[ENG.] Azazel - Lucifer's Son

19. Bradford estate

After buying our outfits, we left the little shop dragging our bags behind us like war trophies.

The cold hit us the second we stepped outside — that sharp January kind that gets into your bones. Danielle pulled her coat tighter around herself, shivering.

"Now, my dear," she said thoughtfully, trying to fix her perfectly-cut fringe, "there's one small unresolved detail."

"Which is?" I asked, not following.

"We don't have escorts, Jolie!" She rolled her eyes like it was obvious. "Every self-respecting young lady has one!"

I stared at her in disbelief.

"Excuse my ignorance," I replied, tone dripping with sarcasm. "But coming from a humble life made up entirely of college parties, drunk people, and easy girls — where I've always shown up on my own, no escort required — it completely slipped my mind, *milady*!"

Danielle laughed, a bright clear sound that echoed down the empty street.

"Touché." Then her smile faded. "But seriously — what do we do? We could always invite the Sanders twins..."

She scrunched up her mouth to make her feelings perfectly clear, and I nearly choked.

"The Sanders?" I repeated in disbelief. "Those two idiots who organized the belching contest at the Halloween party last year?"

"Exactly."

"Dan, we are not that desperate." I shook my head categorically. "I'd rather go alone than show up with a pair of complete morons."

Danielle agreed immediately.

"You're right. We'll go alone. And we'll be magnificent."

"Damn right we will."

*****

We got home exhausted from the cold and too many hours wandering around Sheffield.

The moment I walked into my apartment, I hung the dress straight on a hanger in the wardrobe, taking a moment just to look at it again. Even in the dim light of my room, the little diamonds sparkled.

*Tomorrow night.*

A shiver ran through me — not from the cold. Something else.

Anticipation. Fear. Excitement.

I shook the thought off.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of absolute nothingness — interrupted only by full-on pantry raids driven by sheer boredom. I ate everything I could find: cookies, chips, chocolate, leftover cold pizza.

But the excitement about the ball never left me. It was just there, constant, a low hum under my skin that stayed with me until my eyes finally gave in to exhaustion.

And when I slept, I dreamed again.

Masks. Music. Gray eyes watching me from behind black lace.

*"I've been waiting for you."*

---

The next day passed in the blink of an eye.

"Wait for me this afternoon!" Danielle sang down the phone that morning. "We're getting ready together!"

"*Dragă*, we'll be at yours by five." Sebastian's voice cut in.

Conference call.

It was our main hobby on the typically gloomy Sheffield days. When getting together wasn't possible and the boredom of being stuck at home got unbearable, one of us would call the others and we'd spend hours commenting on TV shows or jokingly trashing some professor.

"No, Sebastian." Danielle used her *don't argue with me* voice. "Maybe in your dreams. I'll be at Jo's at five. You'll come pick us up at seven-thirty."

"But I need someone to touch up my makeup!" Sebastian did a perfect impression of Danielle's high-pitched voice.

"Asshole!"

"Princess!"

"ENOUGH!" I yelled, cutting them off with a loud groan. "You two are insufferable! Danielle — mine at five. Don't be late. Seb — pick us up half an hour before it starts. We still don't even know where this estate is."

"Little latecomers telling other little latecomers not to be late." Sebastian snickered. "Now that's rich! You're really growing up, my little one!"

"You're an asshole," I replied calmly. "And even though you can't see me, just know I'm giving you a very enthusiastic middle finger right now."

I actually raised it, even though no one could see me.

"You brought that on yourself!" Danielle hollered cheerfully.

"Quiet." Sebastian's voice went dramatic. "You're both conspiring against me, but tonight you will fall at my feet. If you don't recognize me because of the mask, here's a hint: I'll be the most charming one there."

And with that he hung up, closing the conversation with a click.

I said bye to Danielle shortly after to go have lunch — even though eating was the last thing I felt like doing. My stomach was a knot of nerves.

*Tonight. Tonight. Tonight.*

The hours crawled by.

Danielle was weirdly on time — she showed up at exactly five o'clock, which nearly made me faint from shock.

When I opened the door, I found a Danielle with more bags than she had arms.

"Christ, Dan." I helped her carry them in. "Are you moving in?"

"A girl needs her things!" she defended herself.

Looking at all those bags — makeup, straighteners, hair products, jewelry, perfume — I smiled at the thought of having her as a roommate someday, maybe in the not-too-distant future.

