London, England

It was impossible for a mask to truly disguise Lord Dickinson, for the portly figure of his body, his unmistakable retreating hairline, and the unabashed way he sported his jewels all quickly gave him away. But of course, everyone attending that night already knew who he was, and most everyone who had any sense about them knew not to pry into what he wished to keep secret.

As the final touches were dealt with around the the center ball room, he leisurely descended the sweeping red staircase, keeping to the far left side. In one hand, he carried a long black cane studded tastefully with rubies; in the other, he carried a goblet of champagne. No other guests would be offered a glass such as that for the evening; it was a rare piece he enjoyed showing off.

The mask he wore was elaborate, clearly expensive. It was made of glistening black and navy blue feathers and delicate pieces of gold leaf. His black suit had medium length tails, and he wore a pair of black gloves to match. His grey-blue eyes sparkled mischievously through the eyes of the mask as he surveyed the arrival of the first few guests. He enjoyed creating wanton situations with his excess wealth, and he did so hope that the late night would lead the party in such a direction.

In the corner of the room, the orchestra began to play quietly; they weren’t yet up to the festive dancing songs that were to come later in the evening, but even a little music cast the room into a new, somehow ethereal light.

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