For the weeks following her birthday, the majority of Nocte’s time was spent on studying for midterms, reviewing notes, finishing assignments (or starting several), and escaping from Combat virtually intact and unharmed (except for the occasional bruise or scratch). Naturally, she could not forget about the Halloween Dance (as everyone was talking about it and Occult liked to remind her every other day with a letter — not even in person, but with a letter while they lived within walking distance of each other!), but Nocte had been so incredibly occupied by schoolwork that she’d somehow forgot to go over the outfit she’d wear for the dance.
Because everyone knew that the Halloween Dance would be a masquerade.
“I did not know it’d be a masquerade!” Nocte panicked, pacing the dorm in a mildly frustrated manner.
Savvy attempted to resolve some of her friend’s anxiety by offering, “Y-You still have the d-dresses.”
Nocte turned to the rack of elaborate costumes her mother and father had given her for her birthday. She hadn’t had the heart to throw or give them away, for the girl part of her had squealed at the sight of them. A traditional Xonese hanfu made of red silk and embroidered with pink and white peonies. A Zyrith ball gown spun of floating tulle. An ancient Yhaekail dress that draped from one shoulder, a delicate white linen. A translucent white chiffon robe detailed in gold hailing from one of the Iavindat countries. They were all so gorgeous and luxurious, with all the trappings of diamonds, rubies and emeralds, that Nocte sighed at the sight of them.
Any one of the dresses would do for the upcoming event, save for one irksome problem.
“I need a mask,” Nocte said.
Savvy’s face went apologetic.
Nocte flailed her arms in frustration. “What am I going to do?”
“Maybe someone can lend you one?” Savvy suggested.
“Who would be willing to lend me a mask that’s not spelled?” she whined.
Then the strawberry blonde spoke the name of the one person Nocte had been avoiding for the past three weeks.
“Me-Melissa Witley?”
#
She found herself on the seventh floor of Wrath, staring (rather dreadfully) at the door: IV. Savvy, of course, had opted out from this delicate (and intimidating) mission, leaving Nocte to brave her quest alone (and to fend for herself). But as Nocte stood there in the corridor, a corridor that was eerily empty and quiet for the afternoon, she didn’t know whether to run, or to knock herself out with the door.
In the end, she did none of those things, because before she could run or even hit her head hard enough to render her unconscious, the door opened by its own accord to reveal Melissa Witley with her pricy hair extensions. The first thing Nocte noticed, strangely enough, was that Witley’s clothes were worth enough to feed a family of four for a month… and then she noticed Witley’s lack of surprise at finding her at the door. Witley had been expecting her.
Truth be told, it unsettled Nocte a bit.
“Come in,” Witley said and peeled back the door.
Thinking confidence, Nocte walked in and almost started when the door closed behind her. She turned to face Witley, only to pause when she spotted the masks on the desk. For a moment, she couldn’t register what she was seeing, and then it dawned on her: Witley knew why she was there. Full masks, half masks, quarter masks. Gold trimmed with rubies, white lined with silver, black adorned with peacock feathers. All the masks were carefully seated in a line of pillows, awaiting her inspection.
She was speechless.
“Pick one,” Witley said, as if she hadn’t a care of how expensive and valuable they were.
Nocte narrowed her eyes. She didn’t understand how Witley had known about her predicament.
“It’s my job to know these things,” the auburn said with a toss of her hair. “You need a mask, and I have several.”
“Oh,” Nocte managed. She couldn’t read any deceit coming from Witley’s movements, but that did not necessary mean that the girl wasn’t up to no good.
“I think this one will go well with your Xonese hanfu,” Witley said. She held up a red mask with her perfectly manicured fingers. “Or maybe this one.”
Several masks were shoved into Nocte’s face as Witley went on and on about colour schemes, styles and various other things that didn’t quite matter with Nocte as long as it matched one of her costumes.
“This one, definitely this one. It speaks grace and power. Perfect for your black dress,” the Witley said with a superficial smile.
Nocte paused. Witley was standing awfully close.
“I want to work for you.”
She took a step back from the auburn, wiping the smile from Witley’s face.
“You’re still not used to me,” Witley observed, not in the least perturbed by Nocte’s shirking.
“I’m sorry,” Nocte apologized habitually. Shouldn’t Witley be the one to apologize for scaring the crap out of her? “I have to go.”
“You can’t,” Witley reasoned. “You can’t go to the dance without a mask.”
