1 The Halloween Party

Unsurprisingly, the costume looks horrendous. Absolutely horrendous, as if a horse had trodden all over it, tearing all the seams. It is a pukish-green with frayed edges(as if a dog chewed it) and a long cape, with a tattered maroon belt. There's an elf hat to accompany it with it, but it clearly has been dunked in some sort of dye for it to so stained. And this was to be my Halloween costume? Not in a million years. I spent WAY too much money on it to be ruined by those girls. And preparing a new would be too rushed. That leaves only one option.

I gather my sewing supplies and fabric and start snipping away at this monstrosity. Soon enough, the ragged edges are gone and in its place are crisp satin edges, as soft as silk. The long cape is no longer wrinkled and is fresh, smelling of newly-bloomed lavender. And the most troublesome one to revive, the elf hat. Getting rid of the dye was out of the question, so I wrapped a piece green satin ribbon to cover it up.

I look up at the old grandfather clock. It's already ten. The party's in fifteen minutes. I hurriedly trudge down the stairs in my painfully high heels. Guess you can't have beauty without pain. The butler raises an amused eyebrow as he watches me hasten to the front door.

Outside waiting, is the driver. I hurry into the back of the limo, collapsing into the backseat. The driver catches my eye and starts the engine. I'm sure that he went over the speed limit at some point during the trip to make it on time. Why is my luck always so bad?

Fortunately, we arrive on time, right before the party started. I thank the driver and offer to pay his speeding fine afterwards. He nods and grunts in reply. I take that as a yes and hurry into the mansion.

Inside, there are many intricate Halloween decoration set up, including gothic chandeliers with draping black pearls that hang above the sea of heads. Every inch of the place is adorned with high-class decor; it's the host of the party's way of boasting about his wealth. Suddenly I feel self-conscious about the costume I'm wearing. It's slightly drab due to the incident earlier, but I have to make do.

I trudge up the fancy stairs to greet with the host of the party, a custom for high society. This time, it's Ryder Wilton, the son of a business tycoon(and would've been the heir of the Charvetts if I hadn't shown up). He catches my eye and flashes me a sadistic little smile before disappearing into the ocean of people.

People stop in their tracks and start staring at me. They are gawking like surprised hens about to lay an egg. Must be my costume. It's neither expensive or high-class as their outfits, but it's decent enough to pass for a stupid Halloween party.

"Seems like the Charvetts are not faring well in finances." "Ah yes, why else would the heiress have to wear a third-rate costume?" "But it does suit her; she's only a mistress's daughter after all." The whispers pass from one to another, like an epidemic. It's barely audible but toxic enough to poison my mood.

I sigh and head to the closest exit out of this stifling room with haughty rich people. Nature always calmed me down, even before I became an aristocrat. Back in the days when mother would sit in her rocking chair, watching me draw the posies and intricately cut hedges. The good old days before my beast of a father dragged me into the "high life," forcing me to everything familiar to me behind.

Before losing myself in a reminiscent daydream, a hear a man whistling melodic tunes. I turn myself around to see a man with an elaborate butterfly mask. His hair is the purest white snow on a winter day. Before I could control myself, I find my hand reaching to stroke his hair. He seizes my wrist and smiles.

"And what do you think you're doing? Touching a stranger's head?" He stares at me with his intense, azure eyes. They are not icy, but cool and refreshing like a summer drink. I feel the tips of my ears burn and my face flushes crimson like a tomato.

"Err...I thought your hair looked very pretty. Like snow." I fumble over my words like a clumsy three-year-old trying to walk.

I feel my heart thumping against my chest like a hammer. Stop beating so fast you stupid heart! It's just a boy, only a very handsome one. For all I know, he could be a murder.

"Thank you. You aren't shocked by my 'Devil's hair'? What a first," he muses, his eyebrows slightly raises. I don't know if he's mocking, but I continue regardless.

"Devil's hair? It's more like Angel's hair since it's so white and pure, " I ramble on, "The Catholics believe white symbolises joy, light and faithfulness. That's partly why wedding dresses are white." His face scrunches up at "joy".

Great. Now he probably thinks that I'm some sort of religious freak.

