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𝔗𝔦𝔠𝔨 𝔱𝔬𝔠𝔨, 𝔤𝔬𝔢𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔦𝔡𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔠𝔩𝔬𝔠𝔨...

~Now Playing: The Vampire Masquerade~

13 seconds till midnight...

Candles flicker to life, casting their dim glow across tables swatched in black velvet, piled high with porcelain plates of delicacies. Jewelled glasses rest next to crystal pitchers of dark red liquid. A breeze dances through the hall, stirring the drapes framing balconies open to the night.

11 seconds till midnight...

Clouds drift across the moon, obscuring its cool light, casting shadows across the smooth marble floor. Figures slip soundlessly into the center of the room, faces and identities hidden by ornately adorned masks, impossibly smooth skin glinting palely, fans held delicately to their lips as they whisper amongst themselves.

7 seconds till midnight...

A clock ticks softly, dominating an entire wall, the thin black hand moving closer and closer to completing yet another repetition, as it had done the year before, and the year before that. A testimony to the eternality of the creatures in their sweeping suits and gowns.

3 seconds till midnight...

A hush falls over the gathered, their eyes collectively tracking the progress of the clock, anticipation hanging heavy in the air. The clouds part to reveal the moon. She shall not miss witnessing this moment, the same sight she had beheld for centuries, yet still so significant.

Click.

All smooth metal hands point straight up.

Without another word,

Tonight.

The Masquerade begins again.

her hand raised to her face, a blue butterfly msk placed upon it, hiding her features, except her sharp-fanged mouth and her gleaming red eyes.

She fixed her dark-blue hair, tightening the high ponytail she always wore.

She sighed.

"...Lovely."

She murmured to herself, as she slipped inside, wordlessly, soundlessly, into the room.

Her blood-red eyes stared up at the sky, quietly.

As the moon emerged from behind the clouds, Ophelia Solace smiled faintly.

---

The moon. Ah, the moon.

The purest pale beauty, shining yet with no light of its own. A beacon of loneliness that seemed to attract anyone who turns their gaze towards it. Otto envied the moon sometimes. He turned his head away from the window as his carriage pulled up to the front of the masquerade halls. Ah, yes, the masquerade. An exquisite event hosted to only the most important people of the lands. How lovely and courteous of them to hand him a spare invite. No kind act shall go unrewarded, Otto smiled to himself. Otto will make sure they get a little something in return. This masquerade will aid both him and the pleasant folk. Hm, moreso him than them, he speculated.

The carriage drew to a halt, the twin black horses rearing into a whinny. Otto gathered his hat, coat and cane before stepping out into the crisp night air. He surveyed the bustling scene inside and sighed to himself. Well, he could... survive a few talks and questions. Probably.... Hopefully. All the practices in front of the hallway mirror might pay off this time. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned a spectral vine from the floor. It reached inside and grabbed a crate from the luggage rack. On it was the Tasse Mond symbol.

Otto inspected the crate for any blemishes before nodding to the driver. They tipper their head and rode off, the bells on the horses' harnesses tinkling in the air. Otto inhaled once more before entering the masquerade halls.

It was odd, being at a party.

He had been in parties before, of course. His Master did used to throw many a time ago, when he still had a name for others to call him by. He still remembers them, the high class chatter that spilled from red drunk lips, opulence draped over the tables as the finest of Wallachia's delicacies laid sprawled over the expensive silk, draped in finery that reflected tempting decadence. It had tempered into strategic gatherings of only his Master's closest confidants over the years though extravagant displays of ludicrous wealth would always be thrown every so often to satisfy his vampiric pride, not ostentatious enough to be gaudy but grand enough to remind anyone who the bloodlines progenitated from.

But this was his first time properly attending one. As a guest.

It had been so tempting to stand with the other servants that lined the walls, sidestepping tottering niceties and refilling waning glasses. Digging hi nails into his forearms clasped neatly behind his back, he physically had to restrain himself from going against his very nature. That was what he was created for. Servitude.

Why he was chosen to represent his Master's house was still a mystery. He wasn't the type to normally be chosen, that honour went to those who were of noble, but disposable, blood. Weaklings who allied themselves with his master after attempting to rip the heart that kept them alive, vermin unfit to even stand in the same territory as his master. Well spoken and educated in the survival of the Masquerade but if anything were to occur, it would only be one coin lost among the deluge of wealth.

