Murder at the Masquerade

After - Chapter 1

I'm going to find you. Wherever you are. She lost the man of her dreams and sook revenge for the man who took her world away. But to me, her granddaughter, she is a hero. I know it seems a bit bias considering I'm family, but she really was, she danced with the devil while her love became an angel. I am going to find whoever hurt her. That's what family does. I was named after my Grandmother, her name was Anne, I'm Elizabeth Anne. Elizabeth comes from one of my ancestors who were brutally tested in the witch trials, but that's a story for another time. Every year, on my birthday, my grandmother tells me that same story. I first heard it when I was 5 years of age, it terrified me to the depths that I couldn't sleep at night, and every shadow, every glimpse of something in the corner of my eye sent shivers down my spine. Now, I'm older, I want to find whoever tore my grandmothers' heart to pieces and killed so many innocent people, because, blood is like a drug, one drop is never enough. That was his motive.

The cobblestone paths illuminated in the streetlight from nearby pubs and stalls. All merchants were packing up their stock ready to go to their humble abode before the storm of the century. Men and women pushed past me in a hurry, to reach the safety of their shelters. What about all those without a home? What will happen to them? Faces blink in and out of focus, blurring with the mass of colour in the sky. Not happy colours. Not the colours of water on a spring evening, or trees being consumed by the autumn sun. The sky tonight was a colour of greed, of death, of poison. Lightning lit up the darkening grey sky in bright colours of emerald. Children were crying, mothers were shouting, and men were laughing. I was strolling through the little town of Amesbury, content in being free from the torment of my tragic life. A bit of rain wasn't going to stop me. The streets soon became abandoned, and the lights started going out. Flames hissed to an end as raindrops fell to the ground like little falling dreams, quiet and peaceful. That was just the beginning. Soon, rain fell as heavy as burden or guilt, covering everything in sight with a thick, black blanket. In seconds, I was drenched from head to toe, cloth sticking to me like a lost child. There were no crying children or screaming mothers. There was just the sound of rain on tin, calming and relaxing, ushering me into a state of dream. A colour darker than obsidian filled the corner of my eye, and I realised that stories really are memories, passed down through generations, carrying burden and loss, and landing on whomever it pleased. A man. No. A boy. Stood a distance away, leaning against the tall brick wall of the butcher's little shop, rain dripping from his hair, and not a single way to tell who he was. The black of night hid many things, late night endeavours, trades, and even the occasional person. The night is the biggest deception. In the blink of an eye, the strange boy had vanished, and so had my security. With each step I took further and further from my estate made me even more aware of the nagging feeling of being watched. It made me feel guilty for leaving my home and family so abruptly, no note, no explanation, no notice. They will understand. They will understand. It's a bad habit. Lying to yourself. It hides the truth. You make so many altered versions, and one day, it will chase you down and it won't stop. It will never stop, chasing you down, finding you, ending you, stealing all capabilities to tell the truth. In a moments time, your life is built on lies, either one could falter, and you will fall. I made it to the dock. Waves crashing against the wood. The sounds of the ocean bringing peace and sadness to all those hear it. I stood there, on the end of the dock, looking out into the wide span of sea. Within a few minutes, the wind dropped, and the ocean stilled. The water rippled with each small wind that slid across its surface. The moon perfectly reflected in its deep, blue waters. As a child my mother would tell me strange tales of the ocean being a secret portal to heaven, when she died, I ran down to the water and looked for her in the depths of the ocean. I knew she would have to be there but a small part of me knew she wouldn't. She was consumed by the ocean, by heaven, ever since then I have refused going on adventures with friends to the caves on the shore, or the dock late at night to swing my feet over the edge and dream of my future. The darkness took her, so I will take on the darkest. It scares me, the ocean. It is so big, but so small at the same time. It goes on forever and yet stops. It is the great unknown. So, as I stand there on the dock, I am reminded of my mother, Sophia Carrow, my Grandmother, Anne Céleste, the brave woman who lost both of her daughters, and the love of her life. Emerging from behind the tall cliffside is a boat, about the size of a large chamber room. Not quite enough for a fleet but enough for my long journey. Steering the boat is a young boy around my age, maybe older, behind him is an older man, in around his late 40's. The older man seems to be instructing the boy how to steer the boat. I have been planning my escape for quite some time now, one afternoon by Grandma found me planning the escape. At first, I thought she would be furious but she helped me, she knew what I was doing, and although it was dangerous, trusted me. Trusted me to seek revenge for her lost love's life, to avenge all those innocent young women, taken late at night and removed from what we call a perfect world and to save all potential women from being harmed by the devil himself.