Arcane Firelights Masks の小説・ストーリー

The Masquerade mask was Harriet's special mask, a white snake mask with one eye hole on the right side. "Actually, this is my mother's mask," said Harriet quietly. She then smiled and held up another mask box. Harriet showed it to Liam who was still furrowing his brows at her previous words and opened the box. Another white mask appeared in their vision. It was a white wolf mask with golden stripes around its eyes. Harriet smiled proudly showing the mask design. It was the one she ordered yesterday, which turned out to be perfect and ready at just the right time. "This is for me?" Liam asked.

Her mask, a sleek black fox with delicate gold filigree around the eyes, felt heavier. Inside, the party already throbbed with low music and the murmur of too many bodies. Crystal chandeliers dripped warm light over velvet drapes and dark wood. Champagne flutes moved through the crowd like schools of silver fish. Everyone wore masks: lions, ravens, porcelain dolls, devils. Faces hidden, intentions very much not.

Masked Moonlight Addiction PART I The Masked Moon Ball pulsed like a living heartbeat. Crystal chandeliers dripped silver light over the grand hall of Lunar Academy, and every student, professor, and staff member wore the same enchanted silver masks. No faces could be seen, no names told. Only scent, touch, and instinct. Aria adjusted her mask, the cool metal pressing against her cheeks. Her simple black gown clung to her curves, and for the first time in years, she hadn’t taken her suppressants. “Just one night of not hiding,” she whispered to herself, heart racing.

The fire didn't produce gray smoke; it consumed the timber with an unnatural, chemical blue flame that turned the falling snow into a faint, hissing vapor before it could touch the ground. Marcus stood on the apex of the keep's defensive gatehouse, his massive frame hunched against the biting cold. He wore no furs, no steel plate armor, and no tactical crests. His torn leather tunic was open at the throat, exposing the dense, iridescent web of silver scars that now pulsed a dark violet down to his bare forearms. He didn't look at the sky. His piercing silver eyes were locked onto the valley road three leagues away, where the dark, jagged lines of Alaric's imperial vanguard were beginning to

Their hotness was undeniable and they both exuded sex. Then, to my disappointment, the masks covered half of their faces. Yet the fiery-eyed and blond wore a mask, on his chest with a mark of a symbol of a dragon, holding the sun and fire in his mouth. The man with sapphire eyes and short brown hair looked more thoughtful and serious, and his strong face had a mask of lightning and thunder. Was it a new custom that I hadn't heard of while I was stuck on this planet? They came to hunt me down instead of attending a masquerade party, right?

Every so often, one of them looked toward Kain and looked away again just as quickly. The servers down here weren’t dressed like the ones above. They wore masks of their own, ornate and feathered, with ribbons tied around their throats. One woman’s mask was shaped like a fox, her dress split to her hip; another had her chest wrapped in gold wire and nothing else. They carried trays of champagne, glasses that caught the lamplight like liquid fire. Luca tried to look anywhere else. “Wh–why’s ev–everyone st–staring?”

Firelight. They crept forward until the trees parted and revealed a small clearing. In the center was a makeshift circle of stones, and at its heart… Marla Greene. She knelt before a fire that burned with no wood — just floating embers suspended in the air, casting no shadows. She was humming. Her back was to them. “Marla?” Emily called softly. The humming stopped. Marla stood slowly and turned. She was smiling. But her eyes were wrong — completely black, with no whites, no irises. Just pits. Her hair floated slightly, as if underwater. Her skin shimmered with a thin sheen of dew, as if the forest itself breathed through her.

It shimmered under the harsh backstage lights, highlighting every curve and plane of my body, amplifying my vulnerability. As a small, desperate act of defiance, a fragile attempt to cling to some semblance of anonymity in this degrading spectacle, I carefully positioned a delicate black lace mask, its intricate pattern obscuring the upper half of my face, hiding my eyes from the hungry gazes I knew awaited me. It was a flimsy shield, but it was all I had.

I find myself standing in the doorway of the room where we talked cwhere I told him the truth, where he looked at me like staying was a miracle. I sit on the edge of the bed. Breathe. “Idiot,” I mutter softly. “You really did it this time.” I pull my Institute ID from my pocket. Black. Polished. My name etched clean and sharp. MATTEO ALVAREZ CLEARANCE: OMEGA-RED It hums faintly in my hand. A tether. I stare at it for a long time. Then I flick my lighter open. The plastic warps first. The metal follows, blackening, curling. The name disappears in the flames.

Then, she lifted the velvet box containing the silver mask and looked at me in awe. “Ma’am,” she whispered, “you look like someone who’s… untouchable.” A faint smile curved my lips. “Maybe because tonight, I’m not meant to be touched.” She laughed nervously before carefully placing the mask over my face. The silk lining brushed against my skin, leaving only my lips and a small part of my face visible. To erase my scent completely, I picked up a bottle of NightFang perfume—a blend of deep cedar and faint wolfbane—and sprayed it along my neck and wrists. The fragrance was potent enough to drown out the scent Alaric once knew by heart.