She knew Witley was right (Halloween was in three days!), and she had never seen masks like Witley’s (not even from Ebony’s “borrowed” collection). She was fascinated with the sequence of beads and fastened embroidery, the textures of the silks and felts. One mask caught her particular interest and she gently picked it up without thought.
“Good choice,” Witley agreed with an honest nod. “Brings out your eyes, which are your best features. And your mouth too. I envy your mouth.”
Suppressed by rude comments for so long, Nocte welcomed the compliments with a genuine smile. Witley retuned it thoughtfully and then traced the edges of an aquamarine mask that shimmered like the insides of a shell. It reminded Nocte of the ocean, or the luring, seductive mermaids.
“I’m thinking of this one,” the auburn confessed.
Nocte didn’t know what came over her next, but something definitely girly.
“Maybe this one,” Nocte recommended and gestured toward a green one with a leaf embroidered on the cheek. “Blue clashes with your hair.” She froze soon after voicing her opinion, confused as to her sudden openness. What was she doing? And did she really just use the word “clash?” Oh Hera, she was turning into Ebony!
She nearly gulped.
“I-I mean,” Nocte hastened to recover. “I got to go.”
“Ciao,” the auburn said, smiling as Nocte all but ran out of the room.
She hadn’t even said goodbye.
#
Savvy stared, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. She couldn’t believe just how perfectly the costume fit together, and in such short notice too! She especially admired how the sun highlighted the shine in the silk and the sparkles in the glitter, and she even gave a delighted squeal when Nocte took a twirl in it, the fluffy skirt picking an inch up from the floor like a cotton candy cloud. It was simply marvellous!
Nocte had taken quite the chance with her outfit, indulging in her creative curiosity by combining two of her dresses: a traditional Xonese cheongsam with two-third sleeves for the top and a full Zyrish ball gown for the bottom, an ensemble spun of silk and tulle. It was all in a startling white with delicate silver embroidery and trimming, a likeness marked on her white slippers with a faux-diamond bracelet for that extra shine and sparkle every outfit, obviously, needed.
Hair and make-up, on the other hand, had been a whole different matter altogether. Not only did Nocte have an adverse dislike for make-up (in that she had read something somewhere at sometime that cosmetics could burn her eyes out), but she had no idea what to do with the brushes and palettes. And all she knew about hair was that she had to brush it every morning and night. She didn’t know much more than the basics.
But, unfortunately for Nocte, a Yin must keep up appearances!
Thus, after reading several magazines on the subject, Nocte learnt the spell every teenager of the female variety needed to know: the self-fairy-godmother spell. With an incantation, a clockwise spin, and an imagination to rival those of children, Nocte’s hair grew out and was placed in a simple bun, nothing too fancy. Another spin and her make-up was just as simple: a dash of blush, a pinch of eye shadow and a thin layer of gloss. With one final spin, her complexion was rejuvenated and she was ready to go—
Was it just her, or did her eyes suddenly want to melt out of their sockets?
It was not a pretty delusion.
With a sigh, Nocte reached for the final touch: the mask. It was sleek and crisp and only covered the area around her eyes. White and lined with silver, when she put it on, Nocte felt a part of herself burst in happiness. Witley had been right; the white did bring out the darkness of her eyes and the cherry redness of her lips.
Nocte wasn’t as ugly as she thought she was.
“Oh!” Savvy’s cheerful hum was in agreement to Nocte’s observations.
Nocte smiled, her braces winking in the light, and spun around to face Savvy; Savvy giving another delighted squeal at the skirt. Nocte, too, had to smile. The dress felt like velvet against her skin and she liked the swoosh noise they made every time she moved. She looked in the mirror again and admired how small her waist seemed to be.
She felt like a princess (which she technically was since she was Emperor Dire’s sister and all).
“Y-You should be going now,” Savvy interrupted her euphoria.
Turning from the mirror, Nocte gave her a sad smile and said, “I wish you would come with me.”
The blonde visibly stiffened at the idea, absolutely terrified.
“Fine, fine,” Nocte quickly placated, sweeping her skirt up. “I’ll go alone.”
“B-Be careful,” Savvy said with an encouraging smile.
Returning the smile, Nocte adjusted her mask and then strode out the door, preparing for the worst.
