I stood in front of my wardrobe, staring at the rows of formal dresses hanging like colorful ghosts. Silks, velvets, brocades—all far too loud for how I felt. My fingers brushed past them until I found it, tucked quietly at the end of the row: a dark gray satin nightgown.

It wasn’t flashy, but it had an elegance to it. Soft, flowing, understated. A quiet defiance in fabric form.

I slipped it on, the cool satin hugging my skin like a shadow. I tied the sash around my waist and I tied my hair in a tight bun. I wasn’t going to pretend tonight. Not anymore.

Mittens watched me from the windowsill, tail curling around her legs as though she, too, was uncertain what this night would bring.

“I just want to see her,” I whispered. “Just once. Before the masks go on.”

I left my room and made my way down the hall, the hem of my gown whispering across the polished wood floors. The house had been transformed—candles lined the walls, shadows flickering and dancing with each draft of air. It smelled like rosemary and something faintly metallic.

I turned a corner near the drawing room and nearly walked right into him.

“Ah. There you are,” my father said.

Benedict Adumbral stood tall, too tall, like he always did when he wanted to loom rather than speak. His suit was dark green with gold trimming, and he had already donned his ceremonial sash—a deep crimson strip of fabric that signaled his status as the patriarch of the house during the festival.

He looked me up and down, and his mustache twitched with disapproval.

“Interesting choice,” he said, at last, his voice slick with that usual condescension. “Gray satin. Your mother is wearing nearly the same color this evening. You may want to change before you’re mistaken for a poor imitation.”

I didn’t flinch. I met his gaze.

“Well then, it seems I’ve accidentally threatened the queen without even trying.”

His jaw shifted slightly, the way it always did when I said something he couldn’t swat down without effort.

“It’s not about competition,” he said. “It’s about respect. The presentation reflects purpose. You wouldn’t want to appear... thoughtless.”

“I think what’s more thoughtless,” I replied, smoothing the front of my gown slowly, “is assuming that two women can’t wear the same color without clawing at each other like feral dogs. Besides, if it was truly about presentation, you’d be in something less... moss-colored.”

A flicker of irritation passed over his face, but it faded just as quickly.

“Your tongue, Cynthia. It’s going to get you in trouble one of these days.”

“Then I suppose it’ll have to match the rest of me.”

He let out a breath that was neither laugh nor sigh, then gave a stiff nod.

“Your mother is in the garden, taking a moment before the festivities begin. Don’t keep her waiting too long. You know how she hates surprises.”

He turned and strode off, leaving me alone in the corridor.

I looked down at my reflection in a tall mirror hanging between two columns. The gray silk shimmered in the candlelight—like smoke frozen in fabric.

Let her wear gray. Let her try to outshine me.

Tonight wasn’t about fashion. It was about truth.

I made my way through the labyrinthine corridors of House Adumbral, searching for Rosalyn.

I checked the garden first, where Father said she would be, but the only thing waiting for me there was the heavy scent of wilting roses and the low groan of wind against the hedgerows. I wandered through the drawing rooms, and the upstairs halls, even dared a glance into the ballroom with its sealed, silent door. But I never found her.

Time slipped past me without notice. It was strange—like water running through my fingers. I could have sworn I’d only been looking for a few minutes, but when the distant hum of music and the muted laughter of arriving guests floated through the halls, I realized the Festival had already begun. I sighed, smoothing the wrinkles from my gown, and made my way to the grand foyer where guests were gathering.

The way the house had transformed overnight still left me awestruck. Heavy velvet drapes framed the windows, and candles floating midair in intricate chandeliers, casting shifting patterns of gold and gray across the floors. Dark banners embroidered with House Adumbral’s sigil—an eclipsed sun wrapped in ivy—hung above the entrance to the great hall. Guests moved like shadows in a dream, masked and robed in deep blacks, muted silvers, and rich, blood-colored reds. I dipped into a curtsy as the first noble families approached.

“Good evening, Lady Tenebris,” I said, greeting a tall woman draped in sheer black silk, her mask shaped like the beak of a raven.

“Lady Cynthia,” she replied, her voice a low hum, “you honor the night well.”

Next came Lord and Lady Ante-Nox, a pair so alike they could have been carved from the same block of pale marble. Their matching masks glinted in the candlelight, etched with the constellations of a forgotten sky. 

Then the Caligandus family—known for their bitter wines and sharper tongues—followed. They nodded stiffly at me, their crimson accents standing out against the sea of black.

Lastly, the ExAstris family arrived, their presence quieter but no less commanding. Their garb shimmered faintly, stitched with silver threads that caught the dim light like falling stars. I smiled and nodded, performing my duties as a daughter of House Adumbral, though my heart wasn’t in it.

As I bowed my head politely to yet another guest, something—someone—caught the edge of my vision. A figure. Gray satin. Loose hair. Bare feet ghosted across the marble floor. The other me. Without thinking, I broke from the receiving line and chased after her, my slippers skimming noiselessly across the floor.

She was fast, darting through the crowd like smoke slipping through her fingers. I pushed past masked nobles and nearly tripped over the train of someone’s gown, earning a sharp gasp from Lady Ante-Nox. But I couldn’t stop. I had to catch her. I had to. She turned a corner near the old music room—one of the oldest, least used wings of the house.

“Wait!” I called, breathless. “Please, wait!”

But when I turned the corner, she was gone. No footsteps. No sound. Just the empty hallway stretching ahead, dark and yawning like the mouth of a beast. I pressed my back against the wall, my heart hammering against my ribs so loudly it felt like the whole house must hear it.