I feel the drop of hopelessness again mixed with the sickness of what is to come.
I run to the toilet, quickly putting my hands on the cold porcelain to calm my mind. I can’t even understand what my life has turned into.
I kneel there for a while, waiting for vomit or tears to come out.
But nothing comes.
I stand wobbly on my legs and look into the mirror. What are you doing, girl? You have not spent time with the most incredible women to let yourself down now. There is more to your story. There just has to be.
I let out a slow breath, allowing myself to feel the magic in my veins. To control it. A smile creeps across my face. Dark and angry. A smile from decades of my ancestors wanting revenge.
I shower, do my hair and makeup and slip on the little black dress Mrs Belfour had given me in the car. My dark hair is tussled into an updo with chocolate ringlets falling down my face and neck. My pale skin is a stark contrast to the black silk dress that hugs my body, the diamond choker shining like stars across my delicate neckline.
I stand back before the mirror again. My eyes, dark and steady, stare back at me, not with uncertainty, but with the quiet strength I have always carried.
I found out I was a witch just weeks ago. Magic pulsed through my fingertips, wild and ancient, and for a moment, I believed that it was that which made me powerful.
But now, as I look at my reflection, something shifts.
It was not the spells or the whispered power in my blood. It was not the legacy or the lore. It was me, the woman I had become. Fierce. Free. Unapologetically herself.
“I was always powerful,” I whisper to the glass, a small smile forming. “The magic just reminded me.”
I place a masquerade mask upon my face as a final addition. A silver viper with white feathered ears. Very fitting. I smirk.
And with that, I leave for the ball, not to hide, but to show them who I am.
Twenty-Five
I make my way down to reception to wait for the driver. I see Greg standing outside smoking a cigar. His black suit is a match for my dress. God knows where he has been.
He sees me looking at him through the glass and beckons my attention.
I roll my eyes, but my legs take me in his direction. I step through the doors pulling my coat onto my body as the cold evening air flows around me.
I watch him take the last inhale of his cigar, blowing out the musky smoke from his lips. He stumps the stump out in the ash tray and looks at me, his eyes looking through his own masquerade mask. A fox. Of course.
The Belfours love a masquerade ball, a yearly ritual for the Winter Wonderland Ball.
He smells of whiskey and smoke. “You look beautiful,” he mutters. “I was coming up to get you.”
“Well, here I am.” My tone is far from inviting.
He sighs, rolling his eyes. “Look, about earlier—”
I shake my head. “Please don’t, Greg. We both know what this is.”
He nods, defeated, not wanting to cause a scene outside ourapartment. Instead, he opts for opening the door to the car and allowing me to slip inside.
We drive in silence through the city until the car eases to a stop, the soft purr of the engine quieting as I look through the tinted window. Just ahead, the grand facade of the building rises like something out of a dream: ornate stonework, towering pillars, golden light spilling from tall windows like the free-flowing champagne which is sure to be inside.
I step out of the car, the city buzzing behind me, but here it feels hushed, like the world is holding its breath for a moment.
My heels touch down on the gleaming pavement, polished black against the streetlights.
Greg quickly appears at my side to take my arm as we walk towards the doors.
A door attendant smiles in a crisp uniform and nods, his white gloves folded neatly in front of him.
