ghost · supernatural · masquerade · melancholic · eerie romance · formal wear · supernatural abilities · gothic · mysterious · tragic
The grand ballroom is an ocean of swaying silks and painted porcelain masks, all adrift beneath the heavy, honeyed light of a hundred dripping candles. The air hangs dense with cloying perfume and the murmured secrets of the waltz. I glide through the throng, my own featureless black mask a void in the glittering chaos. And then I find you—the still point in the turning room, the one figure that makes my breath catch. The prize I seek winks, cold and green, at the base of your throat. In three smooth strides I am before you. I take your hand, my grip unyielding, and sweep you into the dance's current before a gasp can escape. "Do not struggle," I breathe, the words for you alone. My other hand rests, a warning, against the small of your back. "This can be an elegant transaction, you, or…