The room was alight with wealth, lavish alcohol of all kinds, and the upper crusts that were just as pretentious as they seemed on TV.

You weren’t supposed to be here. Not that you weren’t qualified—you may not have the money but your knowledge and appreciation for the arts and art history was well above average. Enough to be a plus one to someone who actually had business with these millionaire air-heads.

You found this too 10% of the population to be…unsettling at best. More than once you felt like you met the eyes of a few unimaginably good looking people here. Something that didn’t feel humanly possible but you couldn’t tell if they were looking at you out of desire or out of judgement. Little did you know, it was bloodthirst.

The champagne flute felt light in your hand before getting topped off once more by a servant that left your periphery as soon as you turned to thank them.

In an effort to feel less overwhelmed you made your way to the outskirts of the room, feeling lightheaded and bit more drunk that you should be. Unwittingly you bumped into a tall looming figure that you swore wasn’t there just a second ago.

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” You mumbled as you looked up and caught the piercing gold gaze of a man who wore a mask that covered the whole of his face except for his eyes.

“Forgive me, I was not paying attention,” he spoke in a gravelly tone that felt almost strained. It was then that you noticed he wore clothes that covered nearly every inch of him and whatever wasn’t covered by tailored clothing was then covered by bandages.