[ENG.] Azazel - Lucifer's Son

18. The most beautiful trap

We wandered through Sheffield's little side streets for what felt like forever.

Store after store. Boutique after boutique. Danielle went in with enthusiasm, I followed with growing despair.

Modern dresses. Casual dresses. Evening gowns, sure, but nothing even close to what the invitation called for.

*"High-quality aristocratic attire."*

Nobody made that kind of thing anymore. Not in the twenty-first century. Not unless you were willing to drop thousands of pounds at a specialist designer.

After two hours — TWO HOURS — of searching and coming up empty, I stopped in the middle of the street.

— We've been walking for two hours, Jolie! —

Danielle complained beside me, adjusting the red bow holding her hair back. — My feet are literally dying!

— I know, Dan. — I sighed, leaning against a lamppost. — But I have an idea.

— What?

— There's that little costume shop. — I shrugged. — Maybe we can find something there.

Danielle looked at me like I'd lost my mind.

— A costume shop? — She repeated slowly. — Jolie, this is an aristocratic ball, not a Halloween party!

— You got a better idea?

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

— Yes! — She finally announced. — We show up dressed as Mickey and Minnie Mouse! Total crowd-pleasers!

I looked at her. She looked at me.

Then we both cracked up.

— Okay, okay. — Danielle wiped her eyes. — The costume shop idea isn't actually that bad. I mean, where else are we gonna find period clothes?

— Exactly.

— Then let's go!

She grabbed my arm — again — and yanked me in the opposite direction with such force that I wasn't ready for it and tripped.

I fell into her.

We both went down in a tangle of arms and legs on the pavement.

— If we can't even stay upright standing still, how are we gonna show up to a ball? —

Danielle laughed, pushing my dead weight off her so she could get up.

Good question.

— Okay. Let's go. Trying to keep our balance this time. — I said, laughing as I got back on my feet.

— Solid plan.

We walked for a good fifteen minutes through streets that kept getting narrower and quieter.

Sheffield was full of these hidden little alleys — places that had existed for centuries, that modernity hadn't completely erased yet.

Until, rounding a corner and ending up in a dead-end street, we found it.

The shop.

The sign was beaten up — *"Masks & Wonders"* written in faded gold letters that must've once been elegant. The heavy wooden doors had been worn down by years, paint peeling off in flakes.

The windows were dusty, full of mannequins in period costumes — a green Victorian dress, a red Renaissance tunic, a golden Venetian mask.

Danielle and I looked at each other, uncertain.

— It's... a little creepy. — Danielle whispered.

— A little.

— You think it's open?

— Only one way to find out.

We hesitated for a minute, staring at the door like it might bite us.

Then I finally got up the nerve and pushed.

The door swung open with a sharp creak that made me flinch.

A bell hanging from it rang — a metallic jingle that echoed through the silence of the shop.

The inside was dark, lit only by the light filtering through the dusty windows. Clothes were everywhere — hanging from the walls, draped over mannequins, piled on shelves.

And behind the dark mahogany counter, a tiny old woman was hunched over something, fast asleep.

The bell startled her awake.

She adjusted her half-moon glasses on her nose — which immediately slid right back down — and peered at us with sharp attention.

Her eyes were small, dark, piercing. She looked at least eighty, maybe ninety, with skin as wrinkled as crumpled paper and white hair pulled up in a messy bun.

— Hello, ladies. — She said in a croaky, hoarse voice, like she hadn't spoken in days. — Can I help you with something?

Danielle elbowed me in the ribs. I ignored her.

— Yes, actually. — I stepped forward.

— We're looking for two dresses for a masquerade ball.

The woman's eyes lit up.

— A masquerade ball! — She repeated, almost giddy. — Oh, how wonderful! I haven't seen one in... oh, such a long time!

She got up from her stool with some effort, leaning on a cane I hadn't noticed before.

— And what is the theme of this party? — She looked at us expectantly.

Danielle and I exchanged a glance.

— Well... — I started, uncertain. — I think it's a masquerade with an aristocratic theme. Like... nineteenth-century ladies?

It came out more as a question than an answer.

Danielle just shrugged, curling her lips in an expression that clearly said *no idea.*

But the old woman smiled — a strange, almost knowing smile.

— Oh! Yes, yes, I think I have just the thing! — She started moving toward the back of the shop with slow steps. — You know, there's very little left. People have been coming in since yesterday asking for the exact same thing.

She stopped, turning to face us.

Then she raised her frail hand to her lips and leaned in toward us like she was sharing a secret.

— I don't know who organized this event — she whispered conspiratorially — but it must be someone very important.

She smiled, pleased with herself, like she'd just revealed the secret of the century.

Danielle barely held in a laugh, almost choking on her own spit. I shot her a look. She bit her lip to keep from losing it.

— Right this way. — The woman gestured toward a small side room.

We followed her through a worn red velvet curtain.

The room behind it was even more packed with clothes — piles and piles of colorful fabrics, organized by color along the walls.

The old woman made her way toward a section in the corner where the clothes looked older, more precious. Her trembling hands rummaged through the piles until she pulled out two dresses with a triumphant little exclamation.

— Here! — She announced. — The last ones left!

She laid them out on a table in front of us.

Danielle and I stepped closer, already expecting to be disappointed. After two hours of searching, we weren't expecting much.

But when we saw them — when we really saw them — we froze.

Completely, totally frozen.

Spellbound.

The first dress was a soft blush pink, delicate as a sunset. The fabric was smooth — silk, maybe, or something like it. The skirt was full, made of layer upon layer of tulle that looked like clouds. The finest lace trim framed the thin, delicate straps, and the bodice was hand-embroidered with silver thread in floral patterns.

