[ENG.] Azazel - Lucifer's Son

20.The Dance of Deceits

The moment we reached the main entrance, the door swung open.

On its own.

Without any of us three touching the gleaming brass handle — a work of art in itself, carved with the ancient family crest in high relief: a raven with spread wings above a black rose, surrounded by Latin script I couldn't begin to decipher.

The doors swung open without a sound, as if pushed by invisible hands.

And it was like being launched headfirst into a parallel world.

The ballroom stretched out before us, so vast I couldn't see where it ended.

An enormous space dressed for a formal ceremony — or maybe a royal ball, the kind you'd only see in period films. The floor was polished black marble, so perfectly smooth it reflected everything like a dark mirror. Every step echoed, amplified by the flawless acoustics.

From the ceiling — which had to be at least thirty feet high — hung three massive solid gold chandeliers. They were living works of art: carved and crafted with an almost obsessive precision, tiny crystals linked one to the next in cascading falls of light and luxury. When the light hit them, the entire room looked like it was full of falling stars.

The towering windows that covered an entire wall offered a clear view of the forest beyond — a dark mass of trees that looked even more threatening from inside, lit only by the moon.

The windows were framed by ivory curtains, elegantly draped with knots and tails that pooled on the floor like silk waterfalls.

Along the sides of the ballroom, long banquet tables had been set up — dark wood tables covered in lace tablecloths — loaded with a feast fit for a king.

Fruit. Grapes, strawberries, figs, pomegranates arranged in artistic patterns. Canapés in every shape and size, decorated with sauces whose names and existence I was completely unaware of. Silver trays with meats sliced thin as paper. Desserts that looked too beautiful to eat.

And champagne. Glasses already full of the finest champagne — I could see the bubbles from across the room — stacked in perfect pyramids that seemed to defy gravity.

But it was the people who took my breath away.

There were at least two hundred of them — maybe three hundred — all dressed as if we'd slipped back two centuries. Flawless period costumes. Tailcoats and top hats. Skirts that took up entire square yards of space. Elaborate masks covering faces I'd never get to see.

And at the center of it all, an orchestra.

An actual orchestra — at least twenty musicians in black tuxedos — performing live on a raised platform. Violins, cellos, a sleek black grand piano, harps.

The music filled the space like a physical presence, wrapping around us, pulling us in.

A waltz. Slow. Melancholy. Beautiful.

- Holy s**t. - I whispered.

A man appeared out of nowhere — literally, one second he wasn't there and the next he was.

Middle-aged, with silver hair combed perfectly back, wearing an impeccable livery: black jacket with gold frogging, white waistcoat, white gloves.

The butler. Probably the one from the email.

He looked at us with dark, unreadable eyes, then gestured us inside with an elegant wave of his gloved hand. His posture was rigid, almost military.

He didn't say a word. Just that gesture.

Then he disappeared back into the crowd, as if he'd dissolved into thin air.

- Close your mouth, Jo. - Sebastian gently pushed my chin up with one finger.

I blinked, realizing I had in fact been staring at everything with my mouth hanging open like an i***t.

- I... this is...

- Surreal? - Danielle offered, her eyes just as wide as mine. - Yeah. Completely surreal.

- Stop playing the gentleman, Seb. - She said, snapping out of her trance. - It doesn't suit you.

And with that she plunged into the packed room, disappearing almost instantly among the skirts and tailcoats.

- Dan! - I called after her, but she was already too far away.

- Come on. - Sebastian offered me his arm. - Before I lose you too.

I grabbed onto him like he was the only solid thing left in a world that was slipping out from under my feet.

We pushed through the crowd — bodies dancing, moving in perfect patterns as if they'd been choreographed. Every couple moved in sync, in rhythm with the music.

It was hypnotic. And unsettling.

Between shoves and muttered apologies — "excuse me," "pardon me," "so sorry" — we finally made it to the buffet.

We grabbed three glasses of champagne from the perfect pyramids. The liquid was cold, fizzy, delicious.

We sipped it trying to look elegant — like we'd been taking etiquette lessons our whole lives.

Danielle even raised her pinky.

That image — Danielle in her princess-pink dress, pinky raised like a Victorian noblewoman, expression deadly serious — was too much.

I almost spit champagne all over the marble floor.

- What? - She asked innocently.

