oh, yes, there’s a bear in one of the other rooms,” Porphyria lied, with a thoughtless wave of her hand, “I don’t remember which.” And it was a lie, at least as far as she knew – but it would certainly fit the Renaissance scene to have a bear somewhere.

She had been rather distracted, though, throughout her conversation with this masked attendee standing with her – Porphyria pausing every so often to crane her neck, searching amongst the crowd for another mask in particular. She had kindly helped to lay out the extra masks for attendees who had not brought their own before the ball. And she may have added an extra enchantment to some of them. And why not? It was suitably festive*, it was suitably Shakespearean – the person who was wearing the mask she was currently searching for in the room would find themselves gradually taking on the features of an ass. What would be first to take? The ears, perhaps, or a tail, or an odd braying laugh?

It was no matter if they took the mask off or not now – the transformation had begun the moment they had put it on.

(*There was a little donkey in the story of the nativity, was there not?)

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