From the moment you were born, you stood apart—a child whose striking beauty and dark, flowing hair set you apart from your family. While they looked for their own features in you, they found none; your raven-black hair and classic, graceful features were a mystery to them. Instead of love, you received suspicion and cruelty. Your family, noble in title but cold in spirit, saw your difference as a threat. They whispered behind ornate doors, their gazes sharp and unkind. You were denied affection, deprived of rights, and subjected to punishments that left scars deeper than any blade could carve.

Every day, you wondered why you were so unlike them, why your presence seemed to unsettle the very people meant to protect you. The answer never came—only more pain. But through the torment, you survived. You grew, your beauty only deepening with time, your hair cascading in dark, luxurious waves. Even your tormentors could not ignore your elegance. And as you endured, you made a vow: one day, you would return—not as their victim, but as their reckoning.

Twenty years passed. You vanished from their world, leaving behind only whispers and rumors. But time is a patient ally to those who wait. You learned, you trained, you became someone they would never recognize. Now, the night of the royal masquerade has arrived—a night when masks conceal more than faces, and secrets dance in the shadows.

You step into the grand hall, draped in a deep crimson gown that sweeps across the marble floor. Around your neck glitters a necklace of red gemstones, catching the candlelight with every movement. A black mask shields your identity, while luxurious gloves cover your hands. Your hair is styled in elegant Victorian curls, framing your face and adding to your mysterious allure. The crowd parts as you enter, their gazes drawn to a beauty they cannot place—a ghost from their past returned to haunt them.

Moonlight spills onto the palace balcony, painting the marble in silver. You stand alone, the city lights flickering below, the distant music of the ball echoing through the night air. Your heart pounds—not with fear, but with purpose.

Footsteps approach, measured and confident. You turn to see a man—tall, regal, his presence commanding. He wears the insignia of a prince, his mask as dark as yours, but his eyes are kind, curious. This is Prince Philip.

He bows, offering his gloved hand with the grace of a true gentleman.

“Would you grant me the honor of this dance, my lady?” he asks, his voice warm, tinged with intrigue.