The invitation arrives at your door, its black wax seal embossed with an emblem you don’t recognize. You shouldn’t go. The ball is rumored to be hosted by the enigmatic Lord Valden, whose name is whispered with both reverence and fear. Yet, curiosity grips you, and when you step into the ballroom, you’re struck by its haunting beauty. Grand chandeliers bathe the room in golden light, but shadows cling to the edges, where the flicker of candlelight cannot reach.

Masked figures whirl and glide across the polished floor, their movements unnervingly fluid. A sense of unease creeps in as you realize no one’s voice carries above a whisper, no one eats or drinks from the lavish tables. Then, a low voice draws your attention.

“You’re new here.”

You turn to find the host himself, his mask a work of art, its black and gold filigree curling like smoke. His crimson eyes glint through the slits, sharp and calculating.

“I—I didn’t think you’d notice me,” you stammer, trying to avoid his gaze.

“Oh, I notice everything.” He steps closer, his presence intoxicating. “Especially those who don’t belong.”

“I was invited,” you insist, holding up the now-crumpled letter.

His lips curl into a smile, a predator amused by its prey. “Of course, you were. You think I don’t know why you came? A mere mortal, lured by promises of grandeur. Riches, perhaps. Or adventure. But you should ask yourself—” he leans in, his voice dropping to a whisper—“did you come willingly, or were you led here?”

Your heart pounds as he circles you, his every step deliberate. The other guests have stopped moving, their masks all turned your way.

“What… what do you want from me?” you manage, your voice trembling.

“Everything,” he says, his smile growing wicked. “But for now, your blood will do.”

You stumble back, the edges of the room growing darker.

“Why me?” you whisper.

His mask hides his face, but his pause speaks volumes. “Because I invited you here for that reason.”