"It's rather uncommon to see such a well-learnt lady these days. I'll be seeing you around." He turns to leave the garden. Seems like I hit a nerve. He dips his hat as a sign of farewell.

Even his back figure in the moonlight looks dashing, making him seem ethereal as he melted into the crowd. What an odd person. I've seen plenty of pretty boys ever but none of them even came close to him. And to think my heart started beating faster because of a mere boy. How fickle feelings are.

Swoosh! A bag is deftly shoved over the top of my head. Is this a kidnapping attempt?

"Hey, you. Stay quiet and you're not going to be hurt," a man's gruff voice mutters from the garden. His hand is clamped over my mouth like a screwdriver.

Annoyance echoes in my mind, louder than a church bell. Try to kidnap me? In his dreams. I wasn't the karate champion of grade school for no reason. I bite his hand. With a lot of force. Enough for it to start bleeding. I kick his shins to force him to let me go along with a series of karate moves. He lets out a thin yelp so different from the deep gruff voice from earlier.

To knock him out for a bit, a strike his pressure point and head into the dance floor to call the security guards over and deal with this criminal. On my way, I spot butterfly mask again through the stained glass door. I wave my arms enthusiastically at him to catch his attention. He meets my eye and points to something behind me. He seems panicked.

Huh?

I look behind me. There's nothing but a finely trimmed hedge along with a marble statue of a cherub. Nothing odd there. He continues gesturing behind me... and is telling me to lie down? I swivel back again once more.

The tip of a gun is protruding from one of the hedges. It's glistening compared to the matte leaves of the hedge. I freeze, fearing for my life. This man had a gun. A potentially life-endangering weapon. He's probably the lackey of the guy before. Drat. How stupid I was. Should've realised there were others. No one's dumb enough to take on a scion alone.

I force the rational part of my brain to run away. Panic roots me to the ground when I see the man shuffling the gun, and aiming. At that moment, my survival instincts pull me behind the nearest statue.

Bang! Bang! The gunshot shoot towards me like bees to honey. No one comes running to rescue me. They're all too busy dancing. I consider screaming. No, that'll only be a waste of my voice. They won't hear over the music, and it's not like they would consider battling an armed man. To be frank, I'm almost certain the two men were sent by someone at the party. Someone with enough power and money to avoid being discovered.

Before soon, the entire statue is almost shredded to nothingness. He forcing me to run. I have no choice. I leap from the statue and move as quickly as my legs would allow. Unfortunately, it's not fast enough.

Swoosh! A bullet penetrates my right thigh, piercing through the hanging satin ribbon. Pain arrests my leg and I double over, howling in agony. Blood starts gushing out from the gunshot, permanently staining my costume a dark crimson. The foul stench of blood fills the air, suffocating my lungs.

"What do you want? No one 's going to pay a large ransom for me. They can replace the heir anytime I stop being useful." My voice is raspy and I start coughing.

"S'rry, Missy. Just following orders. Got to put food on the table," he shrugs his shoulders and reloads the gun.

"I'll make it a quick, painless death, don't you worry," he chuckles to himself. Several more gunshots fill the eerie silence. He pulls out a cigarette as well as a lighter and casually starts smoking. He unbottles a bottle of a dubious fluid and scatters it around me. He drops his cigarette on the floor, igniting a flame. Realisation hits me like a bullet. The fluid was oil and he planned on burning me alive, even though I already had several fatal gunshot wounds.

My body feels like it's burning in the pits of hell, roasting every inch of my skin. I feel like a snake shedding my skin, only without my skin ever regrowing.

This type of cruel torture. It can only be him. Ryder Wilton. It all made sense now. The night was the perfect masquerade for me to be murdered without ever facing trial. Too many suspects to pinpoint it down to him. The dress and that little smile all made sense.

I'm coming to the end now. Perhaps it's for the best. Away from this society of fake smiles and gossip that's poisonous enough to kill a snake.

I surrender myself to the sleepiness that envelops me like a warm, fluffy blanket. Thank you, mum for raising me. Please be happy so at least one of us can live happily. I feel the tears slide from my cheek to my cracked lips.

For the last time in this life, I crack a smile. A weak, but genuine smile.