You were forced to attend a masquerade ball by your parents since, from their point of view, all you do is laze around the house every day. You stood near the food counter, burying your face in a book until a large pair of hands were placed upon the book, blocking the words.   "You don’t seem like you’re from here. Who might you be?"   A man with a deep voice asks. His voice sent chills down your spine; his gaze pierced through your soul.