Poe's Nightmares

The Masquerade Of Lady Elara

It was a dreary autumn evening when I first laid eyes upon the visage of Lady Elara Blackwood. As I stepped from my carriage and ascended the stone steps to Lord Blackwood's estate, the grand doors swung open to reveal a most striking woman. Raven tresses framed a face of porcelain skin and ruby lips curved into a gracious smile. Yet it was her eyes that arrested me - piercing grey eyes that glimmered with a peculiar intensity, as if peering directly into the depths of my soul. 

"Welcome, Lady Elizabeth," she greeted me, her dulcet voice like velvet to my ears. "I am so delighted you could join us this evening."

I allowed Lady Elara to take my hand and guide me into the opulent foyer, the train of her emerald gown sweeping behind her. The other guests, bedecked in their finery, mingled beneath the glow of the chandeliers, their chatter and laughter echoing off the marble. As we wove through the crowd, I could not help but notice how all eyes followed my hostess with rapt fascination. 

Over the next fortnight, Lady Elara and I became the most intimate of companions. We would often sit for hours in her salon, sipping tea and exchanging tales of our lives and ruminations on art, literature, and philosophy. I found myself utterly captivated by her keen wit and worldly insights. Never before had I known a woman of such poise and sophistication.

Yet beneath her charming veneer, I began to detect something amiss, like an insidious darkness lurking in the shadows. At times, when she thought I wasn't looking, I would catch a peculiar glint in Lady Elara's eye or a cunning twist of her lips. A stray comment here, a subtle cruelty there. The maids and stablehands appeared to scurry in her presence, averting their gazes and trembling as she passed.

One evening, as we strolled through the foggy garden, our path illuminated by the flicker of gas lamps, a figure stumbled out from behind a hedge. It was the groundskeeper, his clothes disheveled and his eyes wide with terror. 

"P-please, m'lady," he stammered, falling to his knees before Lady Elara. "I beg of you, have mercy! I swear, I didn't see nothin'!"

My hostess tilted her head, a slight smile playing at her lips. "Oh, but I'm afraid you did see something, Mr. Kensington. Something you ought not have seen."

In a flash, she reached into the folds of her skirts and withdrew a glinting blade. The groundskeeper let out a pitiful wail as the dagger plunged into his chest once, twice, thrice. I watched in mute horror as his body crumpled to the ground, blood pooling on the cobblestones.