Masquerade - A Short Story

The Masquerade Ball at Claire Darling's mansion was the most awaited event of the season. Ever since the Great War had ended, it had taken place every year on February 14, on Valentine's Day. The atmosphere in the room was electrifying to say the least: The room was filled with an air of seduction, mystery and a dizzying sensation of déjà vu since most of the guests had been here before. As a matter of fact, the same colour masks were worn every year, black for the gentlemen and white for the ladies.

A careless confidence ran through my veins as I stepped through the big doors in front of me again. Even though I had been here before, everything was different this time. My entire life had changed since the last ball. Back then, I had been a mere girl, whereas now, I considered myself a woman.

But before I could think of the many things that had changed in the past year and how they would affect me tonight, I noticed him. For the first time since we both attend this ball, his gaze was upon mine. That was the gaze underneath his mask, which was half black and half white, something that had never been done before. It was downright outrageous, a very obvious provocation as it was clearly against the rules set up by the rich widow.

Whereas I knew some of the people present or could at least guess their identity, I had never been able to find out who he was. But then, no one knew who he was. There were intriguing rumours, of course, and a lot of people had tried to guess his identity as they had flirted with him, left red lipstick on his mask or invited him to drink champagne with them, but no one had ever been able to find out who he was.

Someone had once suggested that he might be Claire Darling's nephew or illegitimate son. Those people who claimed he was related to the mysterious widow argued that no one had ever seen him enter the front door of the mansion as if he had already been there. Otherwise, it would be hard to explain how he had managed to enter the ball. He had laughed when someone had asked him whether he was the lost heir of the darling family. "You honour me by thinking I'm related to such a great family. But no, I'm not some mysterious relative you have never heard about," he had replied courteously, and you could have seen him smirk through his mask.

Someone else had suggested that he was a famous actor from Hollywood. After all, this was still the time of silent films, and no one knew what their favourite matinee idol sounded like. "Do you really think I'd go to a society event that was this risqué if I was famous? It would damage my career beyond repair if someone found out that I was here in that case," he had said with that charming voice that sounded neither British nor American, but both somehow. 

Tonight was different because tonight nobody tried to challenge him, but he appeared to challenge me. At least that was the feeling I got when his gaze rested on mine. On the other hand, it was more than that: Something had happened to me last year at the ball, and he was the only person who knew the truth. He was my savior and thus the only person who could get me out of this mess. That was part of the reason why I needed to know his identity.

It still pained me to think of the last ball and how careless I had been. But I loved to dance and had had a lot of fun on the dance floor as I could dance the Charleston better than the other female dancers and kick my legs higher. I drank too much champagne that night. I'm perfectly aware that it is forbidden to drink alcohol, but nobody at this ball cares about the stupid law. A couple of years ago, there was a war, and people died. So I don't think anyone has the right to take anything away from us, least of all our right to enjoy ourselves and have fun! 

And then, I woke up on the lawn in front of the house on the next morning with the broken neck of a bottle of champagne in my hand and my clothes in disarray. When I looked down, I had just known what had happened: Someone I could not even remember had slept with me, and I did not know whether I had agreed to it or not. Nor did I remember a lot about the act in itself. I started crying because I felt so used, abused and scared and did not know what would become of me for a second.