Muse Masks Novels & Stories

I muttered, leaning closer so he could hear me over the buzz of the crowd, “Reagan doesn’t even know the names of half these people.” He smirked, his gaze sweeping the room. “Everyone’s wearing a mask.” “It’s a masquerade party, I think.” I spotted a nearby table stacked with ornate masks, clearly intended for anyone who needed one. I grabbed two and turned to Blaze, holding one out to him. “Here. Let’s blend in.” I slipped my mask on—a delicate, silver piece adorned with tiny crystals—and gestured for Blaze to do the same. He took his time, studying his black and gold mask like it was some kind of alien artifact before finally putting it on.

Sadly, the people of the internet were far too angry to use their brains in this situation… To Abe’s dismay, Gwyneth determinedly replied, “Again, no worries. I’m against delaying the concert, and just know that I have things under control…” …Despite being her investor, Abe truly felt like a complete stranger at that moment… Just how was she making it seem like everything was going fine…? Regardless, he knew that any further input from him would be shot down, so all Abe could do was reluctantly step back… With that out of the way, Gwyneth began planning out her disguise… She needed one to avoid getting the public’s attention, at least for now. As for why she wasn’t sending someone else to go

It was elegant and terrifying. We approached a woman seated behind a sleek glass desk. Her face was expressionless. When she saw Mr. Everhart, she stood quickly and bowed, deeply, reverently, before sliding something across the counter: a mask. Without hesitation, Mr. Everhart took it. The mask was white porcelain, etched with subtle obsidian lines. He placed it over his face and pinned a silver tag to his lapel. The name engraved on it was, Alpha. He turned to me “You won’t be needing this yet,” he said quietly, though his eyes behind the mask were unreadable.

And now—the only one who could drag him back out. ~Mackenzie~ She sat before the wide mirror, its frame surrounded by glowing bulbs that threw a warm light across her face. A row of costumes hung neatly behind her—silk, sequins, and velvet waiting their turn. She leaned closer to the glass, pressing a deep shade of lipstick to her lips, slow and steady, like an artist completing the last stroke of a painting. She slipped on her glittering earrings, letting them sway with every small movement, then adjusted the curve of her dress. She took a breath, inhaling the mix of powder, perfume, and faint cologne that lingered in the air.

We move to the tables to make our hair and faces match our outfits. Izzy pulls my mask from her drawer, the one rule I always had. My face had to be covered. My family could not find out I was here and they dealt plenty with sleazy men. The masks leaves my mouth open, but covers the top half of my face. "You girls ready?" Thomas asks from the door when he peeks in. "Holy fuck. I don't think I'm ready. You two are delicious."

"Do I really have to wear this?" Ivy asked, staring at the mask in her hand—a sleek piece made of deep black velvet, its shape narrowing at the corners to elegantly frame her features. There were no gaudy feathers, no over-the-top embellishments. Just a single satin ribbon meant to be tied at the back. Simple, but striking in its elegance. Mysterious. Alluring. “Does everyone have to wear masks to a MaC banquet?” Ivy raised one brow, glancing at Josh, who sat beside her, perfectly relaxed in the backseat of the car.

A disposable face mask. And something else. Something silver. My brows slowly creased into a frown. I bent down slightly and reached into the bin. When I pulled it out… My heart stopped. It was a mask. A silver mask. Covered in tiny glittering crystals that sparkled under the bathroom light. My grip tightened around it. I knew this mask. There was no doubt in my mind. I had seen this mask before. Over. And over. And over again. In my dreams.

The question is, will I survive? The guard suddenly rushes in. He points at me and throws me something, which I quickly catch. “Put that on. Alpha Zao wants to see that on you.” “What…is it?” I ask, standing up. “A mask? I don’t know,” he says with anger. I look at it. It’s a tasseled nose‑and‑mouth mask. The dangling tassels are made with rhinestones, and the bottom part curves into a V shape that frames my jaw and chin when I put it on.

Pockmark Mask now. ***

Only the corridor and the echo of my own soft footfalls. Another door stands slightly ajar. Through the narrow crack, a monitor blinks green. A rhythmic beep keeps time with my heartbeat, a measured metronome. I slow, drawn toward it. My reflection catches in the small square of glass: eyes darker than I remember, hair falling in waves, a faint shimmer of light across my skin. I lift a hand and trace the outline of my face on the glass as if to prove I’m solid.