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The image of swirling gowns, masked faces, and glittering chandeliers danced in my head. It was a world away from our drafty, stone manor.
"Please, Papa," I pleaded, pushing my uneaten food aside. "We can't be cooped up here forever, can we?”
“Well,” said Madame Perrodon. “It might be a wonderful opportunity for Laura to practice her social graces.”
Madame Perrodon joined in. “It is important for a young lady to navigate the intricacies of conversation and etiquette after all, sir. Laura rarely has the opportunities to do so here."
Father steepled his fingers, his gaze fixed on the crackling fire. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. "Very well,” he said, with a tone that seemed more resigned than enthusiastic.
“They’ll need appropriate dresses, monsieur.” Mademoiselle De Lafontaine looked at my father expectantly.
"Of course," he said. “I suppose I can spare the change. The girls deserve only the finest."
Yes, finest. Dresses bought with the money Carmilla's mother had practically poured into his lap.
“Now remember,” he said, “I am only agreeing to this as long as you both stay within sight of your governesses.”
Carmilla extracted a seed from her pomegranate, a shadow of a smile playing on her lips. “Of course. We wouldn’t dare to disobey.”
***
The day of the ball had arrived, and I waited nervously at the landing for Carmilla.
Carmilla swept down the spiral staircase in a crimson gown. A black lace mask, intricate as a spider's web, veiled the upper half of her face. The mask was adorned with a single ruby teardrop. The jewel caught the lamp light and gleamed like a drop of fresh blood. Carmilla was forbidden fruit, bathed in the glow of temptation, and how I ached to take a bite.
"You look exquisite," I managed to say.
"Thank you, dear Laura. As do you." Her gaze lingered on me. Layers of champagne chiffon cascaded down my form, each ripple catching the soft glow of the room. Delicate silver threads winked like constellations across a midsummer night. The dress felt like a celestial map, an invitation for only her eyes to explore its galaxies.
“Do you like it?” I asked.
"More than you know, darling.” A crescent moon of a smile edged her lips. “But you'd look just as beautiful in a sackcloth…or nothing at all." Her sultry gaze traveled across my dress again, this time a slow perusal. Like she was undressing me with her eyes, leaving me breathless and wanting. For a heartbeat, I glimpsed hunger in those depths, stars flaring bright against the inky black of her mask. A blackhole that wanted to swallow me whole. But her eyes quickly dipped down, shrouding her expression.
“I confess, I am quite envious.”
I smiled. “You envious of me? I find that hard to believe.”
“I’m quite serious. I am not particularly of gentlemen asking you to dance. You are the light to my darkness, but a light I wish to hold between my palms, to keep you solely to myself.”
My face warmed. How easily her words opened doors that ought to stay closed.
Madame Perrodon joined us in the foyer. “There you are, my dears.”
My governesses fussed over Carmilla and I. We were prepped with a flurry of combs like we were debutantes at our first season. After we settled into the carriage, the ride was filled with my governesses’ excited chatter. Their voices were a welcome distraction from the incidents plaguing the village, but it felt like a desperate attempt to paint normalcy on a canvas smeared with shadows. I could feel the darkness lurking just beyond our facade, a hungry beast waiting to devour the illusion.
The carriage lurched to a halt along with my stomach. “Come along, girls,” said Mademoiselle De Lafontaine.
The grand doors of the ballroom swung open, revealing a sea of faces, hidden behind feathers, jewels, and fantastical creatures. There were the classic carnival masks, all harlequin smiles and bold colors, alongside elegant silver, gold, and black lace masks.
Mademoiselle De Lafontaine’s eyes scanned the crowd through her butterfly mask and landed on a group of three figures moving in perfect unison. Their costumes, a coordinated aquatic symphony, drew every eye.
A young woman in an aquamarine gown that shimmered like a mermaid's tail donned a mask crafted entirely of delicate seashells. Flanking her on either side were a handsome gentleman sporting an impressive octopus mask with its tentacles seemingly reaching out to grasp the crowd, and another young lady whose mask, adorned with flowing blue and green silks, resembled a graceful angelfish.
"Artemisia?" my governess ventured.
The young woman in the angelfish mask turned at the sound of her name. A smile, genuine and warm, spread across her features as she recognized my governess.
“Auntie, it’s been too long. This is my mistress, Miss Viola, and Mr. Florian, the butler.”