- Nothing. - I managed, holding back a laugh. - Absolutely nothing.

Sebastian was laughing silently, his shoulders shaking.

For a moment, everything felt normal. Like we were just three friends at a weird party, not... whatever the hell this place was.

Then Sebastian turned to me, sweeping his top hat off with a theatrical flourish.

- Would mademoiselle honor me with this dance? - He bowed deeply, kissing my hand.

- No. - I pulled out of his grip, embarrassed.

I gave him a light smack on his pomaded head. His hair was so shiny it reflected the light from the chandeliers.

- God, Sebastian. I could do my makeup in your hair.

- It's called "brilliantine." - He adjusted his hair with a small, practiced gesture, repositioning his hat with care. - And it's gotten men very far since the '30s. It's charming!

- It makes you look like a greased-up penguin.

- Better a charming penguin than a walking wedding cake.

- Hey!

Danielle let out a bored huff, already over our argument.

- I want to dance. - She interrupted us. - Do I need to bow and kiss your hand, Mr. Brilliantine?

Sebastian laughed, then offered her his arm with exaggerated grace.

- But of course, milady. It would be an honor.

- Wait here, dragă. - He told me, shooting me a glance.

- What? No, I-

But they were already gone.

I watched them head toward the center of the dance floor, where an endless stream of couples spun and glided to the music. Sebastian took Danielle by the waist, she rested a hand on his shoulder, and they began to dance.

They moved well together. Natural. Like they'd done it a thousand times.

And I stood there, alone, in the sudden quiet of my own solitude.

I looked around, trying not to look lost and out of place.

The crowd was a sea of color — reds, blues, greens, blacks, golds. Elaborate masks everywhere. Not a single face fully visible.

I downed my champagne in one go — probably not the height of elegance — and immediately grabbed another.

I'd never been much of a drinker. In fact, I avoided it whenever I could.

It had been alcohol that turned my father into a monster. It had been alcohol that destroyed my childhood.

But tonight... tonight I needed it.

I was on my second glass when I felt it.

A presence behind me. Heavy. Imposing.

I turned slowly.

And came face to face with a man I didn't know.

Or at least, that's what I thought.

He was tall. Very tall. His height loomed over me in a way that made me feel suddenly small, vulnerable.

The mask covered half his face — black, elaborate, with intricate patterns that looked almost tribal. But through that mask, mint-green eyes stared at me with an intensity that sent a chill down my spine.

Light eyes. Almost luminous. Unnatural.

The black tailcoat fell perfectly straight on his body, giving him an air of absolute authority. Every line was precise. Every button in place.

His hair was dark, combed back but rebellious — a few strands falling across his forehead, refusing to stay put. The effect was... genuinely striking.

He stared at me in silence.

I stared back.

The silence stretched, growing uncomfortable.

- Can I help you? - I finally asked, irritated by his insistent gaze and his insistent silence.

He didn't speak.

He simply extended his hand, giving the barest perceptible bow. His eyes never left mine.

He was waiting. For an answer. A decision.

He's a stranger. You don't know who he is. You shouldn't.

But my body answered on its own.

My hand moved — without my permission, without my consent — reaching for his as if we were two halves of the same magnet.

And that terrified me.

Because I knew him.

Not rationally. Not consciously. But I knew him.

It was as clear as daylight. I could feel it in the air, under my skin, in my bones.

And he knew exactly who I was.

The mask hadn't been enough to hide my identity.

Not from him, at least.

His fingers closed around mine — warm, strong, sure.

And he pulled me into the dancing crowd.

We moved through the bodies, slipping between couples like ghosts.

And when I lifted my head, I realized I was standing exactly at the center of the room. Directly beneath the main chandelier.

Every eye seemed to be on us, even though no one was looking at us directly.

- Do we know each other? - I asked, almost timidly.

An attitude my ego absolutely did not appreciate, protesting violently inside my head.

He gave a small shrug. As if to say: that's not important.

But it was important to me.

I wanted to know whose face was behind that mask. I wanted to give my mind some peace from the way it kept spinning, trying to remember where I'd seen those eyes before.

- Got it. - I sighed. - You're a man of few words.

The moment I finished the sentence, the orchestra shifted key.

