There's Katy by day, and Katy by night. Seth is her daytime companion, a combination big-brother-type and lover, depending on her mood; she goes from reaching up to tousle his hair or drop her straw wrapper down his shirt to kissing him in ways that border on publicly inappropriate and back, in the wink of an eye, toss of a coin. Mercurial as hell. He doesn't seem to mind or, if he does, he doesn't show it. Content to be her pet for now, maybe, since he thinks his true desires are beyond his grasp.
Katy doesn't seem to think her true desires are beyond her grasp. Not at night, anyway. During the day, she's a playful kid, if a bit erratic. But at night, she trades her multihued plumage for deep red. Soft leather, when she can get it. Lush silks. She pieces together lost centuries of fashion, ballgowns embellished with buckles and straps. And always her masks. Masked balls are an old tradition in Shayara, but Katy's the only person I know who wears a mask every time she goes out.
She doesn't call herself Katy at night.
She adorns herself in deep red to catch the eye of the man she wants, silks and velvets to tempt his hands, leathers for the scent, a kick to his hindbrain. She ties her mask on carefully - she has several, ranging from simple dominoes to elaborate Venetian creations, but her favorite is that blood-red soft leather that conforms to her cheekbones, curls up to her temples, down to her chin. At night, Katy wears her fire on the outside. She takes a moment of pure stillness before she goes out, gathering herself, channelling all of that manic energy into a singular goal.
You wouldn't recognize her. He doesn't.