🎭 Chapter 7
The Atrium Society's Winter Masquerade was held at The Grangehall Estate, a monstrous Victorian mansion wrapped in ivy and iron fences. The type of place that whispered of secrets even before you walked in.
Seraphina stepped out of the car slowly, her heels clicking softly against the frost-covered stone path. She wore a midnight-black gown with a slit that whispered rebellion, her face hidden behind a silver-laced mask shaped like a phoenix. The symbolism wasn't lost on her.
Lucien stood beside her in a charcoal-black suit, his mask a sleek, unmarked design—flawless, unreadable. The perfect armor for a man who had learned to wield silence like a weapon.
"Remember," he said as they approached the grand entrance, "everyone here smiles with knives."
"I've smiled sharper," she replied.
Ivy trailed behind, dressed in an asymmetrical indigo dress with silver streaks and a mask made of paper and painted fire. She looked out of place—and she liked it.
The grand hall inside glowed in gold and candlelight. Crystal chandeliers loomed overhead like suspended galaxies. Men and women floated around with wine glasses and venom behind their laughter.
Every guest wore a mask.Some only on their faces.
🎲 The Dance of Pretense
A slow waltz began. Seraphina tried to blend in, but her presence drew eyes — not all of them friendly. She recognized faces from her family's past — old partners, false friends, opportunists dressed in velvet.
Camille appeared near the staircase in a blood-red gown, her mask feathered and extravagant.
"Well," she said, raising her glass, "look who crawled back from the ashes."
Seraphina sipped her drink, unbothered. "Must be exhausting, watching me burn and survive."
Before Camille could counter, Lucien stepped in. "She's not alone. And she's not yours to mock."
Camille's eyes flicked to him. "Careful, Lucien. You defend her too fiercely. People will think you have… feelings."
"Let them," he said, deadpan.
🧩 The Stranger in the Glass Hall
Meanwhile, Ivy slipped away. The crowd felt suffocating, the air too expensive to breathe. She wandered toward a side hall filled with mirrors and glass panels. At the end stood a man in a silver mask, watching her. Not moving. Not blinking.
"Ivy Maren," he said without introduction.
She paused. "How do you know my name?"
"I know your sketches. And your brother."
Her stomach dropped.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
The man removed his mask — just enough to show his mouth. A crescent-shaped scar sat below his lip.
"Mason says hello."
She took a shaky step back. "He's not part of this."
"He's more part of it than you realize. And now… so are you."
Before she could scream or run, he was gone. Just… gone. As if the mirrors had swallowed him whole.
🗝️ Back in the Ballroom
Seraphina's attention snapped to the balcony. A masked man stood watching her. Still. Unmoving. Even as people danced around him.
Something in her gut twisted.
She knew that posture.
That presence.
"Lucien," she whispered, "that man. Up there."
Lucien looked.
But the balcony was empty.
Only the cold gust remained.
And in her hand — she didn't even know when it got there — a note had been slipped between her fingers.
"Truth wears a mask longer than lies. Shall we dance, Seraphina?"— E.L.
Her breath caught.
E.L.
Only one person ever signed that way.
Evelyn Langley.
Her aunt.
Dead for five years.
🔮 End of Chapter 7