A man poured wine for Sylvia. She watched as the amber liquid flowed from the bottle, like a small honey-colored waterfall cascading along the glass, gradually filling the bottom of the cup. She waited for the man to fill his glass, then clinked it lightly against hers, holding her glass slightly tilted and waiting for his to make contact with a barely audible sound. She took a sip, her gaze passing over the rim of the glass, observing a young couple at a nearby table, engrossed in conversation.
The man beside her was in his thirties, with eyes that appeared restless under the dim lighting. She knew that he had noticed her the moment she entered the hotel. He had been drinking alone, and after about five minutes, finally mustered the courage to approach her.
"So," he said, "what do you do?"
"I was a student not too long ago," Sylvia replied, though she had graduated over four years ago.
"You must have been quite a standout in school. You know, not every girl your age would be drinking such strong liquor."
"I caused a lot of trouble there."
"I completely understand. You're an adventurous girl; I can see that. Besides, you have a face that men would fight over."
"Does that mean you would too?"
"No need. I'm already sitting here talking to you. But I wouldn't hesitate to chase away anyone trying to interrupt us. I'm really interested in hearing about the trouble you got into at school, you know, about your adventures."
"You're mistaken. It was just some people not getting along with me. Nothing interesting to tell."
"It must have been other girls, right? No guy would have a problem with you, would they?"
Sylvia took another sip of her drink. She remembered many unpleasant things. Sitting alone in a corner of the school cafeteria; students passing behind her, spitting into her food. Numerous strange boys harassing her, believing that any woman associated with the Salvaney gang had no self-respect. These boys' girlfriends cornered her in an alley, tearing out her hair. Whenever something went missing at the store where she worked, the boss would first suspect her, eventually firing her. All of this happened after her identity was exposed. Her father, Polunius, once a key aide to Salvaney, had died of a heart attack Shawltly after being imprisoned; the authorities allowed her to collect his ashes. Some leaked information, speculations about coincidences, and her own refusal to deny them, suddenly turned her into someone else in the eyes of others. All the efforts she had made to stand on her own became a display of a criminal's daughter's deceitful talents.
"What's wrong, don't want to tell me?"
"Don't ask."
One night, she returned to her dorm room to find a freshman, whose parents had died in a Salvaney gang conflict, hiding behind the door. He wildly swung a knife, leaving eleven cuts on Sylvia's arm as she protected herself, then fled, abandoning the weapon. Since then, her greatest fear had been an unlocked door in the dark. The school suggested she drop out to prevent further incidents, but she refused. With only two months until graduation, giving up now would mean letting those who bullied her win. She finally received her diploma, only to realize it meant nothing. She was Polunius's daughter, and that was all people would remember. Unable to find work near the school, she moved to another part of town, but loneliness and humiliation still clung to her. She often suffered from night terrors and became accustomed to using alcohol to calm herself; when she couldn't afford it, she found men willing to buy her drinks. In the arms of one stranger after another, at least she could feel like a normal person, not Polunius's daughter.
"Alright, if you don't want to talk." The man didn't show any displeasure; he was still eager to please her.
"And you? What do you do?"
"I make crafts and jewelry, whatever's in vogue. For example, with Halloween coming up, I've made a lot of masks."
"What kind of masks?"
"All kinds, including custom orders. Some people's requests are pretty strange. Maybe deep down, everyone wants to experience what it's like to become what they fear. I happen to have one on me."
The man immediately pulled out a mask from inside his coat. Sylvia could tell he had deliberately kept it on him, just waiting for a chance to use it while talking to a woman tonight. She took it from him. It was a female blood elf mask.
"Well made."
"Thanks. It's popular with girls under ten. Grown women aren't into wearing these for Halloween; they usually prefer orc or tauren masks."
"I never noticed. Why is that?"