The music started again — a new waltz, slower than the last. Somber but harmonious. The violins wept, the harmonics whispered, the piano provided a steady beat like a heartbeat.

It was the saddest, most beautiful music I'd ever heard.

And as it played, my partner's hands slid over my body.

Carefully. Slowly. As if asking permission.

One hand curved around my waist. The other took my hand, lifting it gently.

The classic waltz position.

I stared at it, thrown off — his hand on my waist, so close, so intimate.

Then I looked up and met his eyes.

He was smiling. A satisfied smirk that made my pulse jump.

That smirk. I knew it. I'd seen it before.

- Why are you dancing with me but not talking? - I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. - You know, aside from being rude, it's also kind of unfair. You can figure out who I am from my voice and-

He interrupted me by spinning me.

A wide pivot that knocked the breath out of me. The world spun — lights, colors, masked faces blurring together.

When he stopped me, I was back against his chest.

Closer than before.

- You talk too much.

His voice was deep. Warm. Familiar.

He leaned toward my ear, his lips barely grazing the skin.

- As well as being disrespectful, it's exhausting. - He murmured. - Besides, dulceață, I already know everyone here. They're my guests.

Dulceață.

Sweetness.

Only one person had ever called me that.

My eyes snapped wide open.

No. No no no.

- Stan! - My voice came out too loud.

A few nearby couples turned to look.

He pulled me closer — a possessive grip that took my breath away — as if he was afraid I might bolt.

- Bingo. - The amusement in his voice was undeniable. - Honestly, I was hoping you'd recognize me right away. Without needing hints. Quite disappointing.

He spun me again — another pivot, then another, until I was completely disoriented.

- Really? - I shot back, rolling my eyes even though I knew he couldn't see it through my mask. - I'm sorry I'm not as sharp as you expected. God didn't bless me with the gift of clairvoyance. I suppose you'll have to hold that against Him.

The waltz ended with a dramatic final chord.

I moved to pull away, to leave, to escape him and this absurd situation.

But Dimithryus caught me.

His hand closed around my wrist — not painful, but firm. Unyielding.

- And where do you think you're going? - He murmured. - The night isn't over.

And as if the orchestra had heard him, the music started again.

A new waltz. Faster. More intense.

He pulled me back into the whirl.

- You know, - he said as we danced, our bodies moving in sync without either of us having to think about it, - God is a prankster.

- What?

- He gives and takes as He pleases. He nudges events just enough to shake things up, then stands back and watches...

He paused, spinning me and himself in one fluid motion.

- ...sipping His strawberry frappé with unicorns and rainbows.

The sentence was so absurd, so unexpected, that for a moment I forgot I was supposed to be angry with him.

I laughed. A short, surprised sound.

- Unicorns? Really? - I shook my head. - You're a skeptic.

- I prefer "nonbeliever." - He looked at me through the mask, and even though I couldn't see half his face, I could feel the smile. - Or better yet: "self-excommunicated."

He turned again, slower this time.

- You're not one of those people who walks around with a crucifix hanging around their neck, are you?

- No. - I answered. - I'm agnostic.

- Agnostic. - He repeated the word as if savoring it. - Very reasonable, given your field of study.

His tone shifted. Became more serious. Darker.

- I find it so inconsistent that human beings preach freedom, free will, and then hand their lives over to God.

His eyes — those mint-green eyes I now knew were his grey ones somehow disguised — fixed on mine with an almost ferocious intensity.

- Power. Money. Greed. Those are the real gods of this species. A species that only turns to the Almighty when it needs absolution for its sins, or when it wants something.

A pause.

- Blatant selfishness.

Something shifted in his gaze. Maybe the color. Or the depth. As if he were looking through me, past me, toward something I couldn't see.

I felt suddenly uneasy.

- Interesting lesson. - I said, slipping out of his hold. - But we're not in class. I'm here to have fun, not to be lectured on what's right and what isn't.

I grabbed my skirt on both sides — an automatic gesture — and headed toward the buffet table, where I could see Sebastian and Danielle waiting for me.

But his voice stopped me.

- Are you really that shallow?

I turned sharply.

Stan was standing exactly where I'd left him, at the center of the dance floor, couples continuing to spin around him as if he didn't exist.

- Or are you just afraid I might be right, dulceață?

He moved toward me slowly, each step deliberate.

- Have I shifted any of your priorities?

