Red Death Phantom Of The Opera Costume Novels & Stories

She looked over at the clock and saw it was 5:00pm; she had three hours to get ready. Hugging the invitation to her chest, the young vampire skipped over to her closet. She dug through the depths until she came across a beautiful high fantasy gown made of silk and chiffon. It was a rich ruby red color with a billowing skirt and sleeves with metal filigree accents along the waist, shoulders, and collar. Esper carefully removed the dress from the hanger and slid it on, securing all of the clasps.

Aurora and Derk were also amongst those present, their faces pale with horror as they took in the scene before them. The dead body was that of a young man, his face peaceful despite the tragedy that had befallen him. He wore clothing typical of one who served within the castle walls as a guard: He wore a red velvety tunic, trimmed with gold embroidery and fastened at his waist by a leather belt hung low across his hips. His dark trousers were tucked into ankle-high boots, and several pouches filled with coins or other trinkets hung from the belt around his waist.

He couldn't comprehend the scale of devastation unfolding before him. Farah, or rather, the entity that had possessed her body, groaned angrily. Her true nature was now revealed, she raised the scepter high, releasing an eerie transformation. Her raven-dark hair cascaded down, and her eyes turned a haunting shade of crimson. Her red warrior dress symbolized her newfound identity, and she let out a malevolent cackle that sent shivers down the spines of those present.

Operation killing Zinedine is on. ___ It was 8:30 pm and she was already at the premises of the so called celebrant, she wouldn't deny the mansion was magnificent but she wasn't here for sightseeing. She was wearing a strapless long shiny red elegant dress that reached her feet which was made of tiny diamonds and red ruby, bringing out her curves, the side of the dress was silt up to her thigh and wearing a stiletto heel strappy red sandals to match. Her brown hair was let down with a bit of make-up on her face. She was holding a Cleopatra Clutches which cost her $400,000 dollars. She needed to look expensive.

The assistants did not hesitate. They sprinted toward the very back of the massive room, their boots clicking loudly on the marble. They reached a heavy leather storage crate and tore it open with hurried, desperate movements. Together, they lifted and carried out a long, sleek dress made of liquid heavy, blood red silk. The garment did not have any white lace. It did not have any puffy tulle. It was entirely simple and sharp. Madame Vivienne stepped toward it, her hands still shaking as she presented the deep red fabric to me.

Scrubbed me with something that smelled like cedar and crushed iron until my skin was the color of a person about to be bonded against her will. I did not cry. I had decided about that on the platform. "Stand up, please, Luna." I stood up. They dressed me in the red. Deep blood-red silk. Floor-length. High neck. Long sleeves. Twenty small pearl buttons from the small of my back to the nape of my neck. It fit me. It fit as though it had been measured for me weeks ago by someone who had known the shape of my shoulders before I had ever set foot in this Keep.

Right at the corner stood a headless mannequin, donning the gown I'm going to wear tonight. I tightened the cincture of my pink satin robe and strutted towards the mannequin, grazing my finger over the beads intricately embedded into the expensive red gown. It has a plunging neckline that extends down to my navel. A revealing back held only by two straps on the shoulders and a billowing expansive skirt imprinted with fading red to black obsidian black beads creating an ombre effect at the bottom. “The makeup artists are here, signorina.” “Let them in, Linda.”

I walked to my closet—a room the size of most people's apartments—and pulled out the dress I'd been saving for a special occasion. Deep crimson red. The color of blood and vengeance. It hugged every curve, the slit running dangerously high up my thigh. The back was completely open, exposing flawless skin marked with an intricate tattoo—a phoenix rising from ashes. A reminder of who I had become. I slipped it on, the silk cool against my skin. My hair fell in sleek waves over one shoulder. Diamond earrings—worth more than the Blackwood packhouse—caught the light. My makeup was flawless. Smoky eyes. Sharp contours. Lips the same crimson as my dress.

I high-fived myself mentally for a job well done. The red evening dress made her look so exquisite I got tongue-tied from staring at her. Red and black were the vampires' colors: red signifying the blood we drink to survive and check signifying the color of our souls, blackened by death. I added silver to the colors of my household because I love the way it compliments the dark colors. Naomi was dressed in all three colors. Her dress was a red gown that flared from the waist and there were swirling dark designs rising from the bottom of the dress. I had seen the dress when browsing through the hotel's boutique earlier, and I had thought of her immediately.

The red sequin mini dress was so short it barely qualified as clothing, with the fringe on the hem and sleeves swaying with every shift of my hips. Underneath, I wore a matching red satin bralette and thong set. I pulled on a pair of red fishnet stockings, stepped into my killer heels, and finally put on my mask. It covered the top half of my face, leaving only my mouth and jawline exposed. It made me feel powerful, like Leylie Field didn't exist and only Red remained. Behind the curtain, I suddenly felt a strange knot of nerves in my stomach, but the music began: a slow, heavy bass that vibrated through the floor and up into my legs. The lights dimmed, and then a bright red spotlight hit th