In comparison, he was a forgotten story that persecuted it's existence. No one would remember his mortal life, not anymore than they remembered his unlife either. He was simply good at his job. And that job, quite evidently, was not as a socialite.

Still, as he stood in the shadows and keenly aware of how his simple dress paled in comparison to even the table decorations, he simply listened. The familiar heavy weight of a mask that sat on his face and the darkness it brought with it was the only comfort he could take in, the roughly hewn wood the consistent marker of his place in the world as the string dug its brand into his neck. The meagre comfort he could take in such an unfamiliar place grounded his wandering thoughts into something more solid, more concrete. Because even if his robs felt almost too luxurious for him, unused to the soft silks and extravagant embroidery, he still had his unseeing mask. One that only smiled.

---

He was there. A bit early, in fact. But he was waiting. He couldn't just go and risk it now. He had to be careful not to draw attention. Being one of the first to enter the doors would definitely do that.

He knew he wasn't welcomed by many. He waited for the clock to chime, waiting nearby. He had to hope he couldn't be found. That would raise suspicion. He couldn't afford to have any more rumours circling around.

He heard the clock chime, he saw guests start to arrive. Good, he thought. Now all he had to do was blend in the crowd.

---

Shieta carefully caressed her black feathered masquerade mask that covered her upper face. The long, curved beak-shaped nose, made of leather resembled that of a swan. She look upon her reflection on the carriage window, her own eyes meeting the same silverish blue that resembled hers.

Shieta sighs heavily, her pale complexion looked even paler in the dim lighting of the carriage.

When she had received this invitation a week ago, she contemplated on not attending. There wasn't anything that she'd gain from this after all. Additionally, the style of the masquerade ball... was different from the standard conventional and Orthodox balls held in the past. Within the isolated north, the need for a Grand Duchess was rare. Aristocrats within the noble sanguine society more often than not kept to their self, rarely interacting with other noble vampires lest it was for trade or connections. She couldn't quite remember when the last time she attended the ball was.

Was it the celebration ball held when she became a duchess? Or was it the last coronation ball when the last king ascended to the throne? She couldn't quite put her finger on it. Being alive after 60 centuries, some memories naturally becamed blurred as time passed.

However, what made her ultimately attend the ball, was the... Strange aroma the invitation gave off. Sanguine naturally have a keen sense of smell, but even this was light. Her senses tingled and a shiver went up her spine and her mouth watered. For a moment, she was in a trance, her tranquil silver blue eyes started to darken, and her pupils dilated.

Suddenly a smell of blood waft throughout the room. Shieta snapped out of her reverie, and looked down on her palm. There was bloodly nail marks on inner palm, creating a strange contrast between her ghostly pale skin and her dark blood. She looked down on the invitation once more in silence, before calling for a servant to clean up the mess and prepare a outfit.

---

Her ears twitched at the sound of the clock striking midnight. The masquerade has begun, she thought to herself before adjusting the silver wolf mask upon her face and slipping out of the carriage silently, then lowering her head in a simple thanks to the driver. Jade shivers as the cold night air brushes her shoulders, maybe this dress wasn't the wisest choice to be wearing at this time of year... She sighs to herself as she walks up silently to the main doors. "This is it..." she whispers, almost to herself. But then she hesitates, something in the air makes her feel sick and she backs away. "What am I doing?" she questions herself as she turns away, walking instead into the garden and sitting on a concrete bench to avoid the crowd of people streaming in the front doors.

---

The carriage eventually skidded to a stop.

"Grand Duchess RaVil, we have arrived at our destination."

The carriage door slowly opened as a gust of midnight wind blew in. This chill was nothing compared to the roaring winds of eternal winter, that is of the north. Shieta glanced out the window and outside loomed a extravagant castle, too much so almost.

"...Thank you Hudson."

Shieta lightly stepped out of the carriage, the wind rustling her hair as she stared upon the distance. The soft snow leopard fur coat tickled her cheek as the wind silently blew by. Slowly, step by step, the distance between her and the castle thinned. Soon she was directly at the entrance.

She could vividly hear the soft elegant orchestra inside as the guests danced. However, compared to the festive atmosphere, Shieta begin to have a dark sinking feeling in her stomach.

