It never occurred to me that one envelope could alter the direction of an evening. It was sleek and stark, sealed with black silicone that glinted in the light as it sat on my dresser. No address for return. No justification. I didn't recognise the meticulous, looping calligraphy that just included my name. I initially thought it was an error, that an invitation had fallen into the incorrect mailbox.

However, my breath caught when I opened the thick paper and broke the seal.

“You have been invited to a private masquerade party. At 9 p.m. on Saturday night. The Manor of Crimson. Put on black. Put on your mask. Get...