A Short Story about a Hero and a Villain complex

The Chief of Sinners

As if the blue winter wind wasn't enough to make his skin tingle and rise, the large mansion stood before him where easily a hundred people entered, masked with gowns and suits. Each of these people were excited to spend their night dancing away, dizzy on their pink champagne and wealth. Little did they know there was an odd one out looking to ruin their chances of ever throwing a masquerade again.

In the moonlight, the mansion appeared heavenly. The all-white exterior, complimented by the large, elegant staircase leading up to the entryway. People littered the way in, waiting patiently for their turn to be checked off on the guest list.

He definitely hated crowds.

As he pushed into the building past the men and women, he was overwhelmed by the many different perfume and hair gel scents. He had to keep reminding himself of why he was here as he snuck past the guard and into the well-lit doorway. This was not for a night of waltzing and wonder; he had to stop him and whatever his sadistic plan might be.

The mansion was adjourned with gold decor, the white marble floors reflecting each person that moved past like a mirage. Everything felt so surreal. There were vine-accented balconies set around a ballroom where the wealthiest stood looking down on him and the others who had already begun to dance. Classism at its finest, locking the public out in regards to status. 

He decided it was time to begin looking.

As he entered the hallways leading to what appeared to be the library and study, he recalled his face. It was so many years ago. He wasn't too sure he'd be able to distinguish between him and any other unfortunate masquerade-goer. He didn't even know his plan really. All he knew was that if he didn't find him, everyone here was at risk of losing their lives.

Into the library he went, nearly tripping over his own feet. Tall bookshelves surrounded the walls; the amount of dust in the room was suffocating, but he didn't mind. He ran his hands over the bindings of the books, stopping as his fingers grazed "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde." Nostalgia. He slowly took the book into his hands and allowed the pages to fall open into his palms. He read a passage, maybe two.

"Are you the type to wander off at every party?"

He was snapped back to attention by a deep voice in the doorway. He was faceless, of course, thanks to the mask. A tall, dark-haired figure in black slacks and a wine shirt. Instead of a tie, his collar was cleanly complimented by two golden chains. His long, slender fingers adjusted his mask, rings shimmering in the moonlight from the window. He was distracted by his presence, and he wasn't quite sure why. "I suppose I am. I hate crowds, so it's not like you'd find me at a party often anyhow."

The mystery man in the doorway nodded and approached slowly, moving his hands to his pockets. "What are you reading?" He closed the book and held it out to the masked man, who seemed taken aback for some reason. He looked up at him, and back down at the book. "I haven't read this in ages."

"I mean, it is a pretty old novel."

The masked man chuckled and nodded, "Yes, I suppose it is." He ran his hands over the book. "Do you mind if I borrow this?"

He shook his head and smiled politely. "It's not my book. So I won't tell if you don't."

The masked man let out a thoughtful hum. "You remind me of someone I used to know." They shared a silent stare for only a moment before he stated, "I hope to see you on the dance floor." He then quietly took his leave, his steps echoing down the hall.

Left alone in the moonlit library, he remembered he had to keep looking. He pushed past the doors and left to search the rest of the mansion.

But it all appeared to be for nothing. From basement to sleeping quarters, the mansion was silent. No sign of an evil plan, and no sign of him.