Favourite had always hated masquerade balls. She was never allowed to dance or join in the fun; she was just a performer. Before-hand, all the performers were taught their routines and all knew what would happen if they did not follow those instructions.
She flipped herself over into a bridge and produced long, wicked bone spikes form her stomach. Some performers sang, some did acrobatics buts her skill was of a much more sinister nature. Favourite was a BoneWeaver, someone who could change themselves into any form with their bones. If she really wanted to, she could transform her entire body in to a bone sword or knife, but her most used form was a pair of bone wings protruding from her back. It wasn't particularly painful or anything, just strange. She felt like a sausage on a skewer. But then again, the sausage was about to be cooked.
After about five minutes, she got up, crouched on top of her little performing block and grew a pair of elaborate, twisting horns out of the top of her head. The young, shallow girls standing around her in fancy costumes giggled and gasped. Most had never seen a BoneWeaver and they just thought her a passing amusement like the fire breathers and all the other entertainers and players. The only thing was, she was the only BoneWeaver to be known of that was living. Favourite was just standing up and trading the horns for wings when she heard a disturbance from the large front doors.
"Please, sir…" she heard a young boy's voice. The gentle chatter and music of the party muffled out the reply of what was sure to be the doorman. There was almost a whining tone in the boy's second plea. That got more shouting from the doorman. The music and talk stopped. The master and lady of the manor stepped forward to see what the fuss was. Their clothes was sickeningly gaudy and over the top, even for a costume party.
In response to the sudden silence, the doorman dragged in the boy by the collar. The boy was filthy, ragged and desperate. No doubt he was begging for food like any street urchin. Beneath all the grime, Favourite could see his shirt was originally white and crisp, but now it was no more than a threadbare mess. His vertically striped black and white pants were fraying and his shoes were in a terrible state. The only thing actually decent about him was the black silk waistcoat. In fact, it looked far too good for him.
"This thief has been beggin' at the door," the doorman growled, with the emphasis on the word 'thief' sounding ridiculous with the slang and half-finished words. The doorman looked especially silly in his frilly shirt and fingerless gloves, (a sea-farer costume) next to a dirty child. "And we all know what we do with thieves…" he continued, lifting the boy up by the collar of his shirt and looking him straight in the eye.
"HANG!", the room cried at once. For the rich, to witness a hanging was a fun spectacle not to be missed. Favourite watched aghast as the party filtered out to the front lawn of the manor. One person had a rope noose already made slung over his back.
After a few minutes and all that was left in the massive ballroom was the performers standing lonely upon their blocks. They didn't know whether they should stay or they should go. All knew the consequences if they disobeyed orders. A mass of voices started cheering and yelling. They decided to go.
A wooden bench had been set up, along with the noose. They had already put it around the boy's neck. Fell voices were around the night sky with the cry of "Hang!" upon them. Then the board was kicked out from underneath the boy's feet.
It was sudden, so simple that all fell silent; there had been no warning. But something happened then they did not intend. The air around the boy shimmered and shivered and then he wasn't there anymore. In his place was a crow, cawing loudly, like a coarse laugh.