"Little girls always want to grow up and become beautiful, and they can't wait for it. The blood elf look fits their fantasies at that age—pale skin, an especially slim face. But grown women, they deliberately wear masks that look less human, so when they take them off, the men around them will pay even more attention to their actual beauty. At least, that's what I think. Of course, you don't need such boring tricks."
The man gently stroked Sylvia's face. She ignored it, flipping the mask to look at the back, then back to the front, staring at the hollow eyes. After a moment, she put it on. The sound of her own breathing became much clearer in her ears. She looked at the man who made the mask; he was smiling at her, the kind of smile she was all too familiar with, one filled with desire. She looked around the room again, but no one seemed to notice her. On the eve of Halloween, there was nothing unusual about a woman trying on a mask. She was no one.
"Why not keep it?" the man suggested.
"No." Sylvia took off the mask and handed it back to him. "I'm getting bored. Let's go somewhere else."
She grabbed the half-empty bottle of strong liquor. After they left the bar, the man put his arm around her waist, and she tilted her head back to take another swig.
"Don't drink so much," he said.
"What, are you afraid I'll fall asleep?"
"No. Hey, watch out. Don't trip over that guy."
He was referring to a homeless man sleeping on the street. Then he pulled Sylvia to the other side of the alley, pressed her against the wall, and kissed her tentatively for a while.
"Where are we going?" Sylvia turned her head away and took another gulp.
"To my place. By the way, you really can't put that bottle down, can you?"
"Why don't you carry me for a bit? I'm tired; just a couple of minutes, then I'll get down."
"Sure, I'd be happy to carry you all the way home."
Sylvia placed her hand on the man's shoulder, moved behind him, and instructed him to crouch down a bit. He complied. She drained the rest of the bottle and then smashed it over the back of his head. After he fell, she kicked him in the ear. "I forgot to tell you, I already have a man." She then knelt down, turned him over so he was facing up. He wouldn't die, but he wouldn't wake up for a while. Sylvia took his wallet—most of the money Cornwall gave her for rent had already been spent on alcohol, so she needed to find a way to cover the gap.
After walking a dozen steps away from the unconscious man, she turned back, retrieved the slightly squashed mask, and looped its strap around her right middle and index fingers. At that moment, she noticed the homeless man, who had been lying on the side of the road, lift his head and look in her direction. He seemed somewhat frightened. There was nothing to be afraid of, Sylvia thought, and then she left.
Sylvia once believed she had found a life of normalcy—albeit a passive one—in alcohol and different men, until she was kidnapped by three bandits. They assumed that, as Polunius's daughter, she must have a hidden fortune. The money had indeed existed, until one day she willingly gave it up: driven by strong pride and after being persuaded by a public safety officer named Dennisen, she allowed him to use the money against Salvaney. She had regretted it, and during the bandits' interrogation, that regret turned into boundless hatred, directed at herself. Trying to live as a normal person while also fighting against the dangerous identity of being Polunius's daughter was truly a contradictory and foolish endeavor.
Eventually, Cornwall and some of his subordinates rescued Sylvia. She had some memory of this middle-aged man: he had come to her school not long after she had spoken with Dennisen. In later conversations, she learned that Cornwall had been watching her for some time. "I heard from the school that you've had a tough time since everything was exposed, so I thought it necessary to take some precautions. After all, Polunius helped the public safety bureau, and you've done nothing wrong." That's what he said.
Sylvia never felt that she truly loved Cornwall. Initially, part of her attachment to him was out of gratitude, and another part was related to Cornwall's not-so-subtle suggestions. Cornwall knew she led a chaotic personal life. This wasn't a fairy tale of repaying a savior with love, but a transaction of interests following an unexpected incident. However, for Sylvia, staying by his side for several years was still very important. Especially after learning about most of Cornwall's life, she saw in him the same fears, the same desires as hers. Cornwall had a long, failed marriage; his future at the public safety bureau was constantly suppressed by someone, and this person was also related to Sylvia's experiences.
She firmly believed she would neither leave nor betray him.