I think by now that eight years have already passed since Marius first took me to his island home on Cos, though I admit I have lost count. We have traveled several times per year to the mainlands, even as far as Ar, and I am constantly surrounded by the costumed bourgeois masquerading as the elite. Beneath the iron fist of Marius, I too, must live behind a mask.
Because I wear no collar, nor any other visibly outward symbol of my slavery, I am often regarded favorably in the social moorings of those who esteem themseves as my peers. There were times when I did not believe I would ever learn to blend the way Marius insisted. Yet over time, and with constant mentoring and his whip, I have excelled in this masquerade, and have become a star among many in this theatrical firmament.
I am Damos. Dreamer of dreams.
Master of the stringed lady, Kalika.
Slave to the Masquerade.