But it doesn't matter how she feels, the moment she put on the mask, she was now on the chess board. Exhaling silently, she entered the ball.

---

Akira waited for a moment as she approached the beautiful building, of which the architecture amazed her. How could such a place exist like this in a world full of cruelty? She fiddled with her bow, making sure that her appearance was immaculate before she headed inside. She could only hope she looked good now, as her reflection would be no help whatsoever.

How long had it been since she had seen people after what had happened...? Hopefully nobody there would know, and even if they did, it would only mean they would respect her more. And besides, her mask would cover up any traces of herself. Her mask... She felt for it I. Her pocket, finding an elegant, blackish purple mask, covered with beautiful, but delicate, feathers. She placed it gently on her face.it fitted perfectly. She felt excited, but not in a jumpy sort of way. Just a hint of happiness. After all, she may be centuries old, but was still a teenager at heart.

She looked up again and her regained her composure. She began walking up the steps, took a deep breath, and opened the door...

---

By the moon’s dim glow, one could see a figure on horseback approaching the castle. He appeared dressed for a funeral, both him and his skeletal steed shrouded in dark cloaks. Soon, the figure was right before the grand entrance to the castle and he cast off his traveling cloak, revealing a truly regal form. He wore a grandiose blue robe with silvery trim and many medallions. On his waist was a sword in a hilt inlaid with many precious gems, as befitting a lord of his station. Concealing his face was the skull of a great serpent, painted black and adorned with ivory horns, an homage to the fearsome wyrms rumored to have inhabited the underground realm before He laid claim to it. For this was Flagram, Lord of the Dragonspire Manor. Having dismounted his horse, Flagram took time to marvel at the moon’s chill luminescence, something he sorely missed in his underground domain. After admiring the pale light in the sky, Flagram addressed his undead companion in a long lost tongue.

“Sede, Nihignis”

The horse’s pale, flaming eyes extinguished and the beast lay immobile outside the castle. After absorbing the flame back into himself, Flagram threw open the doors and entered the grand hall of the castle, appearing to glide like the fell presence of the Grim Reaper themselves as he made his way to his seat and delicately sat down, awaiting the start of the festivities.

A carriage, pulled by two dark horses, pulled up to the castle, one of the horses neighed, as the coachman opened the door. Kamiya stepped out, dressed in a variant of something akin to a suit, along with a coat around her shoulders, strapped around her waist, was a sheathed long sword, and three decorated daggers. An ornate masquerade mask covering her left eye, to other was covered by her hair, which was loosely tied in a messy ponytail. Putting her hands in her pockets, Kamiya headed up the castle stairs, coat fluttering behind her.

The carriage speedily moved out of sight, as the head of the house entered the ballroom. She glanced around, scanning through the delicately polished pillars, lavishly designed structure, along with all the interior design. Silently, she strode to a side table, examining the food along with keeping a wary eye out for anyone approaching.

The ballroom was extremely grand, sounds echoing off the walls and roof. People danced on the floor, others, evidently socialites, along with aristocrats, building more connections.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the castle, a pure white chariot glided gracefully through the grand entrance, its polished surface gleaming like a jewel against the twilight sky. Pulled by two majestic gray horses, their coats shimmering with silvery undertones, the chariot exuded an air of regal elegance.

It came to a stop, right at the castle gates, and a servant- thickly wrapped in layers, quickly jumped off to open the door, while trying to remove his coats. This place was far warmer than where they had come from. Within, First Lady Misako emerged, a vision of opulence clad in a flowing white gown that cascaded around her like a cloud of silk. The intricate lace detailing and delicate embellishments sparkled softly in the fading light, accentuating her graceful figure. The gown features a plunging neckline that gracefully revealed one’s shoulders, complemented by short, bow-trimmed sleeves. The skirt flowed into a bustle silhouette, enhancing her presence. Intricate embroidery in silver thread adorns the bodice and hem, depicting delicate motifs of chrysanthemums and bamboo,

The mask Misako had chosen today was a stunning piece that perfectly complemented her opulent ensemble. Crafted in the shape of a white rabbit, it was made from fine porcelain, giving it a smooth, glossy finish that caught the light beautifully. The mask’s delicate, elongated ears arch gracefully, adorned with intricate gold filigree designs that swirled like vines across the surface. These golden accents glimmer subtly, adding a touch of luxury and whimsy to her look.