#
The Hall was decorated in the familiar black-and-orange motif so customary of All Hallows Eve. There were tables lined along the walls to provide an open floor for dancing. A full band sat at the far corner and a buffet was placed at the other. The centrepieces were creative jack-o-lanterns, the streamers running down the walls were orange and black, and hanging over the ceiling was a giant web with the giant spider, hissing its pincers at the attendees. Ghosts and spirits floated casually through revellers, vampires lurked frighteningly close, and werewolves paced by the windows in that ominous way of theirs. There was excitement and mystery in the air, intensified by the candlelight and the full moon.
She would not stay long, she decided.
The fact that all the guests were wearing masks did not sit well with Nocte’s paranoid nature.
Gathering her skirt, and with as much grace as she could muster, Nocte “glided” down the stairs and broke off to a seat far, far away from the rest of the revellers. She intentionally slid into the shadows, if only to hide from her sister — especially her sister. If Occult saw her, she would insist upon Nocte socializing. Or worse: talk to Princess Vanessa.
Speaking of the Yhaemel heir, Princess Vanessa was certainly outshining every girl in the room tonight, including Nocte. Dressed in a seductive black dress that showed way too much skin, Princess Vanessa looked hot. Nocte honestly wanted to throw up. They were both thirteen, and the princess dressed like her mother. The worst part of it was that Princess Vanessa had all the assets that didn’t make her look like a thirteen-year-old tramp. She made Nocte think about her underdeveloped breasts. That bitch.
The band struck another tune and Nocte got up to get a drink. The air, although chilly outside, felt hot and clammy in the hall. Too many damn people taking her damn oxygen. She strode purposefully to the refreshments table, imaging how wonderful the cool apple cider would taste, only to stop short by the couple making out in front of the cider bowl. They were obstructing her from the beautiful cider! Grossly peeved, Nocte remorselessly shoved them aside and grabbed a glass goblet.
“The fuck, girl!” the boy spat furiously.
Nocte took a nonchalant sip from her glass.
“I’m talking to you,” he snipped, getting ready to knock some sense into her.
“What’s wrong with you?” the girl sniffed pretentiously.
“Something the matter?” a posh voice clipped.
The couple froze and, literally, time seemed to slow as Witley and her clique of friends sauntered up to the table in matching strides and matching heights. Nocte could have sworn some feminist music was playing in the background while a stage wind swept Witley and her friends’ hair back in a dramatic, model-like fashion. In the dim glow of the candle lights and the spider-webbed chandeliers, the five girls resembled very beautiful, very vengeful goddesses ready to make war, only with perfect manicures, flawless skin and four-inch heels.
“No,” the girl was quick to reply, and then promptly dragged her boyfriend away. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“Second-rate loser,” one of Witley’s friends muttered, watching the couple leave. She had a stunning ebony complexion and beautiful dark, wavy hair.
“Tell me about it,” a blonde said, cell phone in hand.
Their brunette friend skilfully turned the topic, agile and airily, to Nocte. “Miss Yin, how is your aura today?”
Nocte felt her ire simmer down from the cider and decided to take another gulp before answering, “Good, and you?”
The brunette gave a serene smile and replied, “Mine’s fine today, but it was fantastic yesterday.”
“Don’t worry about those two idiots,” a redhead said, referring to the unpleasant couple from earlier. “They won’t bother you again.”
Nocte gave a muted nod.
“I’m sorry, Nocte,” Witley cut in smoothly. “Let me introduce my friends to you: Ivy, Christine, Kara and Janelle.”
Ivy was the ebony war goddess, Christine was the blonde beauty, Kara the spiritual brunette and Janelle the sensible redhead. Nocte tried to remember the names, even their faces, but all she could focus on was the mask on Witley’s face. It was the green one she’d chosen, the one with the embroidered leaf… Perhaps Nocte did inherit something from her mother — her fashion sense.
“Hi,” Nocte greeted without her usual strain of awkwardness. She thought it strange how she wasn’t feeling at all uncomfortable around Witley and her friends. They were certainly older, prettier and smarter, and she would usually shrink at a time like this.
Witley, deducing the confusion on Nocte’s face, sidled closer to speak to her in private. “The cider is spiked.”
Nocte dropped the goblet as if it were on fire, a poisonous concoction of glitter and gold, but fortunately before the glass could shatter and cause a scene, Ivy plucked it from the air and casually sipped from it as if nothing had happened.
“Whoa…” Nocte mumbled.
“Ivy’s the top Combat student in our year,” Janelle explained.
“Aadi’s fave,” Christine chimed in.
Nocte nodded, and then closed her eyes when the world spun.