It wouldn't be half bad.

We moved to the bathroom where, in front of the large octagonal mirror set into the white ceramic tiles, we began the sacred ritual of getting ready.

Danielle went for a light makeup look — almost nothing.

"Natural charm shouldn't be hidden," she declared, applying only a thin layer of foundation and a touch of pink gloss.

I, on the other hand, went all in on the eyes.

Black eyeliner. Precise. A thin line that curved slightly upward at the outer corner, creating a cat-eye effect. Then mascara — layer after layer until my lashes were long and dramatic.

With the mask on, my eyes would be the only thing visible. They had to be perfect.

Danielle started straightening her dark hair while I decided it made more sense to put the dress on first.

Big mistake.

The stiff petticoat refused to stay put, swaying around my hips with every tiny movement like it had a life of its own. I tried to pull it on — once, twice, three times — until it finally cooperated.

Then came the dress.

Oh God, the dress.

There was so much fabric — tulle, lace, silk — that when I pulled it over my head I was completely buried.

Darkness. I couldn't see anything. Couldn't breathe.

"Jolie?" Danielle's muffled voice. "You okay in there?"

"Mmph!" I replied, waving my arms trying to find the opening.

"Oh God, you're suffocating!"

"MMPH!"

Finally, after what felt like an eternity but was probably thirty seconds, my head emerged from the endless mountain of fabric.

"AIR!" I inhaled dramatically.

Danielle was laughing so hard she had to grab the sink for support.

"It's not funny!" I protested, but I was smiling.

Clumsily, I managed to slide the dress down my body and settle it over the petticoat. Then came the corset laces.

Impossible. Absolutely impossible.

"Dan, help me."

"Turn around."

I obeyed, and felt her hands pull the blue satin laces tight.

"More."

"I can't breathe!"

"A little more."

"DAN!"

"There, perfect!"

When I finally turned toward the mirror in my room, I lost my breath.

The corset hugged every curve like it had been sewn directly onto my body. My waist looked impossibly small. My chest was lifted in a way that even I — who didn't have much to work with — looked like a vintage pin-up.

The skirt flared from the hips in a soft, natural way, despite the scaffolding underneath. It wasn't excessive or ridiculous.

It was perfect.

And the diamonds.

Oh, the diamonds.

They sparkled with every movement, every breath, every blink. I turned slightly and the whole dress seemed to catch fire with silver light.

I swayed back and forth, completely hypnotized by the shimmer.

"Jolie." Danielle's voice was quiet. "You're... you're stunning."

I turned toward her. She was already dressed — a pink dream, delicate and perfect as a fairy tale princess.

"So are you," I said, and I meant it.

---

After two hours of frantic prep, we were almost ready.

The only remaining debate was my hair.

I'd straightened it into soft, voluminous waves that fell down my back like dark ripples. But I couldn't decide whether to put it up or leave it loose.

I studied myself in the mirror, turning from side to side with a frown.

I caught Danielle's reflection behind me, smiling.

"Yes, you should leave it down," she said, tapping her chin thoughtfully.

And immediately, the little rebel inside me took over.

It was always like this. Whenever I asked someone's opinion, the instinct to do the exact opposite won every single time. It gave me the petty satisfaction of being an absolute menace.

"Actually," I said slowly, gathering the mass of curls in one hand, "I think it would look better up."

Danielle burst out laughing.

"I *knew* it!" She pointed at me. "I KNEW IT!"

"Am I that predictable?" I put on a fake pout.

"Painfully so, my friend." She laughed. "If I didn't know you, I'd say you were trying to convince me of the opposite. Anyway — question of the year: how on earth are you going to put it up with this many bobby pins?"

I looked at my drawer. Three bobby pins. Maybe four.

"No idea." I sighed, smoothing out my dress. "All I know is that I feel like a birthday cake right now. I take up so much space!"

To prove my point, I did a wide spin. The skirt fanned out dramatically.

"At least you don't look like a peach!" Danielle pointed at herself, making me laugh.

"Okay, enough wasting time." She handed me the few pins she had. "Get those curls up."

I got to work.

I swept my hair up softly, pinning it with the little metal things and letting a few loose curls fall here and there at my shoulders and along my temples. The effect was deliberately imperfect — elegant but natural, like I'd just rolled out of someone's bed.

But the style still felt too unsteady.

