(formerly "Halloween Prince")
After a tragic incident, Emily Scott started hearing a man's voice in her head. Something about it was eerie and yet so frighteningly familiar. In the hopes of erasing the 'voice', she started seeing a psychiatrist--but...
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It was rather strange that the star of the night, the birthday boy himself did not appear at least once. I might not be from here but I think I knew it was rude of him to not show his face and greet his guests. And yet as I looked around the sea of creatures mingling, none of them looked bothered in the least. They were dancing and laughing to the ominous tune playing in the background and here I was, sulking in the corner.
I tried to resist the urge to crane my neck just a little farther to get another glimpse of that greenhouse. I won't even deny it was not really the greenhouse I hoped to get a glimpse of but that man who looked so haunted under the moonlight. Every few seconds I find myself turning to that direction, stopping myself short in the last minute.
Why am I so fixated with a stranger?
I couldn't shake away the feeling of familiarity and the way his eyes had looked.
There was still a small part of me that insisted this was a strange, strange dream and that soon, I will wake up with the annoying blare of my alarm clock. It was past midnight, the party still in full swing and I wondered if these people ever slept or did they only come out at night. After all, I was entirely convinced they were the monsters that lurked in the dark.
The party was interrupted when a man cleared his throat. Yes, it was a man. He looked human to me with that blonde hair and languid gaze. I cannot be too sure though. I wasn't close enough to discern if he had any fangs or other freaky abnormalities. His throat-clearing wasn't even audible through the sound of endless chatter and had I not been staring at him, I wouldn't have known he made a sound. It seemed that the people here had much sharper hearing than I do as their voices died down. They shifted, forming a semicircle around the man.
He raised his martini glass. "A toast for a very special day," he drawled. "For the prince,"
"Right you are, Lord Vasper!" someone shouted. The crowd followed suit, cheering and yelling "For the prince!"
The man they called Lord Vasper smiled but it was more of a sneer as he returned the martini glass to his lips, watching the scene with a sly grin. He reminded me of a snake.
"Hmmph. What a snake." Someone voiced my thoughts beside me. I frowned and I spun around to see a man casually leaning on the wall, sipping his own curdled milk. I meant to turn away and ignore his comment but my eyes refused to budge. This man was familiar. His lips were close to forming a smirk, his eyes had a glint of dark amusement and I could only associate such wicked expression to one man.
He was nearly identical to Mr. Lockworth, my history teacher.
He was dressed impeccably, matching the theme of the party. His spectacles were gone and the white patches in his head were restored to its original color—brunette. His hair was swept on the side, slick and proper.
