The Masquerade

The Beginning

I was sitting by the fireplace in the parlor of my family's estate when the feeling of something pulling me was present in my mind. The color of the yellow walls was doing nothing to help calm my rattling nerves that were going to burst from under my skin and take on a life anew. My breathing quickened as I got up from the velvet chair that was my usual safe space from the world, and went over to the dark wood bookcases that made up one side of the room. I rested my forehead that began to moisten with sweat against the cool wood as a thought swam through my head.

It's happening again.

It was always this time of year when this feeling of being pulled somewhere arose. For years I never knew why; I thought it was just me being confused and having too many thoughts. I've told my friends about this feeling—this pull—but they never believed me. They always passed it off as being unsociable and having the desire of someone by me, the feel of someone intimate with me. Someone all to myself and to call my own by the end of the fruitful day.

These memories left me as quick as they surfaced and went back to the hole in my head that they crawled out of to begin with. I opened my eyes as I caught my breath and my eyes darted across the room, seeing something that I swear wasn't there before. A scroll, resting on the dark seat of my chair, daring me to open it and figure out its secrets.

I took several hesitant steps toward the chair, tripping on the corner of the oriental rug that rested in the center of the room. As I got closer to my chair, I noticed that the scroll had golden decals that looked like candles with melted wax towards the bottom. The scroll was tied with a rose-colored ribbon—the color of the Royal's crest. My heart started beating out of my chest as I approached the daunting scroll. I was finally at the chair after what felt like a quest to get there. I picked up the delicate scroll and rubbed my shaking fingers over the golden, shiny decals, and started to untie the ribbon. As I did this, the feeling of the pull I was experiencing just a few moments before, started to lessen. I finished untying the ribbon and let it fall to the floor. The moment I started opening the scroll, several thoughts entered my mind, but for the time being, I ignored them and continued on. I finished opening the scroll and as soon as I did, I instantly knew what it was. An invitation to the Royal's Annual Masquerade Ball.

The invitation's text was of the darkest red, to the point where it almost appeared black. The text was in an elegant print like someone with a delicate hand pressed lightly to the parchment and let their hand be the master and take over the task. I read the text, and read it again till the words became engraved in my head. I couldn't believe it. Why would I receive an invitation to the ball? I recollected myself just for a moment before I read the text out loud, just to make it a reality, a single wisp in the air born of my nervous breathe. I looked at the invitation's beautiful text as my eyes scanned over them:

Your Presence is Requested at the Royal's Annual Masquerade Ball.

Dress to impress and chose a mask and wear it well

Your ride will be awaiting tonight at 8 o'clock.

As I whispered the last line, a thought came over me. This feeling—this pull—always happened the night of the Masquerade. I don't know why I never made that connection before, it was always there, hiding, waiting to be discovered.

The Masquerade has two rules: you have to be invited to attend, and you must dress up in the outfit assigned to you. Two simple rules that were surprisingly broken again and again throughout the years. What happened to those people who broke the rules, no one knows or desires to find out. Never in my entire life did I ever think, or dare to think, that I would receive an invitation to the Masquerade. My dear friends get invited every year, and the next day they would come over and tell me all about it. They would tell stories of other ladies' gowns, or any conquests and make-outs that they had with the gentlemen there. I always blushed at those stories, mostly because I was the most innocent one out of all of them. I've never had any experiences with a boy, let alone have one look at me and think about what they wanted to do with me. Those scandalous thoughts filtered through my brain as I was in the process of accepting that I was invited to the Masquerade. Actually invited. I got so excited, that when I went to retrieve the ribbon on the floor, I hit my head on the side of the table. I quickly got up after I got ahold of the ribbon and went to turn around to assess any damage I may have done to my face in the mirror on the side wall, to the right of the bookcases, when I noticed a larger box rested on the large oak table that was located in the center of the room.

The box was of a dark purple, like the box itself had secrets and begged me to open it to figure them out. It was held together by a black ribbon, that also held secrets of its own. I went over to the box and gasped the lid with my nervous hands, and pulled the top of the beautiful box and rested it on top of the wooden table. I peered inside and gasped. Inside the exquisite box was the most gorgeous dress I've ever had the pleasure of seeing.

The dress was made of an excellent plum color with black decals that resembled chandeliers that covered the bottom of the dress and the rather low neckline. Under the dress was yet again another equally gorgeous surprise. A mask, made of the same plum material as the dress, rested at the bottom of the box. As I went to pick it up, I realized it was no ordinary mask, it was rather a character was I supposed to play tonight. The left side of the mask resembled the properties of a butterfly. A black and purple lace wing completely covered the left side. Jewels that only royalty could afford were interlaced with the wing. The right side of the mask told a whole different story. The right side was simpler than the left. The right only had blacks decals that consisted of a variety of swirls and shapes and lines. The upper right corner of the mask was decorated with three black feathers varying in sizes. One was large, one was medium size, and the other was small—almost like a bird's feather. The whole maks itself was enchanting and it made me want to go to the designer and ask them where their inspiration came from. And whether there was any left.

While I was drooling over my newly acquired ensemble, the clock struck seven o'clock. I jumped back a step in surprise and looked over at the clock to confirm that it was indeed seven o'clock. Realizing that I didn't have much time to get ready, I quickly made my way to my chambers and started on the long task of getting myself for the night that would change everything.

About forty-five long minutes later, I was ready. The dress fits perfectly to my womanly curves, and, once on, the neckline didn't seem that low, but still too low for my prudish standards. I paired the dress with, by my luck, black heels that matched the design of the trim almost to perfection. I did some simple makeup, considering that my face was going to be covered up anyway. I didn't want to spend too much time. I planned on waiting to put the mask on until I got to the Masquerade since the lace wing and feathers intruded my eyesight.

Time was a lost concept to me on this night, because eight o'clock came and went, and my carriage to the ball waited outside my front door. I made sure everything was in order before I left. I just had this feeling that I was to return late...or not at all. I shook the feeling off as I made my last round through the room and made my way to the front door. I opened the tall, wood doors and stepped outside to the surprisingly warm weather. Once I was fully outside, I turned around to shut the doors, then I investigated my lovely transport to the ball. The base color was a deep black, but the gold details on the sides contradicted it and made a beautiful masterpiece together. The wheels were also of a rich gold that opposed the dark color of the carriage. The golden details formed intricate designs that I wished I could stare at for hours, but I was on a tight schedule. I looked toward the front of the carriage and realized there was no driver, only midnight-black horses. By their stature, I could tell that they were rather impatient. I quickened my descend down the stairs and toward the carriage's door. I grasped the cold handle with my warm hands and pulled toward my chest. The inside of the carriage was black velvet that was begging me come sit on it. I climbed into the carriage, almost tripping on the step, and shut the door. At the exact moment that I shut the door, the horses neighed and the carriage started pulling forward—toward the castle.