Blue Masquerade Mask Novels & Stories

I could be sure this girl had blue blood. On the open pages of the magazine, there was a photo showing somebody hugging a four-string guitar. The figure was wearing a dark hoodie that covered its head. That figure also wore a mask with a matching color. What could be seen from its face are only its eyes. At a glance, people might do not know whether he was male or female. But I recognized who the figure is.

I think the show runners know how chaotic it would be after Blank reveals his art, so they purposefully put the dance first. “A masquerade ball,” I breathe out while looking at the dancing crowd and adjusting my tilting mask. I picked the latter from a mask store in Country P. Its dark purple shade matches my gown, the corners crafted with thick curves and a rope to tie at the back. It was supposed to elevate my confidence. But now it isn’t helping matters as I stand in the crowded space, completely ignored. The music reaches my ears, but not in a pleasant way. It’s as if my eardrums would explode as the corners of my eyes start to sting.

“And don’t answer to anyone calling you away from the main room. If someone does, come find me immediately. Do you understand?” “Yes,” Emilia said slowly. “But—what’s going on, Mara? What’s this party really about?” Mara didn’t answer at first. Her gaze shifted, scanning the hallway. When she finally looked back, there was something tight in her jaw. “There are things you’re better off not knowing, Emilia. For now, just keep your head down.” With that, she handed Emilia a small box wrapped in black silk. “Your mask.” Inside was a sleek black mask, simple but elegant, with delicate satin ribbons and tiny silver stitching along the edge. Not as ornate as the others she'd seen guests preparing,

“He’s auctioning kids, Marcus! What the fuck is going on?” We had already put on the masks Marcus had procured from the trunk of his car – simple, elegant black half-masks that covered our eyes, common enough in these high-society, illicit gatherings to not draw attention. They were meant to conceal our identities, but right now, I felt like mine was screaming.

Inside, nestled on a velvet cushion, lay the Mask of Fortuna. My breath hitched in my throat as I gazed upon it. The mask was an eerie thing of beauty, crafted from polished obsidian that gleamed under the dim light, its surface sleek and reflective. It was as if it had been pulled straight from the depths of some ancient world. Crimson rubies and emerald sapphires adorned it, set delicately in gold filigree, their fiery hues sparkling as I leaned closer. The intricate Roman symbols etched along its edges seemed to pulse with some forgotten power—laurel wreaths and the ever-turning wheel of Fortuna, as if the mask itself held the whims of fate in its design.

The base of the blade splits in two directions. It was treated as a sacred totem. A giant man walked into the hut. Anarungu, who was tied up and sitting, had never seen anyone so large. The man was taller and broader than even Peacock. He wore a plain blue cloak that hid his huge muscles. What caught Anarungu's eye was the mask he wore. Unlike regular masks made from leather, vines, and wood, this mask was white and shimmered with colors like water. It had two slits for eyes and a lot of tiny round holes for the mouth and nose.

Before, Julio said that his family was very poor, she figured the whole family tried so hard to give him the opportunity to study abroad, and naturally, they had high hopes for him. Also masks were considered part of the costume in tournaments, not disallowed. Aurora immediately picked up a piece of cardboard and cut it into an irregular shape, traveling like water. Then applied a layer of glue on top and spread fine blue crystals on top. Next, the shape was fixed with steel wire. In just five minutes, a blue mask was ready. Darla looked on in awe. Aurora’s design talent was just awesome. Of course what amazed her even more was how Julio looked with this mask on.

Marcello’s eyes widen, his body instinctively recoiling despite the restraints. “Let’s make sure you never forget who owns you,” I sneer, pressing the searing tip of the poker against his chest. He thrashes violently, but a guard pins him in place as I carve the De Luca crest into his skin. The hiss of flesh burning beneath the metal mingles with his guttural cries, the acrid stench nearly overwhelming. When I pull the poker away, the symbol is clear, raw, and blistered. “Now there’s no doubt about who you belong to,” I say, leaning down to meet his tear-streaked gaze.

Lex perused the masquerade, feeling somewhat elated by the fact that he was indistinguishable. He adjusted his white and gold mask that covered his entire forehead but extended only to half of his face. The overall colour was white with an acrylic effect. The gold highlighted the eyelids and accentuated the mask.

Amore said with a smile. "What? Are you going to go on your revenge by pretending? Amore, you might be cursed again when he finds out. You know he's a cunning man, don't you?" He replied full of concern. "Ah, I'll take care of it. I can pretend as long as I have a different face. I can't take off my mask, because he will suspect me!"