Enchanted Masquerade Novels & Stories

The anonymity of it emboldened me, making the terrifying prospect seem a little less so. The night of the masquerade, Elysium was transformed. Velvet drapes were replaced with shimmering fabrics in deep jewel tones, candelabras cast flickering shadows that danced on the walls, and every patron wore a mask. The usual, everyday faces were gone, replaced by characters from a fever dream. Some chose elaborate Venetian designs, with long, beaked noses and feathers that swayed with every step. Others opted for simple satin dominoes. The music was different, too—a rich, slow melody that pulsed with an intoxicating rhythm. The air was thick with perfume, anticipation, and the silent camaraderie of a

What if she wanted to belong to herself? ⸻ The masquerade began the next night. It was no mere feast. It was decadence sharpened into a blade, politics wrapped in velvet and wine. The great hall was transformed into a dreamscape: chandeliers draped in silken veils, candles burning in crystal towers, floors polished to a mirror sheen. Nobles wore masks of ivory and gold, feathers and gems, disguises that revealed as much as they concealed. Every glance was a secret. Every dance, a negotiation.

It looks like the two family’s crests of the Monteccos and Capolettis have been unified to create a new badass design. I’m still admiring it as him clearing his throat catches my attention. “And for the financing, we already have a valuable partner, who was more than generous to us as he heard our plan.” I look up at him agape, a small gasp falling from my lips. “Golden Point.” I whisper and a sly grin stretches on his lips. “There is nothing sweeter than a revenge-dish served cold.” Not able to hold the laughter from bubbling out, I let it out while shaking my head. “You asked the CEO of the financing group that holds the annual masquerade party we weren’t supposed to go to? The archenemies

The pout having no sway with her. “You say that every year. It’s Masquerade. We can make you up, so no one knows who you are. Pretty please.” Em put her hands together in a begging motion. “I don’t have a dress. Sorry Em.” Ella apologised to Em, took a last sip of her coffee, and wiped her hands clean of any remaining chocolate slice. “Yes, you do.” As Em took the now empty coffee cups and rubbish. Placing them in a bin behind the long glass display counter.