The pins weren't enough. With every movement I could feel my hair starting to slide.

*DAMN.*

Then I had an idea.

I went to my room, opened the wardrobe, and pulled out the knife case.

"Jolie?" Danielle followed me. "What are you—"

I opened the case and took out the dagger.

My favorite one. The one I'd never taken outside, never used.

The blade was thin and deadly. But it was the handle that made it special — black as ebony, with my mother's blue sapphire set at the center. Around the stone, silver scrollwork coiled like vines, holding the gem firmly in place.

It was a perfect setting, the work of my dear friend and supplier Birmak — an old Hungarian who worked metal like no one else.

I went back to the mirror.

I slid the dagger carefully into my hair, adjusting it until it looked like an elegant oriental hair stick — the kind geishas used to wear.

The effect was... perfect.

Dangerous. Beautiful. Unexpected.

The sapphire glimmered between my dark curls like a solitary star.

"Jolie." Danielle was staring at me with her mouth open. "That's... is that an actual blade?"

"Yes."

"In your hair."

"Yes."

"You're insane."

"Probably." I smiled. "But it works, right?"

Danielle shook her head, but she was smiling.

"You're impossible. And gorgeous."

We slipped on our gloves and masks — the final touches.

My silver gloves were so thin they felt like a second skin. The lace mask tied behind the head with silk ribbons that Danielle helped me knot.

When I looked at myself in the mirror again, I didn't recognize the girl staring back.

She was a stranger. Mysterious. Dangerous. Beautiful in a way I'd never thought I could be.

Only my eyes were visible through the silver lace — and with all that makeup, they looked enormous, bright, almost feline.

"Ready?" Danielle asked, adjusting her pink mask.

"Almost."

I grabbed our coats — the regular ones, because of course we didn't have capes elegant enough to match the dresses.

"All that's left is—"

BOOM BOOM BOOM.

Someone was knocking at the door.

I looked at the clock. 7:30 on the dot.

Sebastian.

"Punctual for once in his life," Danielle murmured.

I went to open the door.

And when I saw Sebastian, my jaw literally dropped.

He was... magnificent.

The charcoal gray tailcoat was perfectly cut, with sharp lines that emphasized his broad shoulders and narrow waist. The waistcoat was all elegance and beauty, with silver buttons that caught the light. He wore a medium-height top hat tilted slightly to one side, and a gray mask that covered only his eyes.

But behind that mask, those dark eyes were sparkling with amusement.

"*Ești frumos, domnule,*" I said in Romanian, giving a small bow.

*You look beautiful, sir.*

Sebastian smiled — that devastating smile that made girls fall apart.

"*Mă uimești, dragă!*" He replied in our mother tongue. "Wasn't speaking Romanian in public for losers?"

He leaned down, took my hand, and brought it to his lips — never once taking his eyes off mine.

The gesture was so elegant, so perfect, that for a moment I forgot to breathe.

Then he did the same with Danielle, who went completely still like a statue.

When he finally straightened up, he looked at us both with quiet pride.

"Ladies." His voice dropped lower. "Are you ready to turn every head in the room tonight?"

"Born ready," I replied.

"Then let's go." He offered an arm to each of us. "Our destiny awaits."

---

Getting out of the apartment was relatively easy.

Getting into the car was a nightmare.

The skirt. The damn skirt.

"Okay." Sebastian looked at me with a very serious expression. "How do we do this?"

"No idea."

"Should I lift the skirt?"

"Don't you DARE."

"Then how—"

"Hold on."

I gathered as much fabric as I could, compressing the skirt into one giant bundle, and slid sideways into the car.

It was awkward. It was ridiculous. But it worked.

Danielle had the same problem, and it took five full minutes to get her onto the back seat.

When we were finally all inside, Sebastian laughed so hard he had to lean his forehead against the steering wheel.

"This. Is. Not. Funny." I said, trying to rearrange the skirt that now occupied half the car.

"It's *hilarious*."

"Just drive."

He pulled out of the parking spot, still laughing.

The sun was almost fully set, hiding behind the houses and trees scattered across the city. Everything had turned orange, then pink, then deep violet.

I took a long breath, rolling down the window to let in the cool air.

---

We got lost.

Obviously we got lost.

Sebastian turned right when he should have turned left. Then left when he should have gone straight. Sheffield at night was a maze of streets that all looked the same.

"Maybe we should ask someone," Danielle suggested after twenty minutes of wandering.