The eye holes were elegantly shaped, framed by delicate lashes painted in gold, enhancing the allure of her gaze while maintaining an air of mystery. The mask's contours were soft yet defined, emphasizing the graceful lines of her face. A satin ribbon, also white with golden edges, ties the mask securely behind her head, allowing her to move freely while keeping the enchanting piece in place.

As she stepped down from the chariot, the soft sound of her heels echoed against the cobblestones, and an intoxicating aura of luxury enveloped her, captivating all who beheld this enchanting arrival at the masquerade.

Thanking her servants, she slowly made her way into the Masquerade. Clad in white from head to toe, hidden behind the porcelain mask of a bunny, Misako was the picture of innocence- a fragile little prey amidst a sea of darkness.

She watches from the safety of the garden bench as many people dressed in elegant and elaborate costumes walk up to the doors and go in. A few caught her eye: a white rabbit and a black swan, but she couldn't bring herself to say anything or even take one step farther from where she sat. "Why am I like this?" she sighs, "Why can't I just be normal like everyone else and go in and talk to people?" She knew though that most people weren't here to make friends and she would probably be left alone for the entire night. Propping her face on her palm, she watches as a plump mouse scurries from beneath the bench. A small smile plays at her lips as the rodent darts from flower to flower, searching for scraps.

The instant he walked into the halls, the scene was overwhelming. Chatter and other miscellaneous sounds bombarded Otto's ears as he strode forward. Music poured through the rooms and couples laughed and danced. So, this was what he missed when he was living in the estate. Hm, he could live without it. Attention was one thing, commitment was another. Otto was fine with being by himself. It made his ideas easier to play out.

Nevertheless, he made sure to move out of their waltz as he headed towards the refreshment table. Oh, one small thing. He nearly forgot. Otto reached into his coat and siezed the silvery mask he prepared solely for this occasion. Its rhinestones glimmered in the moonlight, a single raven feather sprouting from its corner. Not flashy, but it does the job. Otto fastened it on and continued his walk.

Shieta breathed in the festive air, it made her sick in the stomach. She was currently sitting down on the red velvet chaise longue holding a extravagant wine glass in her hand. The ball was nothing that of special compared to what she has seen in the past, nor was the people that was present. She swept her gaze inconspicuously amongst the bustling crowd. Throughout her lifespan, she has seen more faces of people change than the amount of meals she'd ate. From her quick glance, Shieta knew that the crowd of waltzing vampires aren't anything out of the ordinary.

However, that didn't make her feel any more safe nor secure.

She double checked that her swan mask was firmly on her face on the reflection of the wine glass. A face of a young lady that couldn't possibly be older than 25 stared back at her. Her curly silver blue locks were tied half up with a red flower, and her cheekbone were tinged with a permanent red. The ruff on her neck felt awfully at that moment. Shieta resists the urge to adjust her brooch and sat still, calmly twirling the wine glass. However not once did she drink from it.

---

With only the familiar darkness that came with melding the mask with his face, it certainly was quite boring simply listening to the bustle slowly consuming the venue as more and more guests paraded in with no doubt elaborate masks. But even without looking at them, he knew that they were all unfitting of wearing them, all too preformative to be anything other than a piece to be put over their face. There was a certain point of pride for him, even if his own mask paled in make and opulence it was his. Carved smile with snarling tusks blunted with a smile of servitude, eyes less and unseeing only able to speak. A servants worth was in what it could do, never in anything else. Really, this whole masquerade was meaningless to him, his mask more of a marker of his identity than the face that lay underneath it.

It really didn't explain why his Master had sent him as his representative, if the goal was to keep identities a secret and feast with the eyes but he never claimed to understand his Master's machinations. A servant never needed to anyways. They only needed to do. Closing his eyes, to replace the swirling whorls of carved wood with the empty nothingness of his mind, a single eye rapidly blinked the dust away, dilating against the sudden influx of bedazzling lights.

Much better.