That familiar smirk was back on his face — or at least on the part I could see.

- No priorities of mine have shifted, Stan. - I crossed my arms over my chest. - I'll leave the contemplation to you.

Why am I not leaving? Why am I still here arguing with him?

But I knew why.

This conversation kept me tied to him. Like always.

- Believers, - he said, stopping a few steps away from me, - are prisoners of their own mindset. Of their own thinking.

- The only thing that truly traps a person is memory.

The words came out before I could stop them.

Stan tilted his head, studying me.

- Interesting. - He murmured. - Go on.

- It's all about theory. - I shrugged, trying to seem indifferent. - Points of view.

- Of course.

- I still believe that convictions can change over time. - I went on, knowing I was falling into his trap but unable to stop myself. - You can break free from some chains. But not from others.

I looked him straight in the eyes.

- Memory is a person's worst enemy, Stan. Not some hypothetical God. Memory keeps you chained to the past, and it doesn't let you look at the present or move toward the future.

For a long moment he said nothing.

Then he moved closer — close enough that I could catch his scent through the crowd, the cedar and bergamot I now knew far too well.

- And you? - His voice was low, almost a whisper. - How tied are you to your memories?

His hand lifted.

Slowly. So slowly.

His fingers traced my arm from wrist to shoulder, drawing a line of fire through the thin fabric of my glove.

Every word out of his mouth was an incentive to stay, to keep going, to not run.

- I've already faced the demons of my past. - I managed only a sigh.

Liar.

I watched his hand travel upward — wrist to forearm, forearm to shoulder.

It was so unfair, the way he'd pushed his way into my life. But someone — finally — had seen something in me. Had looked past the shy, antisocial exterior.

Seen me. Really seen me.

- I still see a few chains.

He lifted his gaze to meet mine.

And what I saw terrified me.

His eyes were a crimson so deep it looked like boiling lava. Red. Intense. Not human.

What the hell-

I couldn't move. Paralyzed. Like my body had forgotten how to function.

His hand kept rising, reaching my hair. His fingers slid between my curls, searching.

And found it.

The dagger.

His fingertips grazed the metal — just a touch, barely there.

And he pulled back as if burned.

The disappointment in his eyes was unmistakable, and they quickly returned to their natural color — that green I recognized.

Like a switch that had been flipped off.

- Dei tronus sapphirus. - He whispered, more to himself than to me.

Words in a language I didn't recognize. Latin? Something else?

Then he looked at me, and in his eyes was something I'd never seen there before.

Fear.

- Where did you get it? - He growled, making me step back.

His voice had changed. Deeper. Almost feral.

- What? - I stammered. - What does that mean? What are you talking about?

- The sapphire. - He moved closer, every step feeling like a threat. - How did you get it? Why isn't it hurting you?

- Why would it hurt me? - I was completely lost. A million questions crowding my head. - What are you talking about? And your eyes... what-

I felt hands grab me by the waist.

I spun around, heart hammering.

Sebastian.

I immediately pressed into that familiar hold, clinging to him like I was drowning.

- Come on, dragă. - He said, his voice reassuring. - They've refilled the food. Let's go.

I nodded, but my eyes stayed locked on Stan.

He was watching me. Still. Those grey eyes that seemed to cut through every single one of my defenses.

Then, finally, he turned.

And disappeared into the crowd, leaving me staring at the empty space where he'd been.

I stood there frozen for what felt like an eternity, though it was probably only a few seconds.

The feeling of suffocating dread wouldn't let me go. Those red eyes — so cruel, so unnatural — were burned into my mind like a brand.

What the hell was that?

What the hell is he?

Sebastian had to take my hand and lead me to the buffet table. I was too lost in my own head to walk on my own.

- What happened to you, Jo? - His voice was worried. - Who was that?

- Where's Danielle? - I answered with another question, dodging his.

I was staring at some undefined point in front of me, unable to focus.

- She went exploring. Looking for a bathroom, I think. - He looked at me closely. - So who was it? Don't try to change the subject on me, Jolie.

But I didn't want to talk. I couldn't.

How do you explain to someone that your professor just proved he might be... what? A monster? A demon? A hallucination?

- I'm going to find Dan. - I said, walking away.

- Jolie-

- I'm going to find her.

I didn't look back.