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The chatter died down and there was a sudden pause in the music as the orchestra stopped playing. The jugglers froze midway through their act and the Gypsy fortune teller dropped her cards. All eyes were on her as she appeared at the entrance of the ballroom. The ripple of hushed silence was broken when the conductor pulled his eyes away from the young lady and resumed directing his orchestra. Who was this uninvited guest indeed?

In a black corset dress with red lace, she stood. Thick black locks of hair fell gracefully upon bare shoulders and a fist-sized bloodred ruby shone on her elegant neck. Her face was completely hidden behind a breathtaking masquerade masque that did not give her away. The masque was ivory-white with painted lips, and from the forehead to the nose was a golden layer embedded with tiny rubies around the eyes and above it, a jester's hat, gleamed red and black. Her sharp green eyes looked through the mask and took in the bright colours and luxurious textures around her. The ballroom dripped in grandeur and deceit, in treachery with a tinge of grotesqueness. She quickly scanned the crowd and it didn't take long for her to single out what she had been looking for.

There he stood, the prodigal Prince, in his magnificent phantom cape and black masque. His shirt slightly unbuttoned, holding a goblet, he looked the part amidst this rich decadence. Even in a sea full of opulence and illusion, his ostentation shone like a lit up ship at night. He laughed frivolously and made idle conversation with masked guests who walked up to congratulate him on his engagement with Princess Olivia.

Quietly, she made her way through the crowd. She circled the Prince like a predator circling in on her prey. She stood right behind him now. She could smell the musk on him, she could hear him breathe. She gently slid her arm through his and turned him around to face her.

"May I have the pleasure of a dance?" she leaned over softly whispered into his ear.

"Why yes of course! The pleasure's all mine," he obliged.

The orchestra played on, the tempo rising. Following suit, a lot of the guests walked out onto the centre of the circular ballroom, while the rest chose to watch from the tapestried balconies. What started as a slow languid tune now turned into a quick frenzied one. The pair right in the middle of it all, the Prince and the young lady, danced feverishly away with their feet moving fast and arms twirling gracefully. As the quick tune transitioned to an alternate slow one again, she pulled the Prince close. Lifting her mask slightly over her nose she bent in and planted her lips on his. A few heartbeats and twenty rapid blinks later, the Prince was clutching his throat as he slowly sank to the floor. Wide-eyed, his eyes fell upon the ruby hanging around her neck.

"Pandora," he choked, as chaos broke loose and people began crowding around him. As stealthily as a murderous black cat, Pandora blended into the crowd and made her way to the exit, without glancing back. If she couldn't have him, nobody else would. A ghost of a smile lingered on her poisoned lips.