Veil Mask Novels & Stories

I was dressed and standing with my back to the wood stove because I wanted heat at my back and clear sightlines to every entry point. "Veil root," Colt said without turning from the window. "I know it. It masks scent and suppresses the bond signal. Hunters use it." "Practitioners use it too," Ezra said. "When they are conducting field work they do not want detected." He looked at me. "Miriam Crowe's people. They are here to assess you." "Assess me," I said.

Phones and digital hardware were sealed in lead-lined pouches at the entrance, and every guest was required to wear an intricate, Venetian-style mask from the moment they crossed the threshold. ​In the back of the blacked-out sedan navigating the rain-slicked streets of Singapore, Lily adjusted the silver silk ribbon securing her mask. ​Her mask was a work of art—a sculpted filigree of obsidian and Venetian silver that covered the upper half of her face, accentuating the sharp angle of her cheekbones and making her grey-blue eyes pop with mysterious, liquid fire. She wore a backless floor-length gown of midnight-blue silk that clung to her curves like water, sliding over her hips and splitti

I moved through and blindly, I collided against someone, my hands laying on her two boobs just in time, preventing a total collision. Sharply, I withdrew my hand and looked up to see a woman who should be in her late 40’s. She had her head scraped, leaving her hairless just like Ruto. She had the tattoo of a dragon on her arm, an art that makes her look rebellious. Jagged, a scar cut on her skin, running from her head, darting through her left eye brow and stopped below her eyes which made me wonder what kind of animal or weapon marked her face at such a delicate area.

“I will.” Marcia looked like she wanted to ask me something, but was still deciding if she should. I was expecting it to be about the veil covering my face, and I was right. “Is that a permanent thing?” I nodded. “It’s compulsory for when we’re outside the Convent.” She nodded solemnly. “But I thought the veil was or prevent men from gazing at you, and not women. Wouldn’t it be alright if you let me or Miss Vivian see your face?”

The word crawled down her spine like an insult. She crossed the rack, shrugging into the fencing jacket. It settled heavily on her shoulders, thicker than it looked. The glove swallowed her hand, leather stiff against her fingers. The mask felt strange in her grip. At home, blades had been ritual and history. Kris, bolo, balisong. Edges that smelled like oil and ash, not detergent. Here, steel was sport. Tradition repackaged as enrichment for people who’d never needed it. She slid the mask on. The world narrowed to mesh and breath. Her own exhale sounded louder. The hall smelled like steel, polish, and old sweat.

“Every masquerade has its entrance cues, performance acts, and exit blocks. If this follows classic Velvet structure, the entire event will be controlled through proximity tech and biometric pings.” He tapped a section of the event subfolder. “There’s a hidden entry under security protocols labeled ‘Ghostlight Access – Tier 0.’ It overrides movement restrictions.” Isolde narrowed her eyes. “So we’ll need a Ghostlight badge to move freely.” “Or a body that has one,” Penelope muttered. “Noted,” Isolde said. “What else?” Vivienne’s voice, still slightly hoarse from recovery, cut through the air as she entered the room. “You’ll need masks. Not just for disguise. Velvet masks are tagged with ID f

Vivienne tried to ignore the eyes on her as she pushed aside the cushioning paper to peer at what was inside. A mask. A beautiful carnival mask that appeared to have been crafted by the skilled hands of Venetian artisans themselves. Its base was a canvas of alabaster white and served as the perfect backdrop for an ethereal tapestry of intricate rose vines; their curled petals brushed with hues of blush and burgundy that contrasted with the verdant green of the painted vines. The mask's eyes were almond-shaped and framed with a cascade of tiny pearls and crystals that caught the light like scattered stardust, along with gilded tendrils that gave the appearance of eyeliner. Adorning the edges

As Vincent's carriage approached the Duke’s Château, the majestic edifice bathed in soft candlelight looked like something out of a fairytale. Abigail stepped out of the carriage, feeling a rush of excitement. Her gown, a cascade of shimmering gold and silver, rustled as she moved. A delicate mask adorned with intricate lace and tiny jewels covered the upper part of her face, allowing her hazel eyes to gleam. Vincent, in his royal blue velvet suit, looked every bit the dashing artist. A simple black mask shielded his eyes, making them seem even more intense.

For five years, he would go on a work trip one week every month to spend time with his other family. I stupidly believed he was being a good and hardworking husband. Now, the truth pulled a bitter smile across my lips and sprinkled tears in my eyes. "You've kept it under wraps for years, so why'd you let the cat out of the bag now?" Before Nathaniel could say anything, Melanie slammed her silverware on the table. Her voice agitated, she shouted, "Because I want to see my grandson!" Then, she took a deep breath and put on the look of a concerned elder.

I commanded. Two days and just shooting? I shook my head. She hurriedly ran inside the hideout. I wrapped around my hands a cotton strap. "Mamba hurry up!" I shouted. "Coming!" She shouted back while running back to me. She's holding a pair of red gloves and wearing a white sports bra and shorts. Her face was still covered by her mask. "Number one rule. No punches on the face. We don't want our masks off. Second, no hitting below the belt. We're only using hands here." I raised my hands and gestured for her to enter the ring.