Harry Styles, a secret service agent working for British intelligence is tasked with finding the killer after a series of brutal but calculated murders across Europe. His mind is sharp, he's smart, arrogant and works with a precision that leaves no...
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Winter
A masquerade.
I couldn't say I'd ever been to one before, but it was the perfect disguise.
In a little black dress and black stilettos, I stepped through the ornate double doors, and was immediately welcomed with music, laughter and a busy atmosphere. Candlelight danced on the walls, hundreds of them decorating chandeliers. My heels were loud against the polished marble floors but it was so loud in here that nobody else would be able to hear them. The room was filled with hundreds of people, rich people here for a masquerade, I didn't know what it was for, but couldn't find it within myself to care.
My nose scrunched as I got further in, the smell of rich perfumes from the women surrounding me, mixed with the fresh smell of the roses and bouquets of flowers on the centrepiece of each round table. My fingertips grazed along the marble countertop of the bar, it was the only place I was really interested in.
I had to find one person. I had his name, and I had his face. It was going to be harder to find him in a place as busy as this where everyone had their face covered by the small decorative masks, but it also meant my face was hidden too. I was in a short black dress, silky that hugged my body in the places I wanted it to hug me and it hung flowing from my hips, moving with each step I took. My hair was brown, I'd bought a cheap wig but it looked natural enough that I could get away with it in this dimly lit room where everyone was drinking and nobody was paying attention to me.
Once I sat myself up at the bar and ordered a margarita for myself, I began to analyse the concealed identities in the room around me. Each face was a mystery to me, as I was a mystery to them. It was crazy that with only a wig and a sparkly black mask tied around my eyes, that I could barely even recognise myself. The only thing I could recognise was my skin, the vitiligo on my forehead, I didn't really like covering it with makeup, even when I was on jobs. It wasn't really something I thought much about even though it was probably one of my more unique and identifiable features. I had my dark hair down and loosely curled, it covered my forehead enough that I didn't think it would be a problem.
