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You step into the ballroom were the annual midnight gala is being held. It happens every summer, August first, the year is 1884. The wealthy family of a well know overseas business holds the party in there estate hall. Only the rich, flamboyant, fashionable and educated are invited. You, being a business partner and fitting all descriptions continuously receive invites.
You are not particularly fond of large gatherings though. You would much rather prefer to be at home doing work, perhaps reading, or maybe lounging by a fire in your own mansion. Despite the hot days the nights are rather chilly; your dear friend Aryana Blight is the one who dragged you out. Being another rare guest invited to the Eyre estate summer ball, a short carriage rides from your residence with a lovely view of England.
Aryana is dressed to her finest, a black feathered hat pinned in her hair which is styled atop her head, her corset and skirt made of fine lace and silk, colored in vibrant reds and black. Her petticoat dragging on the ground, the dress had to be very expensive, only she would go all out for such an occasion.
The Estate itself is grand but not quite beautiful, it’s covered in vines, the brick faded and crumbling slightly, its pillars are cracked though the windows are spotless and gleaming. It may have been considered beautiful in the 1700's but time has done quite a number on it. The inside however looks brand new, the marble floors covered in a large royal blue carpet, a rare sight given the cost of such dye. The chandler was lit and the light caused the crystal to sparkle. The dance floor is full of young men and women, some dancing others conversing.
Aryana is asked to dance, not unusual seeing her fair skin, high cheekbones and maroon hair make her very attractive, not to mention her off setting bright green eyes. You stand near the back simply observing the crowd. The only people you talk to are usually for business so friends are few.
You only turn when you hear the sound of your name. It is coming from behind you, echoing softly on the walls. No one else notices over the sound of the playing music. You turn and walk down a long corridor searching for the person calling your name. You follow the voice into what looks to be a lounge. A fire burns bright and hot in the fire place, two chairs sit parallel before the fire, in between them is a small table with something on it.
You cross over to the table for a better look. It is a note folded neatly and precisely in four. You know better than to snoop but curiosity wins over all. You unfold it as if I were a delicate flower as not to damage it, only to your disappointment it’s blank and yet it leaves an uneasy feeling in you.
The fire goes out the door slams shut; you whip around at the startling noise. You’re frozen in pitch black, not even the moonlight can penetrate the ink dark room. A shuffle of feet, an icy voice whispers in your ear
"be careful" and your world is black.
You bolt upright in bed, shaking in a cold sweat. Only a dream you repeat to yourself over and over and you stumble to the window. You force it open gulping the crisp London air. Below your window in front of your door is a figure cloaked by the night. He turns on his heels and walks towards the cobble stone street. Before leaving he turns to look up at you and in a familiar voice says "sweet dreams." You should be more careful.