"Never." Sebastian was stubborn. "I can find—"

"ASK SOMEONE, for the love of—"

I sighed and rolled down the window as we passed a man walking his dog.

"Excuse me!" I called out. "Do you know where Bradford Estate is?"

The man came closer, then stopped when he saw all three of us in costume.

"Going to the ball?" he asked, smiling.

"Yes."

"Ha! You're the tenth group to ask me tonight." He laughed. "The estate is north, toward the edge of town. Follow this road for about ten more minutes, then turn right at the old mill. You can't miss it."

"Thank you so much!"

We drove off, following the directions.

We were obviously late — the invitation had specified 8:00 PM sharp, and it was now nearly 8:30. But we stayed upbeat, humming along to the songs on the radio.

*"Young and Beautiful"* by Lana Del Rey. Perfect for the occasion.

*Will you still love me when I'm no longer young and beautiful...*

Then Danielle screamed.

"THERE IT IS!"

She threw herself against the car window.

I turned.

And saw it.

Bradford Estate rose up in front of us like something out of a dream.

Or a nightmare.

It was enormous — a Georgian mansion that must have had at least fifty rooms. Three stories of white stone that shimmered almost silver under the rising moon.

The entire building was lit up — windows glowing like golden eyes, lanterns hanging along the two massive staircases that led to the main entrance.

The grounds were vast — at least four acres of perfectly manicured English lawn, so green it looked unnatural. And all of it was enclosed by an endless wrought iron fence, polished to a shine, with gilded points along the top.

From the gate, a driveway — not gravel, but smooth white stones laid in an intricate pattern — wound through the garden up to the house.

And behind the estate, visible only as a dark mass against the violet sky, was the forest. Also enclosed within the fence. Part of the property.

"Christ," I whispered.

"Who the hell lives here?" Sebastian murmured, slowing down.

Cars. There were cars everywhere — parked in neat rows along the outer driveway. Rolls Royces. Bentleys. Vintage Mercedes. Even a black Aston Martin that looked like it was worth more than my apartment.

Sebastian parked in line with the others and turned off the engine.

For a moment none of us spoke.

We just looked at the estate — lit up and majestic, while music — melodic, classical, almost surreal — drifted clearly to our ears despite the vast distance.

*It's already started.*

"Okay." Sebastian cleared his throat. "Please tell me I didn't squeeze myself into this suit just to spend the night out here."

He got out and came around to open our doors.

He helped us out — another complicated operation — and then we headed toward the main gate.

Sebastian pressed the bell.

We waited.

Nothing.

He pressed it again.

Still nothing.

"Maybe they'll never hear us," Danielle said, eyeing the distance between the gate and the house.

"Or maybe—" I started.

*CLACK.*

The gate opened.

On its own.

No butler. No person. It just... opened. Slowly, silently, as if invisible hands were pushing it.

The three of us looked at each other.

"Okay," I said. "That's a little unsettling."

"A *little*?" Sebastian raised an eyebrow.

But Danielle was already walking ahead, moving toward the house with purposeful steps.

"Are you coming or am I the only loser here?"

Sebastian offered me his arm.

"*Milady?*"

"*Milord.*"

And we walked in.

---

The driveway was longer than it looked — at least two hundred meters from the gate to the house. The white stones beneath our feet were smooth and perfect, laid in geometric patterns that seemed to shift when the lantern light hit them.

The garden on either side was obsessively maintained. Hedges trimmed into geometric shapes. Roses that should not have been blooming in January — and yet there they were, perfect and red as blood. White marble statues — human figures in dramatic poses — scattered here and there like sentinels.

The music grew louder.

A waltz. Violins, cellos, a piano.

And voices. So many voices — laughing, talking, whispering.

When we reached the base of the stairs, I looked up.

The doors were open.

Double doors of dark wood — mahogany, maybe — with gold handles. And beyond those doors, golden light spilling out like liquid.

"Ready?" Sebastian asked, his voice quieter than usual.

"No," I answered honestly.

"Me neither."

"I am," said Danielle. "Let's go."

We climbed the stairs.

One. Two. Ten. Twenty.

And when we finally crossed that threshold — when we stepped inside Bradford Estate, all lit up and gold and full of masked strangers dancing as if we'd slipped two hundred years back in time —

This was not just a party.

It was a beginning.

And maybe, also, an ending.