Well, I couldn't resist the pull of the Twelfth Night Masquerade hosted by the lovely Meg McNulty. You can click on the link and read all the fantastic stories by brilliant writers.
I hope you enjoy this tale. I love the picture as I think it captures my character perfectly well . . . . . . at the beginning of the story anyway. xx
The First dance
Emily’s pulse quickened as she entered the Georgian masquerade; couples waltzing in their splendid gowns and outrageous masks. Curious glances came her way as Emily waited. She fiddled with her mask then with the back of her dress trying to alleviate the whale bone corset that confined her.
“Emily? How could I not recognise my own splendid daughter? There are some people I’d like you to meet; a fine husband I’m sure is among them.” Emily sighed; her father had hinted at marriage for a few weeks now. But the choices didn't fill her with a wanting desire for anything let alone marriage. She hung back, looking around the room as her father spoke for her. The bluest eyes stared at her; piercing against the palest skin. His porcelain face broke into a captivating smile and Emily smiled back, her face heated at the brief exchange before her arm was taken by Reginald Harper, a close friend of her father’s and just as old.
She waltzed around the floor. Every spin, she searched out the porcelain one and there he was, in the same place, the same intense stare. Spin after spin. Emily’s heart fluttered, until he disappeared. Literally, her heart sank to her feet as they became heavy and uncoordinated. Reginald snapped as Emily trod on his foot; more so for the black smudge on the white silk rather than for any discomfort and he let it be known with a bitter swipe to her face.
“I shall take over here.” It was him. His voice authoritive yet gentle. His glare unforgiving to Harper as he took Emily’s gloved hand and began to lead her around the floor; turning, spinning like she was flying. “You are magnificent” he whispered. “Can I kiss you?” Her eyes gazed through her mask towards his. He met her lips, crushing them completely. A trickle of crimson seeped from her swollen lips. With his finger, he tenderly wiped it away, bringing it to his mouth with a wicked grin. “Delicious. I knew you would taste sweet. I apologise for my fervour.”
“No apology required Sir.” He lent in for another kiss as her mouth was ready but he skipped it; her bare neck more inviting and kissed hard. Her pulse throbbed to his rhythm. She was floating.
A scream shattered the illusion of intimacy, followed by other screams as Emily looked down; for she was floating. Blood flowed from her neck like a waterfall, splattering the marble floor below. . . .
“I’m sorry Emily” Doctor Harper said as he brought her out of a regressive sleep. “It appears the reason for your unfinished business and broken heart was an untimely death at a Georgian masquerade.”
“Broken heart? I think not. Unfinished business, well that’s only a matter of time. Nice silk shoes, ancestor of Reginald.” Flashing a broad smile, she bared sharp fangs. “Promise I won’t put a black smudge on them but I can’t say the same about blood spots.”