It looked like something out of a fairy tale.

The second dress was a deep Prussian blue — so dark it almost looked black in certain lights, but revealing rich blue undertones wherever the light hit it.

The bodice was stiff and glossy, probably boned with corset stays the old-fashioned way. It was finished with silver ornaments forming intricate swirls beneath the chest and at the skirt's waist — real silver decorations, not just stitched on but applied, like the branches of a stylized tree.

And then there were the crystals.

Small rhinestones set throughout the entire dress like stars scattered across a night sky. When the light caught them, they sparkled like real gems.

The skirt was like something off a wedding gown — full, monumental, with an actual train that would drag along the floor. The wide draping created different shades of blue — from the near-black of the bodice to the lighter blue of the folds.

It was the most beautiful dress I had ever seen.

— Oh my God. — I whispered.

Danielle said nothing. Her mouth was open, eyes wide.

— Beautiful, aren't they? — Said the old woman, satisfied with our reaction. — They're originals, you know. Genuinely nineteenth century. I got them from a noble house that was closing.

Her fingers brushed delicately over the pink dress.

— This one belonged to a duchess. And this — she touched the blue — to her younger sister. They were made for a ball held at the family's estate. — She looked at us with those dark, piercing eyes. — The same estate where your ball will be held, I imagine.

A chill ran down my spine.

— How do you—?

— Oh, dear. — She smiled mysteriously. — When you reach my age, you start to recognize patterns. Bradford Estate hasn't hosted a masquerade in a hundred and fifty years. And now, suddenly, mysterious invitations. People searching for period clothing. — She shrugged. — Doesn't take a genius.

Danielle stared at me with wide eyes. I stared back.

— Can we... try them on? — I asked, uncertain.

— But of course! — The woman clapped her hands together with energy that was surprising for her age. — The fitting rooms are right over there. Go on, go on!

Five minutes later, I was standing in front of a foggy mirror in a tiny fitting room that smelled of mothballs and memories.

The blue dress was on me.

And it fit perfectly.

How on earth was that possible?

The bodice hugged my body like it had been made to measure. Not too tight, not too loose. The boning kept me perfectly upright. The skirt fell in waves of fabric that whispered when I moved.

I turned in front of the mirror, watching how the light made the crystals sparkle. It was like wearing a night sky.

— Jolie? — Danielle's voice from the other fitting room. — How does it fit?

— I... — I swallowed, still staring at my reflection. — I think I have to get it.

— ME TOO!

Her fitting room door flew open and Danielle burst out like a pink whirlwind.

And she looked like a princess.

The soft blush set off her pale complexion beautifully. The tulle created an ethereal, almost magical effect. Her eyes were bright with pure excitement.

— OH MY GOD, JOLIE! — She shrieked when she saw me. — You're... you're...

— What?

— STUNNING!

I stepped out and we ended up standing in front of the same mirror, side by side.

Pink and blue. Light and shadow. Day and night.

We looked like we'd stepped out of another century.

The old woman appeared behind us, nodding with approval.

— Perfect. — She said simply. — As if they were made for you.

And she was right.

— How much... — I started, dreading the answer. — How much do they cost?

The woman looked at us for a long moment.

Then she said a number that nearly made us both pass out.

It was an absolute fortune — the equivalent of two paychecks from the White House. But looking at myself in the mirror, seeing how that dress made me feel...

Powerful. Beautiful. Dangerous.

— I'll take it. — I said.

— Me too! — Danielle added immediately.

The old woman smiled — a smile that seemed to know something we didn't.

— Excellent choice, ladies. — She said. — Now, I imagine you'll be needing accessories as well?

We walked out of the shop half an hour later, both carrying big boxes in our arms.

Inside:

The dresses (obviously)

Silk gloves — pink for Danielle, silver for me

Period low-heeled shoes (miraculously in our sizes)

And the masks

Danielle had chosen a half-face mask in the same blush as her dress, decorated with two tiny bows at the sides of the eyes. It was held up by a thin stick — she'd have to hold it in front of her face all evening.

I'd chosen something different.

A silver lace mask that only covered the eyes — delicate but intricate, with a pattern that echoed the decorations on the dress. It tied behind the head with silk ribbons, which meant my hands would be free.

When the light hit the lace, it sparkled — exactly like the crystals on the dress.

We were going to be perfect.

— I can't believe we spent that much. — Danielle said as we walked toward the bus stop. — My savings are crying.

— Mine are already dead and buried.

— Was it worth it?

I looked down at the box in my arms. I thought about the blue dress inside. About how I'd felt wearing it.

— Yes. — I answered. — It was worth it.

Danielle smiled.

— Tomorrow night is going to be incredible.

— Yeah. — I agreed.

But inside, a part of me was whispering something different.

*Tomorrow night will change everything.*

I didn't know why I thought that. I didn't know what it meant.

But I knew it, deep down.

The ball at Bradford Estate wasn't just going to be a party.

It was going to be the beginning of something.

Something dangerous.

Something inevitable.

And as I climbed onto the bus with Danielle, box pressed against my chest, I could almost smell it — cedar and bergamot from my dream.

*"Now wake up."*

But what if I didn't want to wake up?

What if I wanted to stay in the dream, where Stan was gentle and kept me safe?

*You're such an i***t, Jolie.*

I knew.

But I couldn't stop thinking about him.

His fingers on my face. His voice whispering in my ear. The way my body had felt pressed against his.

The thoughts went unanswered as the bus carried us away, the city sliding past the window.