The gala
1500 Words
Lucien.(third person)
He stood by the sleek, black car, the engine humming low like a beast at rest. The masked driver kept his eyes forward, hands steady on the wheel.
Lucien adjusted the cuff of his charcoal suit, the silver embroidery on the sleeve catching the moonlight — subtle, regal, and intentional.
He hadn’t worn a mask yet. He hated hiding.
A faint breeze carried the scent of jasmine before he even saw her.
And then she appeared.
Eira walked slightly ahead, but it was Anara who brought the world to a halt. His breath caught — not visibly, of course — but he felt it. felt something shift.
She descended the steps like she belonged to the stars themselves. Midnight silk clung to her like shadow and light in equal measure, the slit revealing just enough to make him glance — then look away — then glance again.
Her mask shimmered like a whisper of night, and those eyes… even half-hidden, he could feel them watching, uncertain but glowing.
She looked beautiful.
Eira gave him a small nod before stepping away.
He didn’t speak at first. Neither did she.
Then, in a voice lower than he intended, he said, “I was right.”
Her brows drew together. “Right?”
He stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over her from her tousled curls to the sapphire comb tucked like a secret. “That you’d leave every other creature at this gala looking like a blur.”
A pink flush crept beneath her mask.
Lucien opened the door for her himself.
“Shall we?”
She slipped into the back of the sleek black car like she belonged there — slow, graceful, yet hesitant. He followed silently, closing the door behind him.
For a moment, the only sound was the low hum of the engine as the driver pulled them onto the winding road leading away from the manor.
She looked out the window, moonlight catching on the silver edges of her mask. The dark curls Eira pinned half-up shimmered faintly, but he could still see the tightness in her shoulders… the way her fingers curled in her lap like she was holding herself together.
“You’re too quiet,” Lucien said, his voice low.
Anara glanced at him, startled. “I didn’t know I had to entertain you.”
A flicker of amusement crossed his face. “You don’t. But I can tell when someone’s spiraling.”
She scoffed. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” he replied coolly, leaning back in his seat. “You’ve got that look — the one you wear before something reckless.”
She turned fully to him now. “What reckless thing could I possibly do at a masked gala?”
“Trip and stab a diplomat with a wine flute. Set fire to the curtains. Cry,” he added.
That earned him a slight smirk, even if she tried to hide it.
Lucien studied her for a moment longer. “You look powerful tonight.”
“I feel like a dressed-up lie.”
His jaw twitched.
“I’m not trying to be dramatic,” she added. “But I don’t belong in a place like that. All those people with bloodlines, names, power—”
“You think yours is any less?”
Anara blinked.
Lucien leaned in slightly, voice quieter. “You shouldn't think so low of yourself, Anara. You carry a name older than most of the guests combined. You just haven’t realized what it means yet.”
She met his gaze, then looked away — not because she didn’t believe him, but because she wanted to and didn’t know how.
A silence settled again, heavier now but charged.
He reached out and tucked a loose curl behind her ear, fingers brushing her skin deliberately. “You’ll walk in there beside me,” he said. “Let them talk. Let them wonder what you are. And when they do—”
“I’ll be pretending,” she whispered.
“No.” His voice dropped.
“You’ll be becoming.”
She swallowed hard, throat tight.
As they neared the estate gates bathed in golden torchlight, he added softly, “And gods help anyone who underestimates you.”
Anara.
The car rolled to a stop in front of a towering estate draped in gold. Everything shimmered — the lights, the marble steps, even the air felt different, like it had been spun from magic and tension.
Lucien stepped out first, a silent force in his black suit and half-mask. Dangerous. Eyes sharp beneath the carved shadow of his mask as he turned and offered me his hand.
I hesitated.
But then I placed my fingers in his, and he helped me down.
The night air kissed my bare shoulders, cool against the deep emerald satin of my dress.
It hugged my waist, flared with movement, and shimmered under light poles. Slits along the side exposed glimpses of my thigh as i walked — alluring, and completely unfamiliar.
A stranger in silk.
Music spilled from inside the ballroom — soft, haunting violins woven with the low thrum of drums. Laughter and voices hummed behind the grand double doors ahead, every sound reminding me that i didn’t belong in this world… not really.
Lucien didn’t let go of my hand.
“Breathe,” he said under his breath, low enough only i could hear. “They’ll smell fear.”
I smirked despite my anxiousness. “That’s comforting.”
“It’s true,” he murmured. “But it’s also why they won’t smell it on you tonight.”
The doors opened.
The ballroom was a cathedral of power — glass chandeliers that looked like falling stars, velvet drapery in dark jewel tones, and an endless swirl of masks. Vampires, fae, witches, shifters — all of them dressed in beauty and deception.
As we stepped inside, conversations paused.
Eyes turned.
I could feel it — curiosity, judgment, speculation. They were all asking the same thing:
Who is she?
Lucien’s hand settled gently at my waist.
“Walk beside me,” he murmured. “Not behind.”
So I did.
Head high, mask fixed, heart pounding, i stepped deeper into the crowd — not just as a girl in a borrowed world, but as something more.
Something yet to fly.
Whispers followed us like silk dragging across marble.
“She’s the one beside Lucien…”
“Do you think that’s her? The witch?”
“No one’s confirmed anything.”
“She doesn’t look like a threat.”
That last voice was sharper than the others — mocking — and it clawed at something under my ribs. But i kept my head high, eyes forward, lips neutral.
Lucien didn’t react, though i felt the shift in him — the way his grip on my waist subtly tightened, like a silent warning to whoever had dared to speak.
Everywhere we turned, masked faces turned too — expressions unreadable, but not their energy. Some wore curiosity like a perfume, others reeked of disdain. I could feel it pressing against my skin.
A woman in crimson, her mask shaped like a coiled serpent, gave a slow tilt of her glass as they passed. She licked her lips.
A tall man with silver-white hair and golden antlers narrowed his eyes from the far corner. Not hostile… but assessing. Calculating.
There was something primal about the way they looked at me — not just as a guest, but as a symbol. Of what, i didn’t know yet. But it unsettled me.
Lucien bent slightly and murmured, “Ignore them.”
“I’m trying,” i whispered back. “They're staring.”
“Let them.”
A new voice cut through the crowd.
“I must say, Lucien,” came a deep, amused voice, “you’ve always had a taste for the dramatic.”
A man stepped forward. Broad-shouldered, draped in fury robes, a mask of bone and shadow covering half his face. His hair was braided down his back and his eyes, dark like storms, locked on me.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said to me, lips curled in something between a smirk and a warning.
Lucien’s tone dropped. “Anara, this is Lord Auren. He’s irrelevant.”
Auren chuckled, his gaze never leaving me. “Irrelevant, but invited.”
I just smiled in acknowledgement, didn't feel the need to say anything.
Lucien moved to step between us slightly — a subtle show of protection, or maybe possession — and the energy shifted.
Auren’s smirk widened, but he bowed mockingly and walked off into the crowd.
“Who was that?” Anara murmured.
“One of many who want to see what you are,” Lucien said. “And who might want to use it.”
My chest tightened. “They’re all here for that, aren’t they? Not peace.”
Lucien didn’t deny it.
I'm not gonna lie.. I'm anticipating how this evening is gonna end.
- Writer
