by Andrei Șișman

“Sapiens est, qui cupit”, said the usher. Wise is the one who desires.

She reached into her purse for the invitation. The words were printed in black over the velvety scarlet paper. To find that which you seeketh, take the plunge. Then, may your fantasy be realized in the flesh. She handed it to the usher, a man as tall and dark as the shadows of the past, then climbed the stairs.

The grand ballroom opened up before her, a white beast full of promises and hidden desires. A chandelier loomed like a demon of mischief. The size of the place made her heart flutter. Would luck be on her side tonight?

Thousands of feet pattered the marble floors, the cacophony of steps drowned out only by the orchestra’s masterful use of vibration as fine art. The invitees, their faces an assortment of motley designs, paraded, stepped and waltzed like evil spirits before the girl’s eyes. Her mask reflected the chandelier’s flame. The crowd momentarily looked her way. Underneath the mask, she blushed.

In this underground hall, the warm and the pale walked together, drawn to each other but enveloped in mystery, like a gift wrapped with care by a lover. Each invitation to the dancefloor was, at once, a dare. I dare you to know me.

The pale had long been pushed away into the corners of society. They were feared. The few that remained on their side preferred to keep their identities hidden from public record. And among those supporters, some had certain . . . desires. There were things the pale wanted to do and there were humans who would willingly become their subjects. Which is how the ball came to be.

In here, anonymity was queen. To be allowed in, one required an invitation. They called it the game, which, in essence, it was. A game in which one had to recognise the other’s true nature, by touch, scent or similar means. Identity could not be directly indicated with words.

Therefore, there was much to gain in learning how to play the game well.

When she saw him, the girl knew. Tall and brooding, with his hair slicked back like a movie star, he was leaning against the buffet table, hands in his pockets, indifferent. He was still far away, but she felt drawn to him like a fish to saltwater. She waded through the sea of bodies, keeping her eyes on his looming form.

At the buffet, she watched him, through a glass of champagne.

His head turned in her direction. She imagined he knew that she had been observing him for some time.

When he approached her, he glided on the floor as he would walk on air.

“Will you allow me the honor of taking you to the dance floor, miss?”, he asked and bowed, one gloved hand extended.

She entrusted her own hand to his grip.

Their bodies knew each other as if by instinct. He was graceful, but reserved, like a wolf, and she, the fawn, succumbed to him all too willingly. He spun her, lifted her, guided her. When the first aggressive notes of Danse Macabre sounded off, he twisted her far and wide, then drew her back, like a yarn spinner. As he inched closer to her, she could smell his perfume. Lavender. He paused for some seconds at her neck. The girl’s heart was pounding like a circus drum. Had she made the right choice? Her legs gave out for a fraction of a second at the question.

They danced until utter exhaustion. Leaning into him, she whispered:

“Mister, you’ve enraptured me tonight. I wonder what you plan on doing next.”

“I imagined I’d invite you to bed and you’d accept.”

She placed a hand on his beating heart. ”I do accept”, she breathed.

***

The powerful white moon illuminated the carpeted floors of the room, the oak bed and their naked bodies. Her mask, pearl white, and his, jet black, flew towards each other like Yin to Yang. As he caressed her silken shoulders, he let one hand drop down onto her breast and inched closer to her neck. The scent of lavender overwhelmed her nostrils.

She waited.

The man took off his mask and kissed her neck.

For a second, her heart stopped.

She could feel his warm breath on her skin.

He drew back. He undid the first three buttons of his shirt, exposing the tender flesh.

She smiled.

She took her time taking the mask off.

Her canines flashed in the blue moonlight.

***

He gave himself to her, a wolf that longed to be taken by the fawn.

His jugular opened up like a flower in bloom. As her teeth pierced the skin, the sweet nectar filled her mouth and overwhelmed her senses. She looked into his eyes and, alongside fear, she saw bliss. Though subjected to such pain, he still radiated desire. His manhood alone was enough to tell the story.

She moved to straddle him as she continued to drink. In the throes of passion, she drew her head back and splattered fresh blood onto their stark forms.

She drank until numbness enveloped her. Then, illuminated by the light of the dark, she lounged on the bed and gazed out at the moon, as the man’s warmth dissipated into the air.