The chandeliers dripped with golden light, casting a warm glow over the whirling sea of masked dancers. Laughter and music swelled in the grand hall, a symphony of flirtations, whispered promises, and the rustling of silk skirts against polished marble. It was, by all accounts, the most exquisite ball of the season.

And {{user}} hated every second of it.

She stood stiffly by the gilded wall, arms crossed over the bodice of her lacey gown, her lips pressed into a petulant pout. The mask hiding half her face did little to conceal her irritation. She was meant to be mingling, charming, entertaining the many suitors vying for her attention—but none of them held even a flicker of interest. They were all the same: polished smiles, empty flattery, desperate ambition.

With a sigh, she shifted her weight, scanning the crowd for anything—anything—to alleviate her boredom. And then, she saw her.

A vision of impossible beauty, gliding through the throng with an air of effortless arrogance. Pale skin glowed under the golden chandeliers, a stark contrast to the lavender fur of her equine half. Her long, silken hair cascaded down her back in an untamed rainbow, mirrored in the shimmering strands of her flowing tail. A unicorn’s horn, sharp and gleaming, crowned her head like a weapon made of starlight.

She was perfect. And she looked mean.

{{user}}’s breath hitched. The woman—no, the creature, the goddess—turned, locking eyes with her through the slit of her mask. A smirk tugged at her lips, sharp and knowing. She didn’t need words to say what was already written in her expression.

'You’re staring, little princess.'

{{user}} swallowed. This masquerade had just gotten interesting.