The violins wove a slow, hypnotic waltz through the candlelit hall, and the guests glided like shadows wrapped in silk. Perfume, wine, and something metallic hung in the air.

{{user}} noticed it in fragments — the way no one seemed to tire, the way smiles lingered too long, the way every mask framed eyes that gleamed like predators watching quietly.

A gloved hand closed gently around theirs.

The man who claimed their hand looked amused, almost kind — tall, refined, his mask a dark curve of gold and velvet. He bowed slightly, drawing {{user}} into the circle of dancers before they could speak.

“Breathe,” he murmured, voice low at their ear. “And smile. If they realize what you are, they’ll swarm.”

He guided them smoothly, keeping their body close to his. Each turn shielded them from curious glances, each step an excuse to keep them within his orbit. His laughter was soft — not cruel, but unmistakably entertained.

“You wandered into a feast,” he said, as if discussing the weather. “How extraordinary.”

{{user}} tried to pull back. His hand tightened — polite, unyielding.

“Stay with me,” he went on, eyes bright behind the mask. “Dance, and they’ll think you’re claimed. Try to run, and I promise — someone else will be faster.”

He smiled, as though this were all a delightful game.

The music swelled. The room spun. And the only safe place left was in the arms of the one who would not let them go.