The floor felt cold under his bare feet and the gentle chime of a hundred bells chimed with each step he took. Smoothly sliding around the tittering nobles and drunken rambling with the experience of a servant all too used to navigating the noble rabble. His hands itched to pluck the empty wine glasses from idle hands, the temptation almost irresistible as he made his way from where he had loitered in the shadows out towards the spotlight where he would never belong in

But good gods were they starving. Sacrifices would need to be made to keep stomachs satiated

---

The single day of the year where her presence wasn't welcomed with upturned faces or floods of syncopates, identity obscured by a black half-mask resting lightly upon her face, red crystals catching the dim light with a captivating sparkle. A burst of black feathers flew from the left side, elegantly concealing the tiny dice and cards dangling from thin silver chains among them. Elaborate eyeliner in red and black decorated curving slots, allowing twin black pupils to glitter through.

A mischievous smirk rested on soft lips, painted an intoxicating red.

Moving with all the grace of a lazy cat, not at all bothered by the attempts at timid conversation from poor socialites or the suspicious glare from a passing noble lady, Ldeya yawned, entirely and utterly bored by it all. Unfortunately, entertaining these ostentatious aristocrats was not one of her passing hobbies.

It was a wonder she even bothered to come in the first place.

After all, year after year, it was so very amusingly... mundane. Some treated this as a high-end, almost sacred event, an annual occurrence over millennia, a gathering of countless generations and moons. Yet such a grand purpose it might have served once upon a blue moon, receding to a crudely rendered backdrop for the posing and preening that was somehow enjoyable to those that claimed pure blood and high-born titles.

Why did they bother anyways? Ah, but no, that wasn't a question she would really ask them. They were too blind in their superficial comfort and luxury to realise anything lay outside. Even as she scanned the gathered half-heartedly, she could see they were too caught up in their drunk chatter to notice anything.

Their loss, after all.

---

Otto gently pushed a few dishes aside and placed the crate on the table. He stretched his hands and clutched the lid, attempting to pull it off. Physical brute was not his strong suite, most definitely, and he struggled for a few moments before finally prying it off. From his side he overheard some stifled giggles at his expense. Must have been a silly sight, he thought and smiled to himself. His common sense reprimanded him as his anonymous reputation was ticking away like an hourglass no doubt but it was none the matter. Otto would not even glimpse these nobles once the sun awoke. Which was in all cases, absolutely perfect. He reached inside the crate.

His hand enclosed around a bottle and he raised it to the air. The swirling mass of velvet inside sparkled and pulsed like a crimson river of myth. Otto's fellow guests would overcome their suspicions easily, with the wine being so similar to the life force they consumed on the daily. He motioned to the servers of the masquerade. "If you could, I've brought a gift." He pointed. "Please distribute them to the other guests. Tell them it's an exclusive and novel flavor, never been tasted by anyone else. Except the food safety workers, of course. Haha... ha." At the waiters' confused looks, Otto gathered his joke fell flat. He coughed into his fist and waved them away. The servers picked up the wine and glasses until only he and his solitary bottle remained.

Hm, it wouldn't hurt to share it personally, Otto figured. He glanced across the masquerade halls to spy a figure with one of the most interesting masks he'd seen thus far. The dice was a nice touch, it made Otto's raven feather feel malodorous in comparison. He leaned over to her. "Would you fancy a glass of wine, miss?"

At a voice beside her, Ldeya glanced over, expression still lingering with a hint of her previous boredom, although most wouldn't notice with the casual smile which graced her features. She couldn't say she was particularly impressed with this year's display of what was meant to be an intriguing and mysterious society of immortals.

Noticing the bottle and offer, a hint of amusement sparkled in her eyes, her smile widening into a smirk.

Oh, this was something new. Not a hand extended clumsily in search of a dance, or an attempt at an intelligent statement in hopes of conversation. No, not an offer of gold, or riches, or social status. Just a simple offer of a glass, swirling with its darkly tempting contents.

"Please. Refreshments have been lacking recently."

Perhaps this year would provide entertainment after all.

---

"Of course," Otto dipped his head and took a clean glass from nearby. With the thorn of a vine, he cleanly severed the cap of the bottle. The tantalizing sour aromas escaped into the air and sent a shiver of hunger down his spine. Control yourself, his mind admonished. First, the guests. Then, if need be, you. He swirled it infront of the girl for a little bit of anticipation, all the while masking his cravings, and poured. The steady steam of scarlet flowed into the glass almost gracefully. Otto used his thumb to wipe a stray drop on the rim and offered it. "Your wine, miss. Ripe and ready."

---