A Dance at Midnight

the bleeding ball

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Trigger Warnings: Blood, violence, death, brief scene of self-harm, and brief, non-graphic depictions of internal organs.

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The edge of her bodice dug into her armpits. Her hair, slicked back in a high bun, tugged at her scalp. A line of sweat dripped down between her shoulder blades. "What was that, Master Dane?" Senar asked. 

The other vampires parted to reveal the old vampire. He was dressed in a crisp doublet and jerkin with ivory hose. His glass eye fixed Senar under its stare. "You prepared something extraordinary for us, Mistress Kil, and surely, you'll partake in this momentous occasion, will you not?"

Before she could respond, he barked, "Everyone! Our hostess, the esteemed Mistress Kill has painstakingly given us one of the best weeks of our lives. Is it too much for us to give her the first drink as a token of our gratitude?" 

Nods and exclamations of assent traveled through the crowd. 

"Unless," Master Dane said, turning back to her, "you have something to hide." 

The clock hanging on the wall ticked loudly. 

Senar gave the old vampire an easy grin. "Why would I have something to hide?" She pinned him with her stare. "Do you have something to hide, Master Dane?" 

The noise level grew again. 

Despite the murmurs around them, Master Dane returned her smile. "I saw something particularly interesting," he said.

Senar attempted to look even more bored. "With all due respect, we're not here for a show and tell," she said. 

Adrian laughed out loud. Giana clapped. Some other Masters and Mistresses smirked and guffawed. 

A vein in Master Dane's forehead throbbed. He pointed a bony finger at Senar. "She has bloodwake!" 

The words echoed in the vaulted room. The laughter cut off as if someone had unplugged a cord. Even Senar felt her blood drain cold. 

Her secret was out. Just like that. 

From the corner of her eye, Senar noticed Master Solomon walking over to the doors, and Mistress Heather and Master Óscar positioning themselves by the windows.

The dizziness grew and along with it came another surge of nausea. Senar planted her heels into the floor, not caring that she may be scratching it. 

"I'm assuming you have proof?" Adrian's voice interrupted the heavy silence. He had inched closer to where she stood but was still a good distance apart so as not to alert anyone. 

"As a matter of fact, I do." Master Dane angled his head toward Mistress Heather, who posed shyly. "She saw both of you leaving the hunt early." Master Dane nodded at Master Solomon. "Solomon heard you, Mistress Senar, crying during the hunt.

"And me? I remember how you" - Master Dane pointed a finger at Adrian - "stopped the fight right when it was Mistress Senar's turn. Right after that, a donator fell, and the fight was canceled. Funny coincidence, no?" 

"Boring, actually," Adrian said. "Anyway, that's all hearsay. I'm talking about physical, tangible proof. Do you have any?" 

"The only physical proof needed is for her to drink."

"Senar prepares all of this for us, and this is how you repay her? By accusing her of something so senseless?" Giana snapped at Master Dane. "You really are turning senile."