Chapter Eleven
Giant colorful feathers brushed Sophia’s face as a line of drummers shuffled past her. Thanks to Aviary, Sophia was in the center of a colorful stampede of dancers, faces half-painted as sugar skulls, colors from dresses and suits swirling into her vision.
Sophia stood near East Harlem at the corner of Central Park, shoved enthusiastically forward by Aviary into Dia De Los Muertos, the Day of the Dead festival. Percussion and the chirp of woodwind instruments guided the costumed through a progression of traditional Aztec and folkloric Mexican dances.
Sophia stepped aside to avoid a woman in a cream corset decorated with large fiery marigolds. Her face made Sophia flinch, —it was painted sparingly with delicate black lines. Large circles around her eyes were shaded in viol
