The Final Masquerade

After checking her invitation, the Master of Ceremonies raised his voice. "Announcing Lady Chelsea!"

The ballroom was massive and breathtaking. Chelsea realized she was backing up the line as she took in the ceiling teeming with crystal chandeliers. The red velvet carpet led down a grand staircase to the dance floor. Women in immaculate gowns adorned with every imaginable embellishment waltzed across the floor with partners dressed in impeccable tuxedos. 

The string quartet played along the center of the far wall, the melodious notes vibrating through the air as if they demanded to be carried to the ears of every attendee.

Chelsea felt out of place, though thankfully her mask hid just how intimidated she felt. She didn’t belong among these people–much classier than she’d ever dreamed of being. Chelsea was sure the diamond earrings worn by the women closest to her could pay off the loan of her beat-up car and then some. Nevertheless, Chelsea pushed herself toward the dance floor. She had to appear as if she belonged.

“Fake it ‘til you make it, right?” She thought to herself, echoing the words her roommate had said hours earlier.

Chelsea’s roommate had convinced her to come. The excitement she’d seen in Nichole’s eyes as she opened the invitation had completely bubbled over. She dragged Chelsea through thrift store after thrift store to find the perfect dress. They had found nothing. But as soon as they got back home, there had been a box with a lavish ribbon tying it closed. 

She’d searched the box for a note, or any clue of who it was from–nothing. When Chelsea had opened it, it revealed the most beautiful midnight-blue dress she’d ever seen. The bodice seemed to be laced with stars directly from the sky, twinkling with a sparkle she didn’t think was humanly possible to reproduce. The mask itself was simple. Its base was a matching blue, but the eyelets were ringed in a subtle yet shining silver. Silver curls and flourishes wound across the mask like trails of magic left in a fairy's wake.

“Breathe!” Nichole had told her, snapping her from her trance of looking at it. Sure enough, she’d been holding her breath, and she sucked in air as if starved of it.

Now, standing among the glittering crowd, she found herself holding her breath again, her stomach fluttering.

Chelsea looked from one individual to another. Many of the masks were simple, like hers, but there were others. There were immaculate recreations of ravens, using similar sleek black feathers. Another was like a velvety fox. One shone golden like the sun, but instead of looking away, she caught herself staring. The man’s tuxedo held golden threads embroidered on the lapel that matched perfectly.

A man clearing his throat next to her snapped her attention back. She turned to see a server standing next to her, holding out a tray. But instead of champagne flutes, a single small chest lay on top.

“I was asked to deliver this to you, Miss.”

“Me?” she asked, flustered. She glanced back toward the dance floor, but the golden-masked man had disappeared. Her attention moved back toward the server as he pushed the gift closer to her. “Who?”

“The patron asked to remain anonymous, m’lady.”

Chelsea picked up the small ornate chest with a thank you. He nodded and walked away, tucking the tray under his arm. Chelsea inspected the wooden box. The detail of the carvings was exquisite, and the gems on top sparkled like her dress. The latch was a simple silver moon.

She turned it around in her hands and noticed an inscription on the bottom, long since faded. Chelsea couldn’t read it no matter how she squinted. Chills ran down Chelsea’s spine as she felt eyes on her. She looked up to find who was watching her. Across the room, the golden mask was looking directly at her. Her heart raced, and once again, she felt breathless.

Could it be he was the one who’d sent it to her? Perhaps she had an admirer. 

Chelsea looked back down at the wondrous box, tracing the patterns with her finger. She wondered what was inside. It could be empty, or maybe it contained an accessory that complemented her ballgown.

Her thumb pulled the moon from its hole, opening the latch with a tiny click. The lights flickered, and the room grew darker, but it was too late. She was already lifting the lid. For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then a shriek burst from the chest, and it clattered to the ground as Chelsea jumped back in surprise. Dark figures emerged, some flying out, others crawling. Guests screamed as monstrosity after monstrosity exited the tiny chest. Masks cracked, strings snapped, and the music stopped in one horrifying note. For such a small piece, it shouldn’t have been able to fit all that was coming out.

Hairs were pulled as malicious spirits attacked the dancers. A sickly green glow came from the lights as another figure smoked up to the ceiling.

“What have I done?” Chelsea thought in horror, her hands flying to her face.

She looked back up to see the man in the golden mask grinning widely. And even from this distance, she could hear his malevolent laugh as more and more things escaped the chest.

As it emptied, it tipped over. The faded inscription blazed to life in violet light, the worn letters knitting themselves together.

DO NOT OPEN.

She neared it slowly as it stopped shaking. Chelsea tipped it back over. All that was left was a small, flickering flame. Somehow she knew it wasn't ordinary fire–it was hope. But as she reached for it, the fire was smothered and only a tiny trail of smoke escaping the box remained.

Her last thought as darkness overwhelmed her was that the chest felt so much lighter now.