Novelas y relatos de Behind The Mask Phantom Of The Opera

I’m not going to hurt you. His words were bizarre, but I had no time to think them over. No matter what he said, I wasn’t about to trust him. Still, I nodded in agreement, signaling that I would comply. Once he seemed convinced I wouldn’t resist, he relaxed a little and guided me toward the bedroom. He must have known I was pregnant because he kept his hand protectively near my stomach, careful not to harm me. As we moved, the dim light of the moon filtered through the window, and I finally got a clearer look at him. He wore a black mask that covered his entire face, leaving only his eyes visible. In the darkness, I couldn’t tell who he was at all.

The masked man also stood up. "I'm leaving. Thank you for helping me," Queen Lourine Chatrine said and stepped out. Suddenly, the masked human gently tugged on Queen Lourine Chatrine's hand. Queen Lourine Chatrine stopped in her tracks and turned her head. The masked man shook his head. Queen Lourine Chatrine turned around. She frowned and looked at the masked man. The masked man let go of Queen Lourine Chatrine's hand. A moment later, he slowly raised his hand and began to take off his mask. Queen Lourine Chatrine held her breath. Her heart was beating fast. Queen Lourine Chatrine was very surprised when she saw the face behind the mask. That face, a face she knew so well. Queen Lourine Cha

He stopped behind her, his hands resting on the back of her chair. "You're going, Liora. Tonight isn't just a party. It's a statement." "Julian Vane thinks he can whisper in your ear. I'm going to show the world that there is no room for him." Liora looked at his reflection. "By hiding me behind a mask?" "By showing them that even behind a mask, you are the most powerful woman in the room." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. Inside was a mask made of delicate silver filigree, encrusted with the 'Phantom Sapphires' from her new mine.

Then you change into your costume, a Phantom of the Opera outfit with a cape and a mask that covers most of your face but leaves your chin and mouth exposed. Amazingly, your plan works and they let you into the party. You guess they figure that anyone who goes to the trouble of getting a costume must have been invited. You stand in the middle of the crowded room watching all the masked strangers making out, feeling like you’re in a budget version of Eyes Wide Shut. Tom Cruise, eat your heart out.

The opera house glowed with forbidden elegance on the night of the masked gala. Crystal chandeliers dimmed to a sultry amber, velvet curtains drawn, and a small, exclusive audience of masked patrons filled the first few rows. I stood backstage in a stunning deep emerald gown that hugged every curve, the bodice low enough to show the swell of my breasts and the skirt slit high on one thigh. Beneath it, I wore nothing. Victor appeared behind me, already in his tailored black tailcoat and a simple black mask that only accentuated his sharp jaw and stormy eyes.

“I’m afraid. I’m afraid that you might be too ugly.” He shakes his head, pulling me away from the door and pushing me onto the king-size mattress. “Is that so?” he purrs. “You refuse to take off your masquerade mask. For all I know, you’re disfigured like in Phantom of the Opera,” I shoot back, my breathing growing ragged. What is this man doing to me? Sebastian laughs a genuine, belly-chuckling laugh. “I don’t know. If I take off the mask, you’ll never refuse me again. The mystery fades away between us.”

Paris. The Opera Garnier. It was the most exclusive event of the season. A Charity Masquerade Ball. Jackson and Serenity stepped out of a limousine. They were both wearing masks. Serenity wore a Venetian mask covered in silver feathers, matching her silver gown. Jackson wore a simple, terrifyingly sharp black phantom mask. "Remember," Jackson whispered, guiding her hand through the crowd of photographers. "We are here to observe. Not to start a war."

"Why are you wearing a mask? The theme is 'Silver Rose,' not 'Phantom of the Opera.'" I spun around, clutching a whisk like a defensive weapon. "Monsieur Julian! It is ze tragedy! Ze 'Sudden French Allergy' has returned with a vengeance! My eyes, zey are watering like ze fountains of Versailles! Ze doctors say I must protect ze mucous membranes from ze dust of ze ballroom!" Julian stepped closer, squinting at me. "A French allergy? You’re allergic to France?" "No! I am allergic to ze... ze American glitter! It is too shiny! My delicate European eyes, zey cannot take it! I must wear ze mask or I shall sneeze into ze lobster bisque, and nobody wants a snotty lobster, non?"