Red Death Phantom Of The Opera Costume Novels & Stories

A pang of jealousy hit me hard and I felt the facade I was wearing would burst out any moment. Jade's costume was a perfect indication of a vampire-like impression. She wore a long, flowing black gown that was fitted at the top and flared out from the waist. The dress was adorned with intricate lace detailing and had a high neckline that showcased her delicate collarbones. She completed her look with a pair of elegant, heretofore dangerous-looking, black stilettos.

Inside was another world: velvet walls, crystal chandeliers dripping blood-red light, and music that pulsed like a living heartbeat. Madame Rouge found me the second I stepped inside the private lounge. She wore a crimson gown and a smile sharp enough to cut glass. “Lot 13,” she purred, circling me. “Twenty-three. Virgin. Desperate. Perfect.” I wanted to run. But Jamie’s face flashed in my mind—pale, smiling through the pain. I let her lead me backstage. They gave me a black silk mask that covered half my face and a red dress that clung to every curve.

The air inside the Metropolitan Opera House was thick, a suffocating mixture of old money, expensive perfume, and an even older, more lethal web of grudges. I walked the red carpet on Vincent Luciano’s arm, dressed in a simple, lethal column gown of bias-cut black silk that plunged into a dramatic, backless V. The Luciano Chain, a blinding torrent of white diamonds, was the only contrast to the stark black fabric and the dark menace of the Mourning Star on my finger.

Then came the gown. It was a deep, violent red—Regalian crimson. It was heavy, dragging on the floor, embroidered with gold thread in the shape of thorns and vines. It was beautiful, in a terrifying way. It looked like something a queen would wear to an execution. Her own, or someone else's. "You look... adequate," one of the women said, stepping back to survey her work. She fastened a heavy necklace of rubies around my throat, the cold stones resting against my collarbone like a choke chain.

She rolled her eyes but stood anyway, walking toward the box. “I swear,” she said, “if this is another red dress—” “It is,” Killian interrupted. She froze. “I said wear red,” he added. “I always mean what I say.” Calla slowly opened the lid. The dress shimmered like liquid flame, bold but elegant. Daring neckline. Delicate straps. A matching black mask with red lace detail rested beside it, fierce yet stunning. A single card lay on top, scrawled in Killian’s distinct hand:

Why does it feel ominous? “While at the Pack, I reconnected with some friends and invited them over. I also invited a few people from the Pack and they’ll be arriving soon for a small get together. I want you to dress up and entertain my guests. Thus, I’ve prepared the appropriate attire for you.” She says and the maid flips off the cloth covering the platter. She presents it to me and my blood grows cold. They’re exotic clothes. A red belly dancing costume consisting of a rhinestone studded bralette and a sheer lace long skirt with slits on both sides. The outfit is so see-through that it’ll leave nothing to the imagination. And she wants me to wear it and…….

A metallic black Rolls-Royce Phantom came to a halt before the marble gates. A servant in a white uniform opened the door. Mavric stepped out first. He wore a custom-made three-piece black suit with crimson silk accents on the lapels. His sharp features were concealed by a silver mask shaped like a dragon's face, giving him an aura that was both mysterious and menacing. He turned back and offered his strong hand. Liora descended from the car, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still for anyone who laid eyes on her. Liora wore a floor-length gown of blood-red silk, with a high slit that revealed her long, slender legs.

It was the easiest costume I could gather given the time I had to prepare. White dress, soft feathers, a halo and a golden mask. I stepped in through the massive doors. Loud music blared all around as everyone danced along The main hall was packed and filled with several unknown faces. Dozens—maybe over a hundred—people, all dressed in Halloween costumes and masks. Skeletons. Witches. Vampires. Demons. Darth Vader, hell there was even someone dressed as Voldemort too. As I stared around for any kind of familiar face, a guy dressed as a giant banana walked past me handing me a red plastic cup.

I asked the ghost after her emotional moment with Mimi, and she pointed something at the 4r-size picture in my hold. “Look at this faint human figure here, like a shadow near you. It’s me, Syd. Look at that closely. It's red! And I am wearing red. See? It’s me! The camera caught me as a ghost!” She said excitedly, and I did see what she meant. “Woah!” I let out in amazement, looking at it, as it’s truly amazing. It’s her, indeed.

I have so many unanswered questions about this mysterious assassin. I spent the next week preparing for the formal event while also gathering what I could about assassins that were known. None of the information told me anything. I got a few well-known female assassin names. The number one was Phantom Reaper, second was Blade of Bracken (named after this city, Bracken’s Rock), and third was simply Death. Not very original, that one. By evening, it’s time for me to attend this despicable gala to network and attempt to secure funding for my next research project. I dress sharply in a black tuxedo, my white dress shirt is crisp, and I wear a neatly knotted black tie. My hair is usually always a