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They could be here soon, she thought as the last candle was placed and set aglow. The dining room was perfect, not a single napkin or piece of cutlery dared be out of place. The room basked in the soft glow of sufficient candles as the warm scent of fresh hors d'oeuvres wafted in from the adjoining kitchen. She smiled, taking it all in. Tonight would be perfect, it had to be, there was simply no other option. Striding under the low hanging curtains of webbing and through the faint veil of fog flooding the floor, she stopped in front of the hall mirror to check her reflection. Like the place settings her hair naturally fell into place without a strand resisting.

They should be here soon. The flickering light played across the sanguine lips and matching dress as her thoughts meandered towards this eve's guests. Torment filled her features as memories danced across the mirror in front of her. Faintly her anger grew. She stopped, cutting short that train of thought upon seeing her reflection, upon seeing the emotions contort her smile and eyes to a less than welcoming glare. A heavy sigh emanated through the hall, she could let those feelings play no role on this eve, she is the Hostess. He would be here soon, then the trouble will be worth it. The genuine smile steadily reformed as her pondering redirected towards him, to why she was doing it.

They would be here soon. The cork popped on a bottle of wine three shades darker than the dress and she began pouring in preparation. I am the Hostess, I will act as such, and extend the curtsies upon my guests required by the title, her vow echoed quietly down the hall. She could do it, she would do it, the mask was so comfortable and familiar the differentiation between self and act was undetectable.

They will be here soon. She strode out to the foyer, flicked the lanterns on, perching through the chill clutching the eve, and waited for him.

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He will be here soon, she reassured herself as she mingled with the guests. Smiles all around as expected, a few nods here and there. How did your thing go and it's wonderful to hear about that. She flowed through the crowd letting the currents pull her as a seed dancing on the breeze. Each guest a distraction, yet none could sufficiently prevent her thoughts from returning to her one desire. And so she flowed, from one aimless conversation to the next, stopping long enough to add a quick comment or a brief nod, never fully participating, just drifting. Their worries were not her own, for her their success and failure paled in comparison to her only goal, her only concern.

He should have been here. Doubt began to seep in, it was well past fashionably late and bordering on too late. She consulted the grandfather clock for advice, it chimed a reminder of the hour past in response. She shed the doubt. He would be here, he said he would, didn't he? The features of her face gave no semblance to the inner turmoil as she tried to recall the exact wording. He had been deeply enthused with the idea, of that she was certain, but, but he avoided the definites. He never said yes, and yet, he never said no. Emotions waged a war against rationality, hope struggling for one last breath against despair.

He would be here, she stated in her personal bathroom mirror, after having excused herself to grab yet another bottle from the pantry. She gathered up her smile and strode back down the stairs. After a quick stop in the pantry, she returned to the festivities, bottle in hand. One noticed and asked, her smile was fainter than before, trouble and worry still hidden, but this guest could see the concerns play through her eyes. She smiled and dismissed the concern, claiming to be out of her favorite wine. An owl hooting cut through the middle of the quarter chime, someone was calling her. It was him.

He was calling to lay her doubts to rest. "Hello," she exclaimed, while stepping away to answer the phone, "We have been wondering what kept you? How soon will you be here?" His respond was simple at first "Hey, I, won’t be able to make it, maybe next time?" As he spoke the words everything drained from her, sinking into the foundation of the old house. For the rest of the conversation her mask took over, she let it guide her words and finish the conversation. The phone disconnected. She turned to the hall mirror. A single drop trailed down, she let it proceed a second longer, turned her attention towards it and puff, the evidence gone, nothing would mar the mask. She gathered the solidarity of the house around her, she pulled strength from the joy of guests, she drew upon jubilant memories… of him, and reformed the mask, she smiled, to her it held the warmth of the first hoar frost, but to them it would be convincing. She returned to her party, she returned to her guests.

He would not be joining her.