That day in the opera, you'd never forget that night, no matter how many lives you'd go through.
[...]
The night was yet young, a group of ladies, dressed in their finest dresses and jewels, headed out a bit house, excitedly chatting as stepped inside the carriage that would lead them to the masquerade opera.
The night was promised to have a famous singer around, and, of course, the aristocracy would never lose the chance to bask in the lengths their money could take them.
The streets were quiet, almost eerie. As all the commoners had already settled down, dimming out candles and tucking the kids in.
The traffic of carriages was strong, the clip clip of horse's horseshoes echoed through the silence along with the wheels of the carriage almost annoyingly.
[...]
The excited chatting subsided as the foreman announced their arrival, the ladies took one last look in their mirrors, making sure everything was perfectly in place, before grabbing their purses and fans and stepping out.
The opera was just as packed as expected to be, to wherever you could have laid your eyes on, nobles and bourgeois dressed in the finest silks and linens and intricately carved masks, and the most refined gold and silver there was.
This place was, truly, the very own extract of privilege.
The orchestra made way to the lead singer, the gentle hum of violins, as well with saxofones and the muffled chatter filled the ballroom with life.
One by one, the ladies took turns in the dancefloor. Swaying to the rythim with the luckiest young men there could be. To be blessed by the touch of such picky, vain and prideful creatures.
Romanticism was in the air, as well with the smell of wine and cigarettes. But, until when?
[...]
The main topic of the night was quickly forgotten, the three other ladies had left, leaving you alone to your own devices.
Raspberry Tart Cookie had left to home with the son of a baron from another kingdom, Cream Choco Cookie was yet dancing with another silver she's managed to find, Blueberry Meringue Cookie was nowhere to be found.
Bored, you put down your glass of strawberry wine, your fan long forgotten in your lap, your purse set on a adjacent chair to the side.
That was when a hand was extended to you.
The man was dressed in a black suit, highlighted by green silk insides visible through the hems of his sleeves and the back on his coattails.
His face covered by a mask, you could only see the way his eyes intensely pinned you down, as if he knew exactly who you were and had expected to meet you in this exact place in this exact way.
[...]
Entranced by curiosity and the strange allure of the mysterious man, you took his hand, letting him lead the way to the dancefloor.
Your head was reeling, maybe with the wine or maybe with the way he moved as if every step had been planned out for ages.
The way he held you, so firmly and yet, tenderly, the way he sawyed, his eyes never left yours, none of you dared to utter a word.
You were left enthralled, as you and your friends walked out, the sun was already rising in the line of the horizon.
You couldn't help but wonder what was this that fate had thrown at you now, if it had been all a small taste to never come back or if you'd ever meet that mysterious man again.
The coldness of his stare clung to you, your futile nature suddenly starked by a thoughtful period of yearning.
Who was this man, and what he had he done to you?
Would you ever meet again?