Lover's Masquerade

Chapter 4

Molly had never been this close to Kensington Palace. As a little girl, she used to dream of a great castle, surrounded by a grassy knoll, full of wildflowers. She could smell the crisp, clean air outside the dregs of Bart's, where the air smelled of formaldehyde. No, here, it was different. Breathing seemed easier. Molly was so deep in her thoughts that she didn't feel the carriage come to a halt. She didn't remember stepping out of the carriage. She didn't even remember walking down the stairs into the ballroom, or the thud of the door as it closed. Her daydream was only broken when she heard a familiar voice.

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Molly," Sherlock said," than are dreamt of in our philosophy." Molly blinked, looking at Sherlock. He had donned his mask sometime after they arrived. She thought he looked handsome. Mysterious even.

"Shall we?" he asked, offering his arm.

"We shall," Molly replied, "My darling." The word flowed off her lips in a playful tone. Sherlock grimaced.

"Molly," Sherlock snapped. She giggled. They continued walking through the throng of guests toward the center of the room. In her stupor, Molly had not taken the time to appreciate the artistry of this room.

The room was an octagon, each corner adorned with marble pillars, at least 16 meters high. They were carved in Corinthian style, the tips of each leaf lightly brushed with gold. From them, the black granite flooring seemed to ebb, washing over every inch of exposed earth, and golden waves glistened under a crystal chandelier. And at the end of the room, sat a grand, golden throne, adorned in emeralds. Black satin fabric draped over the back, forming a sash over the green velvet seat. Then, from the shadows, he appeared. The room went silent.

"Good evening, esteemed guests," he said, addressing the crowd. "I am your host for the evening, Lord Loki Laufeyson. I want to thank you for joining me in my lovely home. Tonight, we are gathered to celebrate the Crown and to honor our successes. Each of you has been invited because of your benefits to our society, and your unyielding dedication." Molly raised her brow.

"Sherlock," she whispered, "what did he mean by unyielding?"

"Oh, for god's sake, Molly..."

"No, Sherlock," she spat, "I'm not daft. I mean why did he say it like that?" She looked around. All the guests were drinking him in. She had to admit there was something about Mr. Laufeyson that she could not deny. He was a very handsome man. Crystal blue eyes, and a clever smile, with a stare that could fill a man with terror or a woman with desire. His high cheekbones were accented by the stark contrast of his black suit, and he spoke with such ease, each syrupy word enveloping the senses. Everyone was entranced. Except for Molly. She could feel him staring at her, bewildered.

"Molly," Sherlock whispered back, "Look at the servants. Look at their eyes." Molly turned. Each one of the servants dotted around the ballroom was transfixed, gazing up at Loki, their eyes aglow with blue light.

"They look like Erik's eyes." She said. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know," replied Sherlock, "but I intend to find out." Sometime during their conversation, Loki's speech concluded, and the crowd erupted in applause. Music played, people danced, and Sherlock and Molly stood amidst the chaos.

"So," Molly said, "should we dance?" Sherlock looked at her with a confused stare.

"Why would we dance?" he asked, stunned.

"Because..." Molly replied, "We're at a ball. People dance at balls." Sherlock smirked.

"Funny," he said, "I thought that balls were a euphemism for..."