The Witching Hour

Nine o’clock had long ago passed, leaving with it all those invited into the comfort of my home. I stalled for as long as I could, attempting to prevent myself from having to join the mass of party-goers who I undeniably despised.
I had long thought that with my non-existent reputation, that perhaps no one would give a thought to even showing. But nobody would want to miss out on the opportunity to dance about in a mansion, especially one which no one was ever permitted to enter.
But I didn’t wish to focus on the idea of attending a party, which, in turn, I didn’t desire in the first place. I had more important things to worry myself with; I couldn’t shake the events of the day; the email and the unexpected appearance of a designer dress. Who was the sender? Had someone been watching me through the privacy of my own room? Had I managed to manifest the dress myself or was it this mysterious sender?
I find myself questioning every possibility, in hopes to come to some form of conclusion to what the answer maybe, but arriving at no leads for the best part of an hour until Maggie finally bursts into the room and shouts, “What the hell are you doing lying on your bed? And you’re not even dressed? Oh my god, you are so unbelievable – and not in a good way. Get up. Get dressed and get down stairs. Now!” She demands, throwing my hairbrush at my head.

Precisely half an hour later, I position myself before my mirror, studying my reflection as I admire my rich chocolate coloured hair sporting loose curls, rosy cheeks and full rouge lips; noticing how my eyes contrast every aspect of me. But not in a bad way. Tonight my eyes present me with the benefit of the doubt, as they assist in highlighting my new, profound dress, the rich purple glow of my eyes differing greatly from the dark satin of the upper bodice.
Taking my black, velvet masquerade mask from my draw, I hold it to my eyes and exit the room.
The grand staircase dives down before me, as I slowly begin to descend down to the large number of people below, the numerous layers of black netting from my dress trailing behind like a train at a gothic wedding.
And before I know it, everyone’s gaze is fixed on me, as a spotlight settles on my person. All eyes twinkling under the reflective shine cast by the disco ball overhead.
I freeze and shield my eyes with my free hand, the light slightly dimming as I hear Maggie’s voice announce over a loudspeaker, “Welcome the birthday girl, Kala!”
Feeling as though entering a grand ball, I sense my mood lift a little, and decide to ruffle my skirts and present a curtsey. I distinctly hear the majority of people snicker down below, but I no longer care, this isn’t their day, its mine, and by no means do I intend any one to now spoil it. For the best part of sixteen years, I have been looked down at by my fellow classmates, snickered and criticised at for what they do not know is the truth of their words. If they have any dignity left within them, I expect them to be - just this one time – pleasant. Well as pleasant as what can be expected by a bunch of buffoons.
As I continue my way down the stairs, I look again to the crowd underneath; everyone’s attention is now focused on anything other than me, all but one persons.
Two green spheres travel down the length of me, twinkling beautifully under the light emitted by the candle lit chandelier. The face is hidden by the disguise of their mask, making it difficult for me to decipher who it could possibly be. But just as I’m about to make my way over to find out who this masked attendee is, they’re already at the foot of the stairs in the blink of an eye, momentarily dazing me as I grip to the banister in confusion. With their left hand placed behind their back they present the right, vacant for me to receive.
“Mademoiselle.” The familiar voice coos, gesturing for me to the out-stretched hand.
I study the boy’s eyes critically, taking note of the small black flecks which embed themselves within a sea of green. “Leo?” I whisper, glancing rapidly between his magnetising stare and his held out hand.
Surely, if this were to be Leo, he would be far more sensible than this, than to escort me to my own party instead of Thora. She would go ballistic if she knew, accuse me of stealing her ‘one true love’, as she had exclaimed to me on the phone. It would be the end of our friendship, and although I may appear to be acting over-dramatic, Thora – although blessed with unbelievable beauty - could never hold onto a boyfriend. She would become easily bored and move onto another, for her to stay put with Leo for two weeks was practically a miracle, and I was not going to ruin it for her. However much I desired to take the strong but pale hand before me, I was not to give into temptation for my own selfishness without thinking of whom it may hurt.
“I guess my disguise doesn’t do me any favours then?” Leo asks, glancing down at his frilly white shirt; somewhat covered by his navy blue coat, finished with breaches, tights and pointy black shoes.
“Does Thora know you’re here? With me?”” I interject in a higher tone than planned as I search around my surroundings frantically looking for her whereabouts.
Leo chuckles under his breath and places a hand on my arm. “Relax. She’s not even here yet, said something about having to babysit her younger sister for another half hour or so.”
I sigh, a sigh of pure relief, feeling a heavy burden consisting of friendship, betrayal and jealousy lifted from my shoulders as I finally take the moment to study Leo’s costume in full attention. Gazing upon his attire, I can’t help but comment to myself on how much handsomer he looks in past time garments. It’s as though the style was created for him, fitted perfectly, making him appear quite at home in himself.
“Would it of mattered if Thora did see me with you?” He asks suddenly, my focus now dragged away from my imaginative thoughts of him in a seventeenth century ball room, and back to reality.
I merge my brows and smirk. “What’d you think?”
“Ah,” he says, nodding in understanding. “She’s the jealous type?”
“That’s an understatement,” I state, my lips pulled up at the corners.”The fact that when she really likes something - or in your case - someone, then she usually tends to be slightly possessive.”
“Then we should avoid doing anything that will provoke her then,” Leo says quietly, looking down to the floor miserably as though he had intended to do the complete opposite.
“I guess so,” I reply, looking around at the magnificent scenery. The spacious interior, grandly illuminated by large crystal chandeliers, the walls and ceilings richly painted with arabesques, the colourful frieze over marbled three quarter columns which display: owls, golden pheasants and ravens between a canvas festoon of fruits and flowers.
“But Thora isn’t here right now,” Leo states, as I turn back to him in curiousness. “So in that case, would you kindly accompany me on the dance floor?”
Of course I knew in my mind that I shouldn’t, but it wasn’t my mind which was guiding me. It was my heart which urged and pleaded with me to just go. To just go and take his hand and dance with him. But if Thora were to find out... she would never speak to me again.
But she wasn’t here. Wasn’t within a radius of four miles. She wouldn’t find out, at least not from Leo or I. And it certainly wasn’t like anyone else would say a word to her. She was as much resented by the grade as I was, all for being in my proximity. And with that, all doubt was swept aside, swept away into infinite space as I wrapped my fingers around Leo’s and followed him to the centre of the room.