The Chamber

I stirred. My eyelids felt unbearably heavy and I rested awhile longer, feeling the soft sheets with my fingers. How long was I asleep? At last, I felt strong enough to open my eyes and my gaze fell on the blanket settled upon my chest. I noticed the delicate embroidery of flowers on the blanket. They were so beautiful. 

I looked around me. The lavish bedroom was darkened except for a few lit candles on the table. The golden filigree in the walls and ceiling faintly reflected the candles' glow and the dark mahogany of the furniture gave off a subtle sheen. 

I sat up, and the blanket slipped down, cascading softly onto my wrists. The gentle landing brought back the memory of Masquerade's touch on my wrist, before he sang to me. 

Oh, I wish I hadn't fallen asleep, I thought ruefully, but his voice had been so soothing. 

I tried to remember what words I had been able to make out of his song. Slowly, the lines came back to me. They weren't exact, of course, but I remembered the gist of them.

It sounded like he was talking about feeling one way and acting another way...I guess...

I couldn't remember if the song was supposed to explain why my face appeared to have a mask to everyone but myself. The two verses that struck me the most were: And as every new love came to prove it was shammed/Another thread wove through the mask on your face. 

I know, they were the last verses I could remember clearly. But still, their message touched a nerve. 

I smoothed my hair, a gesture I made when confused or uncomfortable. My fingers caught on something tangled between my hairs. The touch was light, yet cold: a small piece of metal delicately gathering my strands of hair.

I shook my head with a sigh, untangling the small hair clasp from the knots in my hair. My fingers sadly cradled it. Steven had given me this, back when he—well, when I thought he loved me. The handles were in the shape of wings, making the clasp look like a red and white butterfly. 

Because you're like a pretty butterfly, he'd said.

At the time, I felt it was the most touchingly beautiful gift, simple only to show the sincerity of his love. In hind sight, it really wasn't that spectacular. A butterfly hair clip? He'd probably shoplifted it from the lost and found when he was recovering his phone—again. It was kind of a relief to not wonder anymore why he wasn't returning my texts and calls—why he kept mysteriously "misplacing his phone." 

Yep, he'd been stringing me along the whole time. He knew how to play on the quick flush of my cheeks, the hitching in my breath whenever he turned his Harry Styles eyes toward me, the awe I just couldn't suppress when he invited me to sit with him. 

Angry as I was at him, I realized I had kind of blundered into his trap. It was easy for him to play me because I took whatever bait he laid out. Oh, why hadn't I covered my tracks better? Why did I let myself be tricked into eating out of his hand? 

Maybe I should have known better—but how could I know he wasn't sincere? I was just so lonely! Besides, the jerk did have honey-coated lips, didn't he? At least Jake, my second boyfriend, told me straight out when he thought I was hot—and when he'd found someone else who waxed hotter.

"Why did I ever fall for Jake?" I groaned, leaning back against the pillows. "I guess I just needed someone that explosive to distract me after...Bernie left..." 

Bernie, the gorgeous blonde who moved away the first year after me and Mom moved to Philadelphia. God...that hit deeper than when Dad cut loose a week before my 10th birthday. 

I sighed and stood up from the bed. Slipping on my heels, I paced the room, trying to shake off the memories of my past boyfriends. However, I'd pushed off this conversation with myself for far too long and my mind refused to cooperate. Instead of distracting me, the unfamiliar surroundings only served to remind me of the pain that brought me here. After all, I had seen Steven dancing with...another girl. 

Not just any other girl! A complete fluff-head on a toothpick...with stilettos! 

That's ultimately how I had ended up here in the first place. 

As I mulled over my thoughts, I noticed a tray of food on the table. Relieved, I ate the fruit and bread on it. Oh. My. Gosh. Talk about gourmet! I had never tasted anything this good in my life.

My thoughts continued to roam while I ate. They wandered through my memory, passing different highlights of last night until they reached the recollection of the strange mask the mirror had shown me. I turned to see if it was still there. Yes, there it was, still faintly etched around my eyes. 

I touched my cheekbone. My reflection touched the bottom of the mask. I smoothed my hair. 

I still don't understand why the mirror shows it. I can feel it's not on my face.

Yet another mystery on my plate. Masquerade's words might have explained what the mask was made of—which was itself strange—but that didn't tell me why it was visible to everyone but me. 

Shouldn't I see it first and foremost? Shouldn't I feel it on my face? I am the one wearing it, after all.

A quick tap sounded on the door. I felt my heart jump. Masquerade must have returned to see if I was awake.

"Yes?" I called. 

"Miss Jenna Phillips?" I heard a male voice, but it sounded younger than any from last night. 

"Who is it?"

"Garrett, Miss Jenna. Lord Masquerade sent me to inquire if you were awake." 

"I am, thank you."

"...may I come in?" his muffled voice asked after an awkward silence.

"Oh! Yes, of course," I flushed.

The door opened and the youth with the red mask appeared on the threshold. His eyes darted to the tray on the table. I noticed the slightest nod of his head, as if he was pleased I had eaten. He looked back at me.

"Lord Masquerade asked me to assist you to the ballroom when you are ready."

I nodded, "Okay. I'm ready." 

The corridor was lined with doors on each side, but all of them were closed. I was a little disappointed, but then, peeking was probably impolite. I was halfway down the hall before I realized that the sting in my ankle had gone away. Except for the bandage on my foot, I would have forgotten that I couldn't walk on it a few hours ago. 

We came to the end of the corridor, where a thick oaken door muffled the sounds of the ballroom. Garrett opened the door and I stepped onto the balcony. My heart sank when I saw that the ball was still in motion. I had hoped for a lull, but the room was just as lively as ever.

The couples swayed and danced across the floor. From my elevated view, they looked like so many colorful figurines brought to life. Watching the scene, part of me that this was the dance I had planned to go to. What a wonderful, magical sight the ballroom gave me from this view!

I scanned the crowd, searching for Masquerade, but I didn't see him. When I asked Garrett if he was sure Masquerade was here, he answered, 

"I am never certain where the master is, until he calls for me, Miss Jenna," he spread his hands, then clasped them again, "I was merely told to escort you back to the ballroom."

"All right," I sighed, "Thanks, anyway. Garrett, was it?"

He bowed in silent affirmation and gratitude. 

I looked over the railing. Oh, there were so many masks! How could I possibly find which one belonged to Masquerade? I scrutinized the assembly, but they moved with such grace and speed, it was hard to keep my eyes on any one mask. 

The minutes passed and my fingers tightened on the rail as my worry mounted. I didn't want to go back down there until I knew where Masquerade was. This place was cold as well as beautiful, and he was the only person who seemed warm. 

So where was he?