Alcohol, drugs… any sort of those substances had never been put into her body purposefully, at least not by Nocte herself. Her mother, on the other hand, had when Nocte was still a foetus. But instead of causing Nocte brain damage, she somehow ended up with an immune system that could filter some of the most… dangerous chemicals in the world. A little alcohol did not take long to disperse.
“Ahh…” Nocte sighed in relief when her immune system kicked in. The world righted itself, her head felt attached again and her common sense became rational once more. Surrounded by Witley and her friends, at a party with trapped drinks, and a packed room with no oxygen… Nocte felt that she had stayed long enough.
Occult would just have to suck it.
“I have to go,” she said, calmly smoothing out her dress. “It’s getting late, and I’m tired.”
“Goodnight, then. Ciao!” Melissa bid adieu vivaciously.
“Bye.” Nocte waved goodbye and regretfully passed the buffet table without sampling the yummy, delicious food. After that drink fiasco, she thought it best to leave the food uneaten.
She stuck to the shadows as she made for the door, weaving through the crowd and keeping a wary eye out for obstacles. Just as she dodged a drunken group of revellers, she made the mistake of catching Occult in the eye from across the room. Her sister’s impenetrable stare, of course, was flashing distastefully at Nocte’s dress.
Evil did not do white.
Damn!
It was obvious that Nocte was trying to flee from the party. It was also obvious that Ohanzee was being sent to delay her. It was also, also obvious that Occult had been the one to do the sending. Her sister micromanaged way too much.
“Do you wish for a drink?” her cousin asked in his signature flat tone.
Intercepted, and just a few steps from the door too!
Nocte gave him a what’s-really-up-? look, magnified by a perk of a brow.
“You look lovely tonight,” he complimented, still in monotone.
She tapped her foot — not a good sign. If he were someone else, say… Siyamak, he would have been sweating by now, but Ohanzee was a cool bastard, and he was definitely casting a Freeze spell left, right and centre.
“Perhaps you’d like a seat?” he offered and pulled up a chair.
“Perhaps I should smash the seat over your head,” Nocte suggested testily. Stupid hot, clammy air. Someone should really open a window or two. She felt like she was suffocating!
Ohanzee may be a cold bastard, but he wasn’t stupid. “Occult told me to stop you from leaving.”
“Ah,” Nocte murmured thoughtfully. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“Stay for an hour and you will not look suspicious,” Ohanzee said and then offered a hand. “Shall we dance?”
She sighed and, somewhat nervously, took his hand. He led her onto the dance floor as the band started a slow, haunting waltz. With perfect timing, she fell into step with him, her costume exceedingly noticeable among the sea of darker shades. Although she wasn’t a wonderful dancer, and she knew her peers discerned her meritocracy in the art, she thought she did pretty well for a novice.
It was all for show anyway.
Finally, in what seemed like forever, the song ended and Ohanzee led her off the floor. Nocte looked to the clock hopefully, but there was still more than forty minutes left before she could exit the soiree. No doubt that Occult was also watching the hour.
She cursed.
Ohanzee stiffened when the band readied itself for the next dance. Noticing this, Nocte turned and saw two people taking the dance floor. It was Paine and Princess Vanessa. Nocte had no time to wonder when they had gotten back together when Ohanzee pulled her back from the floor, the rest of her peers also stepping back to give the floor a larger space. She saw Paine lock eyes with a fifteen-year-old boy from across the hall. A silent challenge had been elicited.
“Terrian Darkhour,” Ohanzee supplied — the name of the boy.
Nocte crossed her arms and saw that, although Terrian Darkhour resembled his brother, he didn’t have the same air about him.
The crowd thickened, the revellers sobered, and the guests shuffled forward as they surrounded the dance floor with anticipation. Silence, complete silence, blanketed the hall. It would seem that they’ve been waiting for this the whole evening.
“Necrosis Paine is incredibly good at dancing.” Witley appeared out of nowhere and spooked Nocte out of her wits.
“Yeah, he, like, owns the floor,” Christine added, turning off her phone.
“Including Princess Vanessa’s vampiric grace,” Ohanzee said. “They are a force to be reckoned with.”
Nocte couldn’t help but snort. They sounded so sombre. It was just dancing. She couldn’t fathom their seriousness. She smiled, but they quelled her with a look so sharp that she swallowed the rest of her chuckles.
Witley’s gaze met with Darkhour’s, a stormy, tremulous grey blue. They exchanged confirming nods and began to move.
