My sister is gone.
And no matter how many times I repeat those words, they never feel any softer. They scrape inside my chest like broken glass... sharp, bitter, stubborn.
People in this town whisper that grief fades, that time sands down every jagged edge. But they forget something important: time cannot heal a wound that never stops bleeding.
Every night, I lie awake beneath the carved ceilings of our estate, staring at shadows that stretch across the walls like fingers. Shadows that seem to whisper her name, though she never answers. I see her silhouette in every passing candlelight, in the flicker of moonbeams on the silvered windows. And every night I tell myself the same thing: she didn't vanish by accident. She was taken.
And I will bring her back.
"Earth to Icel!"
I blink and look up. Zeino falls into step beside me, his hands shoved into the pockets of his scuffed jacket. He's tall, sharp-featured, with the kind of dark eyes that seem to notice things you wish he wouldn't. The wind ruffles his black hair, making him look like a stray cat trying too hard to seem uninterested.
"You're going to walk straight into the fountain if you keep brooding like that," he adds, half-teasing.
"I'm fine," I mutter, though the truth tastes bitter on my tongue.
"You call this fine?" He gestures vaguely at my posture, at the tightness in my shoulders. "Because it looks a lot like plotting a death wish."
"I'm not plotting a death wish. I'm plotting a rescue," I retort, though I can't entirely convince myself.
Our town, Fairbourne, is the kind of place where every house looks like it was carefully placed by someone who hated creativity. Neat fences. Clean porches. Lamps that all glow the same shade of gentle gold.
Nothing here ever truly changes... except me.
"Look, Icel," Zeino says as we walk past the bakery, "I know what tomorrow is. But… maybe you shouldn't think about going near the—"
"I'm going," I cut in before he finishes. "Nothing you say will change that."
Zeino groans. "I hate when you read my mind like that."
"You're predictable." I shrug. "Like a puppy. A sarcastic puppy."
He shoots me a glare. "If anyone in this town is a puppy, it's definitely not me. I'm more like… a wolf. A lone wolf."
"You once cried because you stepped on a snail."
"That snail had a family, Icel!"
A laugh escapes me. It's small, fragile, but real... and Zeino's shoulders finally relax a little, like that was what he'd been aiming for all along.
Despite everything, he always tries.
But even he can't shield me from the truth.
As we walk further, people nod politely at me, wearing forced smiles. They know my family. My father sits on the human council... one of the most influential men in town. Our estate is the grandest on the hill, guarded by iron gates and old money. Status comes with expectations… and secrets.
Since my mother died when I was twelve, the house has felt too big. Too cold. As if it's constantly waiting for someone who will never return.
"Icel," Zeino says after a moment, kicking a pebble along the street, "your dad's gonna lose it if he finds out you went anywhere near the masquerade grounds."
"He's too busy with council meetings," I mutter. "Besides, he won't notice. He barely notices anything unless it threatens his position."
Zeino gives me a sideways look... half sympathy, half frustration. "He cares. Just… in his own emotionally constipated way."
"Right," I say. "That's one word for it."
We walk past the bakery, and the scent of warm bread momentarily distracts me from my spiraling thoughts. I imagine the Masquerade, its gates opening like jaws to swallow the unwary. Stories tell of vampires walking among humans, of masks enchanted to reveal the soul rather than the face, of music so haunting it lingers long after the candles die. The Masquerade is more than a ball they said... it is a living, breathing ritual, woven with danger and beauty in equal measure. I'm not really sure about that.
Tomorrow night marks exactly one year. Exactly one year since the masquerade opened its crimson gates. Exactly one year since the vampires crossed into human territory under the sacred truce.
Exactly one year since she walked into that world and never came back.
I clench my fists.
As we round a corner, the wind shifts, carrying a scent both familiar and alien. Cold roses and iron. Something ancient. Something alive. Zeino stops, instinctively, sensing what I feel.
"Icel… do you smell that?"
"Yes," I whisper.
The Masquerade waits. The stories are true.
A chill wind carries a scent of roses and iron, sharp and intoxicating, curling around my senses like a living thing. Then, through the dark trees of the forest, a gate rises where no path had been before... huge, wrought from black iron, its arches twisting like thorned vines, shimmering with a light that isn't sunlight. Shadows coil along its edges, writhing as if alive, guarding the threshold. The air hums with candlewax, ancient magic, and something far older than the town itself.
To step through is to court both beauty and death.
Some humans stop walking and stare at it from afar. Even from this distance, the gate is huge, its black iron arches towering over the trees like a sentinel from another world. It is far from our town, yet it dominates the forest as if it had always belonged there.
I cross my arms, my pulse quickening, feeling the strange scent of roses and iron curl through the air. A low hum vibrates under my feet, almost imperceptible, like the forest itself is holding its breath. Every instinct in me screams both awe and warning... this is no ordinary gate, and what lies beyond it will not welcome the living.
"I'm going to the Crimson Masquerade," I say quietly, firmly. "I don't care what anyone says. Not my father. Not the council. Not the rules."
Zeino stares at me, worry twisting across his features.
"You're going to get yourself killed."
"Maybe," I whisper.
"But if that's the price… then so be it."
Because my sister is gone.
For one year.
And I am done waiting.