ACOTAR - In The Modern World

The Masks

"You can't tell her?"

"No. It must come naturally."

"How are you supposed to do that in seven weeks, Tamlin?"

"I don't know, Lucien."

The clock chimed six in the morning as the two boys sat around the large table, wracking their brains as to how to get a woman to fall in love with you in under two months. 

"I mean, it's not like you're ugly," Lucien attempted, and was rewarded with a stern glare. 

Through gritted teeth, Tamlin forced out, "There's something else," He closed his eyes. "We have to put these on." He shoved a heavy bag, clattering, onto the table. "And we can't take them off. They mold onto us - she has some form of formula that can get it of. But she won't give it to us if Feyre doesn't tell me that she loves me." 

Swallowing a lump of dread in his throat, Lucien peered into the bag. "Who has to wear these?" 

"Everyone in the household with the exception of Feyre."

Hand shaking, Lucien pulled out an ornate gold mask shaped into a fox's snout. A limp label dangled from the corner, reading the name 'Lucien.'

"She's sending one of her... minions... to check we are wearing them by seven o'clock this morning. And if we aren't - well."

"I see."

Lucien lifted the mask to his face. Inside it, he could see some kind of grey putty. 

It was cold as it nestled onto his face. A perfect fit. 

Tamlin lay each mask onto the table - one for every member of the household. Tamlin lifted the one with his name. 

It was beautiful. Leaves curled elegantly around the eye holes, green and gold blending to create a mirage of colour. 

Lucien could see the pain lacing Tamlin's features as he placed the mask over his face. 

Lucien stood as silence encased the room. "I'll go and distribute these to the rest of them." He left Tamlin to his dwelling, and quickly gave out the rest of the masks with minimal explanation and stern instruction to put them on as soon as possible, and don't try to take them off. 

Ascending the staircase with the intention of checking on Feyre,  Lucien thought to himself about the situation they has been put in. At least, he thought, they were still free. At least they weren't stuck inside the school with the rest of the pupils. 

"Lucien. What is on your face."

Feyre stood at the top of the staircase, hands on hips, with a face of sharp question. 

"Ah, you see..." Lucien had already thought up a lie to cover the truth, seeing as this girl was not to be told the truth. "There is a blight upon the school. The masks... the head has requested that all of us in this house - apart from yourself, as you haven't been in the city for long enough - wear the masks at all times to raise awareness of this blight."

Feyre looked at him, doubt in her eyes. "I'll believe you for now, Lucien."

"It's the truth."

"Uh huh."

"Anyway, I think Tamlin wanted to see you."

A look of icy rage overcame Feyre's features. "I don't want to see him." She turned and stormed back into her room. 

She had spoken to Alis that morning, about why she had randomly been summoned to this school so many miles from her home. It had taken a while to get the truth out - or what Feyre assumed was the truth - however they got there in the end.

"It was Tamlin. Someone had told him to acquire a young girl in his household, and for them to enrol in the school - I don't know who, or why. I shouldn't even be telling you this, Feyre, knowing the way the boy's minds work," Alis had sighed, something oddly tight between her brows, "He offered an online scholarship for hidden talents, be it art or photography or designing apps. He sent out some of us to go and interview the candidates as he searched for the right person. It took a long time, Feyre, but you were the one."

Tamlin was the reason she had been taken from her family. Her passion for art had been exploited as she was ripped from her family. They relied on her in that poverty stricken backstreet they called home.

However, it was her fault. She had been on the ancient computer tucked away in the sorry excuse for a living room at home, desperately trying to find some source of income to afford food, warm clothes, anything.

This was made impossibly difficult by Feyre's inability to read and write.

Yet digits, numbers. She knew them, thanks to her father's past trade. So seeing the poster for the scholarship, she only registered the large number on it before asking her eldest sister, Nesta, to fill the rest in. Nesta had disagreed, and Elain had done it for her.

Neither of them had told her what it was really for - the large number stated what the scholarship was worth.

And here she was.