Evelyn's breath hitched as she met the stranger's gaze. His mask, a striking black and silver design, concealed most of his features, but his piercing eyes—dark as the midnight sky—held an unsettling familiarity. A slow smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, as if he had anticipated this moment far longer than she could comprehend.
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
The man extended a gloved hand. "For now, a dance will suffice."
Evelyn hesitated, but the murmurs of the surrounding guests drew her attention. They were watching—elegant figures clad in extravagant attire, their masks concealing expressions that felt too hollow, too staged. The entire ballroom had an air of illusion, as if reality itself had been suspended.
She placed her hand in his.
The moment their fingers touched, a spark ignited between them, a pulse of warmth traveling up her arm. The man's smirk faltered for the briefest second, his grip tightening as if anchoring himself to the same unexplainable force that coursed through Evelyn's veins.
The orchestra swelled, and he led her onto the polished marble floor. Their movements were effortless, guided not by practice but by an innate rhythm that neither of them could deny. Evelyn's heart pounded—not just from the dance, but from the way his presence felt… known.
"You don't remember me, do you?" his voice was soft, just for her.
Evelyn's steps faltered, but he steadied her, pulling her closer. "Should I?" she asked, searching his gaze for answers.
He exhaled, his expression unreadable. "Not yet."
The chandeliers above flickered as if responding to an unseen shift in the air. Evelyn felt it too—a sudden awareness that something beyond their dance was unraveling. The masked figures seemed to blur at the edges, their conversations turning into whispers of a language she didn't understand.
Then, the stranger leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "You're not supposed to be here."
A chill ran down Evelyn's spine. She pulled back slightly, staring into his enigmatic gaze. "Then why did the door bring me here?"
The man's jaw tensed, his fingers curling around hers as if reluctant to let go. "Because it remembers you."
The words sent a jolt of energy through her, an echo of something long buried in the depths of her mind. Before she could demand more, a deafening chime rang through the ballroom—the sound of a massive clock striking midnight.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. The masked guests froze. The stranger's grip tightened around Evelyn's waist.
"It's starting," he murmured.
"What's starting?"
Before he could answer, the chandeliers shattered, the ballroom plunging into darkness. A rush of wind surged through the air, carrying with it the same voice that had whispered to her in the greenhouse.
"Wake up, Evelyn."
The floor beneath her vanished, and she was falling once more.