The masquerade returned with even greater, almost cruel brilliance than before. The ballroom shimmered beneath towering chandeliers that scattered shards of crystal light across the polished marble floor. Enchanted masks glowed faintly with subtle magic, revealing fleeting hints of the raw emotions their wearers desperately tried to conceal. Music swelled—rich violins and sensual flutes weaving together in a hypnotic rhythm—while guests twirled across the floor in gowns that shimmered like moonlight on snow.
Elara entered beside Lyra, her silver lace mask hiding the upper half of her face but doing nothing to conceal the turmoil burning beneath. She had practiced her smile in the mirror, rehearsed light laughter, perfected every graceful movement. Yet the moment she stepped into the swirl
