#1: A Night of Masks

Curiosity didn't kill me that night. But it definitely ruined me for any other man.

Leather-bound journals lay open on my table, pages filled with sketched fantasies and forbidden words I'd collected over years of secret reading. Anatomical drawings I'd copied from smuggled texts. Descriptions of pleasure I'd only imagined. My grip tightened on my black mask.

My breathing became short and shallow, and while I would have loved to blame it all on the too-tight corset, I knew it was fear. Fear of the plan I was about to execute.

But it was either I forced myself to have a little bit of fun now or agreed to be the perfect little daughter who would only be forced to marry a wrinkly older man in the end. The choice was clear.

The door creaked open, and I jumped, running over to my table to cover up all evidence of my illicit thoughts. Much to my misfortune, speed wasn’t a skill I was blessed with. It was a wonder how I kept all of this a secret for so long.

“Quinn, if you’re still hellbent on this mission of yours, then you'd better leave now before mother and father get back,” a soft voice pulled me out of my panic, and slowly, I turned, my heart seemingly stopping the horrendous symphony it had been playing.

An involuntary smile made its way to my face, and I released a deep breath. “It was just you.”

Ophelia, my eldest sister and only other sibling, shrugged, removing some stray black strands of hair from her face. “Yes. It’s just me… again… for the one thousandth time, and again… you are as slow as a slug. If it was mother or maybe even father that came in, how would you explain the obscene sketches you arranged on your table?”

I placed a hand on my chest, feigning hurt. “Obscene sketches? These are not obscene sketches? These are works of art, and you, of all people, do not have the right to speak. You have experience, and you’ll be married tomorrow.”

My sister rolled her eyes before getting up to help me clear the evidence on my table. If any of my parents saw this, there wouldn’t just be a wedding tomorrow, but a burial as well, and they would both be causes to celebrate. To them, having a dead daughter would be ten times better than having a scandalous one.

“One, if I were judging you, then I would have gotten rid of all of this years ago. Two, I have experience, and I can assure you that marital act is not all that. And three, please do not discuss my wedding tomorrow. I might as well be marrying some withered lord because mother and father believe that wealth, status, and tradition are above all else in the world!” The words skittered from Ophelia’s mouth, and the anger in her voice only amplified with each point she made.

When she was done, I had taken two steps back, my eyes closely monitoring her for any more outbursts.

A few moments passed without any more from her. Ophelia hid my books in silence, but when she turned towards me once more, my heart tore in two, and I was ready to discard this plan altogether. Her eyes had become glossy, and her slightly parted lips told me that she could start crying at any given moment. “You know what, you’re right. You should have fun and experiment while you can because I am sure that the moment I’m out of this house, mother and father would have you married to a withered lord next.”

Sorrow permeated the air in the room, and at that moment, I wanted nothing more than to go and smother my big sister in hugs, but her following comment stopped me. “Your first time shouldn't be with a man who already has one foot in the grave,” Ophelia joked, a small laugh falling from her lips, and I couldn’t help but join in until we were both a laughing mess.

“I don’t mind staying here with you and forgetting about all men and all… their appendages,” I told her, when the laughter settled.

She shook her head, blinking her tears away and standing up. “No. No. No. I have lived my life, and I will ensure that you live yours before it’s too late. Now put on that silly little mask of yours and go have fun. The carriage should be here soon.”

Knots tied in my stomach. Half of me wanted to stay here with my sister and comfort her, and the other half knew that this was my only chance. So, I sucked in a deep breath, pulled my sister into one big hug, and hurried downstairs.

***

Cold air bit into my exposed arms, leaving goosebumps in its wake. It immediately took my attention away from how tight my corset was. Taking a step away from the carriage, I put on my black mask, tying the ropes tightly against my silver platinum hair. Tonight, I would no longer be the shy, perfect daughter. Tonight, I was electric and daring in every single way.

Before me, colorful lights littered the fields. Women in gowns as tight as mine and men in dazzling coats filled the area. The loud music was not enough to mask the chatter from the crowd, and while I would have loved to believe that I was this confident and outgoing person who just loved jumping in mid-conversation, I was not. My feet remained glued to the floor, no matter how many times I willed myself to move.

With sweaty palms, I gathered my skirts in my arms as I went over my ridiculous plan once more.

First, I needed to find the right victim.

Second, I needed to flirt. I had spent enough time practicing in the mirror and memorizing the lines from the stories in my journals. Surely, a dingy old mirror and fictional characters would be no different from a normal person, right?

Third, I needed to initiate. Maybe a little something along the lines of “Would you permit me to learn what your attire so carefully hides?” would be perfect.

My heart pounded against my chest, and the more I thought about this plan, the more ridiculous it sounded; the more I began to rethink everything. Coming to the moon festival with a little mask was a foolish idea anyway.

I turned to flee back to the safety of the carriage, but much to my dismay, it was gone. The driver must have assumed I'd gone into the festival. My escape route had vanished. Which meant I had two choices: stand here like a fool, or commit to this insanity.

"Lost something?"

I spun around. Standing behind me was a man. A real, actual man and not the elderly, pot-bellied variety I'd expected to encounter. No, this was the kind of man from my sketches. The kind I'd only imagined existed. This was good. I knew it was, and yet, I kept wishing that the carriage would make a surprise appearance.

A silver mask covered the upper half of the stranger’s face, but I could see enough. A strong jaw. Lips that curved with amusement. Black hair that fell across his forehead in a way that made me want to brush it back, which was insane because I didn't know him.

He was tall. Much taller than me, broad-shouldered beneath a dark coat that looked expensive. Everything about him radiated control and confidence. Like he owned the street we stood on.

But it was his eyes that trapped me. Dark brown, nearly black, but somehow luminous underneath the street lamp that towered above us. And fixed on me with an intensity that made my breath catch.

“I didn’t know that incessant staring was a part of these festivals, or I would have started attending them sooner,” the stranger finally spoke, and while I knew that this was a clear sign for me to stop staring, I didn’t. I could not.

Instead, I might as well have said the most foolish thing ever.

"And if I knew that the festival offered... demonstrations of masculine anatomy, I would've—" I stopped, horrified. Had I just said that out loud? This was not exactly a part of my ludicrous plan.

Mr. Stranger didn't laugh. He didn't mock me. Instead, he stepped closer. Close enough that I could smell leather and something darker, wilder. This was precisely how my journals described it, and I felt both fear and exhilaration in equal measure.

"Careful, fair lady," he murmured, his voice low and rough in a way that sent heat pooling in my belly. "Making promises like that to strangers is dangerous."

"Maybe I want to be dangerous tonight."

His eyes darkened. "Then perhaps you’ve found the right company."

He offered his hand. And like a fool, I took it.