Forsaken & Claimed

Chapter 4

Pandora

My heartbeat clouts my ears. My hands trembled as I placed my gold-colored mask on. The breeze didn't help much rushing up my dress. A small crowd started to shift towards the tall building, all dressed in masks and cloaks. Mingling in with the group, I followed the flood of people to a one-way ticket to death if we're caught.

Touching my lips, that evening plays again in my head. My lower half clenches in response. We all wait in line to enter the den of desires, where your inner mask will be shed. It's been a while since my last visit and even longer since I've graced its stage. Who has time when you have a vendetta?

Checking my watch, "Shit."

I spent too much time trying on outfits, then Vicky caught me struggling to zip up my dress. Thankfully she's easily distracted; she helped me get ready without prying too much. She recommended this black sleeveless one. She was right as soon as it slid over my body. I knew it was perfect. She left my wild curly hair down with a side part that let its voluminous glory show. She said it looked beautiful against my caramel-colored skin.

Silence engulfed me as I entered the lobby. The air used to smell like citrus, but it's been replaced by lavender.

It must be popular.

Two men by the doorway peeled back the curtains leading to a dim-lit stairwell. Giant red double wood doors part for us, and a swell of chatter and music invited us in. Sheer fabric hangs from the ceiling, swaying. Some had women, some men, wrapping, climbing, and free-falling with ease. Forging a path to the bar, I claimed a small corner by the end. The dance floor was full of many people, laughing and dancing. None look like him.

Did I miss my chance?

"From the DM. He said, stop by the office," the bartender said, sliding me a smokey neon blue shot.

"Thanks," I said, throwing the shot back.

Eyes of a sharpshooter.

I've told him many times that he's in the wrong business. He would only smile and say creating moments is his passion. I knocked lightly on the door, hoping to escape back to the party. A few hours is all I had to spare before the next shift change at the wall.

"Enter."

Paperwork kept him hidden as the frantic scribbling ensued. Sighing, I walked around the towers. Not many dare this feat; he was surprised the first night my friend brought me here. He didn't think I could draw in a crowd, let alone make him a dime. He assumed it was a fluke when I made out well that it was the new toy syndrome.

He was shocked at the numerous request I received when I didn't return after the first month. He offered me a private performance room that took veterans years to earn. I enjoyed it until that hellish day in town.

"You better be telling me the room is prepared," he said.

"I would if I still worked here."

He looked up at me, and his frown was replaced with a smile and wide arms. We embraced for a few moments, then part.

"How you been Rose," he asked.

He always called me that since that first night, I arrived with the flower in my hair. He hated that I refused to tell him my name or didn't know what I looked like without this mask. I imagine it wouldn't be hard to find out, but it's against the same rules he held dear.

"Alive. What about you?"

"I can't complain. I know you are eager to get back out there, but tonight you're a guest, and I have something you might want," he said with a crooked smile.