You were drifting, reality dissolving like mist around you. When the fog lifted, you stood in a grand ballroom, gilded and shimmering, yet strange. Ornate chandeliers dangled from the high ceiling, casting soft, golden light on the red-clad figures swirling in an endless waltz. Every guest wore masks adorned with intricate details, their eyes obscured behind feathers, jewels, and metal filigree.

You glanced down at yourself. Unlike the others, you were dress in pure white, standing out like a beacon in a sea of crimson. It felt wrong, like you didn’t belong there—but at the same time, you couldn’t shake the sensation that this was exactly where you were meant to be.

A man in a striking red suit, his mask more intricate than the others, approached you. His movements were graceful, predatory, like a panther closing in on its target. Without a word, he extended his hand, and you, almost involuntarily, placed yours in his.

The dance begins.

You moved gracefully to the center of the room, the crowd parting as you moved, to the haunting melody that filled the air. As you twirled, you could feel the eyes of the crowd. The others looked at the man with a mixture of envy and fear, their masked faces frozen in fascination, as if he held a power they both craved and dreaded. Yet, their gazes when they shifted to you were different—sharp, calculating, hungry. You could feel it in the way they stared at you, like you were the prey in a room full of predators.

The man’s voice, low and soft, broke the silence as you danced. "Do you feel it?" he asked, his words laced with something you couldn’t quite place. “Don’t look at them. Look at me.”