I closed my eyes. Took a slow breath. Maybe it wasn’t real. Potentially, I was seeing things. But deep down, I knew better. She was real. She was part of all of this. And I was getting closer to something I wasn’t sure I was ready to find.

I wandered back toward the main hall, the echo of music still pulsing faintly beneath the floorboards. The guests had begun to settle into the rhythm of the evening—hushed laughter, clinking glasses, and candlelight bouncing off jewel-toned masks.

But I didn’t feel settled.

I passed through the towering archway that led toward the ballroom, still lit in soft violet hues and veiled in gauze-like curtains. The closer I got to it, the more tightly wound my chest became. That room had changed everything—twice now. And part of me feared what might happen the third time.

I turned the corner, nearly colliding with someone.

“Ah—there you are,” came the familiar voice, crisp and faintly annoyed. “I hoped to find you before you slipped into another shadow.”

I blinked, then groaned under my breath.

Oswald ExAstris stood before me, arms crossed over a tailored black and silver suit that matched his father’s. Not a wrinkle or thread out of place. His blonde crew cut looked freshly trimmed, stiff as if lacquered with discipline.

“Searching for me? How gallant,” I said, offering him a theatrical curtsy, dipping low in mock reverence. “Young Master Oswald, I am simply overcome with gratitude.”

His mouth flattened into a tight line.

“I told you not to call me that,” he replied, his voice quiet but strained.

“I know,” I said, straightening up. “That’s what makes it so fun.”

“You nearly trampled Lady Ante-Nox,” he snapped. “Her dress is an heirloom. Four generations. Do you know what would’ve happened if you’d torn it?”

“I imagine she’d burst into feathers and disappear in a puff of glitter,” I muttered.

“Cynthia.”

His tone was sharp now. Not cruel—but frustratingly noble.

“I’m fine,” I said before he could pretend to be concerned again. “Not that anyone in your circle would care unless I made a scene at the banquet table.”

“You did make a scene,” he said, stepping forward slightly, his brow furrowing. “That’s why I came to find you.”

I paused. That wasn’t the response I expected.

He adjusted the cuff of his sleeve, suddenly awkward.

“You seemed… off,” he said. “And I know this whole thing”—he gestured vaguely around us—“doesn’t exactly breathe comfort.”

Something about that almost made me soften. Almost.

“Well, I do appreciate the concern, Oswald,” I said, dropping the title this time. “But I’ve lived under these clouds longer than you’ve known how to part your hair. I’ll manage.”

He gave me a long look, unreadable behind his formal mask, then exhaled.

“Just… don’t disappear again. The house has a way of keeping things that wander too far.”

With that, he stepped aside and gestured toward the ballroom entrance.

“After you, Lady Adumbral.”

I stared at him for a beat, then walked forward—my head high, my heart louder than the music. And somewhere deep in the back of my mind, I wondered just how many people in this house were wearing masks—metaphorical or otherwise.

The main ballroom was buzzing with life, the heavy scent of perfume, wax, and old stone filling the air. Candlelight flickered across the grand, polished floor, where the noble families gathered in their finest silks and satins, their laughter and whispers rising in a soft, almost reverent hum.

Oswald and I entered together, blending into the current of guests streaming toward the center of the room. The musicians in the corner played something slow and ominous—a fitting backdrop for the start of the Festival of Shadows.

I was about to slip into the crowd when Oswald lifted a hand, flagging down a small group near one of the tall, arched windows.

“Veronica! Samuel! Over here!” he called.

One by one, the young nobles peeled away from their families and made their way over to us.

Veronica Ante-Nox, tall and willowy, with hair like spun silver and a perpetual look of quiet judgment, arrived first. Her younger brother Samuel followed closely behind, fidgeting with the edge of his silver-trimmed cloak.

Cedric Tenebris, broad-shouldered and smug, gave me a once-over and smirked. His black velvet coat was embroidered with thorned vines.

Trailing them were Iris Caligandus and her older brother Harold. Iris, with her coppery curls piled high and her gown of dark crimson and jet beads, looked exactly like she always did: perfectly composed and perfectly dangerous. Harold was less remarkable, a tall boy with a perpetual scowl and a tendency to parrot whatever Iris said.

“Oh look,” Veronica said, flashing a brittle smile as she tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “If it isn’t the star of the evening herself.”

Cedric chuckled, low and cruel.

“You almost made history, Cynthia,” he said. “First time a Lady Ante-Nox would have been tackled at the Festival of Shadows.”

Samuel snickered quietly beside him, looking anywhere but directly at me.

I felt heat creeping up my neck but kept my face carefully neutral.

“A pity, really,” I said smoothly. “Imagine the honor of being remembered for something other than breeding and embroidery.”

Iris stepped forward then, her eyes gleaming with something sharper than amusement.

“Careful, Cynthia,” she said sweetly. “You might bruise your pride. Assuming you have any left.”

The others tittered behind their hands. Even Oswald shifted awkwardly, but he didn’t speak.

I met Iris’s gaze head-on, refusing to shrink away.

“Better to bruise pride than to live your whole life terrified someone might discover you’re hollow inside,” I said quietly, voice cutting through the laughter like a knife.

Iris’s smile faltered for half a second.

Then she leaned in, her voice a dagger sheathed in velvet.

“This is why not even your parents like you.”

The words hit harder than any slap. For a moment, the ballroom seemed to tilt around me, the candles blurring into streaks of gold and gray. I felt the sting at the corners of my eyes, sudden and uninvited.

I clenched my fists at my sides, forcing my breathing to steady.

Without a word, I turned on my heel and walked away from them, each step measured and deliberate despite the heavy pounding in my chest. Veronica seemed to say something but I couldn’t hear it over the humming in my ears.

Their laughter faded behind me as I made my way toward the small stage set up against the far wall, where my parents were already stepping up to prepare for the Festival’s opening speech.

I paused at the foot of the stage, drawing a slow breath. Tears glistened briefly on my cheeks, catching the candlelight like shattered glass, but I brushed them away quickly, smoothing my expression into something cool and unreadable. By the time I ascended the steps, there was no trace of them left.