“Excuse me,” Witley said, detaching herself from the group. “I’ve got work to do.”
Darkhour removed himself from the crowd, others hurriedly scrambling off the dance floor as he met Witley in the middle. He took her hand and they simultaneously turned to Paine and Vanessa.
Challenge accepted.
A low, steady beat started to thrum from the orchestra and Nocte could feel the pit of her stomach stir with anticipation (everyone had made such a big deal of the pairs dancing). The music climbed higher and higher, a crescendo of strings and brass, until the trumpets gave one resounding bang, startling Nocte and several others in the audience. Immediately the dancers came together, moving hard, fast, and bold to the beat.
It was the Cha-Cha, but with slight variations from both couples to make their routines unique.
Nocte had to admit… they were good. No, better than that: great. Even Paine, as cruel and petty as he was, seemed like a whole different person in the spotlight.
Darkhour spun Witley wildly, her dress fanning out in layers, before they came to a halt so perfect in timing and tune that the crowd gasped and applauded. Evil villains they may be, but all sophisticated villains appreciated and understood talent and art.
Not to be outdone, Paine half-threw and half-spun the princess away, and pivoted to swing her around. Beautiful — but Nocte caught his mistake. As the audience applauded, she searched to see if anyone else had caught the slight slip of his foot, but wasn’t surprised to find that no one had seen his error. He had recovered flawlessly.
Nocte held her breath as Darkhour lifted Witley up, spun and put her back on the ground. She gasped when Paine threw the princess up into the air and seemed like he couldn’t catch her. She almost choked when the last beat blasted from the trumpets and both of the dancing couples posed in sharp, graceful stances — breathless.
“Wow,” she thought, amazed. She suddenly had a strong desire to learn how to dance like that. Nocte was actually out of breath as the audience applauded the obvious winners, despite the slight mistake that was not visible to the naked eye. But Nocte didn’t have normal eyes, she had Yin eyes.
“Paine again,” Ivy observed.
From a distance, Nocte watched Paine and Darkhour shake hands as a show of good sportsmanship, but she knew they were trying to break bones. As for Princess Vanessa, skin virtually glowing at her victory, she sent a smug smirk at Witley and refused to shake hands with either her or Darkhour — a rather harsh and pretentious decision, Nocte thought. On the other hand, the princess did bring Paine close and gave him a resounding kiss in front of her old flame. Darkhour instantly turned red with rage when Paine gave him a conceited smile.
Disgusted by the aftermath of such a lovely show, Nocte looked to the clock and decided to leave the party — with or without Occult’s permission. With the crowd’s attention still on the dancers, Nocte slipped past Ohanzee, dodged Siyamak and somehow escaped Occult’s radar (which took l337 skillz) and left Chaos, hoping her little sister wasn’t waiting outside.
“I didn’t do a thing.”
Speak of the devil incarnate.
Nocte jumped off the last few steps and ducked behind a bush just as her little sister appeared at the front entrance. But what was strange was that Occult was being dragged out of the building by-
Nocte stiffened.
-Deputy Headmaster Hayai Shikyo.
“Let me go.” Occult’s tone was dark and morbid, her face devoid of emotion.
Shikyo had the nerve to remain silent, his dark cloak lashing in the wind. He proceeded to lead Occult down the steps, her feet following… compliantly?
Suspicious, Nocte searched for the Domino Guards, but they were nowhere to be found. Immediately, her older sister instinct kicked in and she rose from the bush at once.
In a flash — Shikyo pinned her with his cold, pale eyes.
“Stop.”
And she did.
“Shit,” she cursed.
“Sit down,” his voice echoed hypnotically. Waves of his telepathy washed over her, and she could feel her legs begin to respond.
“No,” Nocte commanded herself as she tried to focus her thoughts on Occult — being tugged around by her neck like some… some… middle-class buffoon.
“Sit down,” he repeated, his eyes bright and piercing.
Nocte tried to shake her head, but it was to no avail when she found herself sitting back down, feeling cold and numb.
But how could that be?
She saw a smidgen of Occult’s eyes, compassionate and compliant, as they left her behind.
Was she not able to resist Occult?
They grew smaller and smaller, their backs to her.
“Am I not strong enough?” Nocte asked herself.
For once in her life, Nocte was struck dumb, watching them disappear from the grounds. Her heart was beating loud and her breath was growing shallow, and she was surprised to find that it was…