Nixie picked carelessly through the Duke's belongings. She didn't much care for his precious riches, exquisite jewellery or priceless paintings but she examined them nonetheless in case she overlooked something of real value. The faerie came to be welcomed into the Duke's mansion by something of a mistake. She had befriended the old coot in her first days upon Revaliir's soil and extracted knowledge and silver from him in order to survive. The relocation from her realm to his one was certainly cushioned by the Duke's comforts. His warm rooms, plush furnishings and constant supply of lavish food made her feel welcomed, if only under false pretences. He believed the faerie was a noble lady, estranged from her family but polite and kind towards him. Wearing the mask of inexperience she charmed him. Nixie had wove this tale from research and ingenuity and it was not long before the Duke became irrevocably besotted with her. She moulded him to meet her needs and this was easily achieved. Nixie pondered whether the Duke was aware of her manipulation. Surely his great many human years had left him yearning for excitement after monotonous days counting gold and awaiting death. He had opened his arms to the dark haired beauty and whatever evil stirred beneath her skin. It was this stirring also that enticed him, as he mistook her cold, clinical malice, writhing like a pit of snakes, for passion. Her mysterious, commonly expressionless face was hypnotic to him. He so wished to bring joy to her cheeks, to see her eyes soften and witness a rare flash of teeth. He worked tiresomely and dutifully to see a smile. He was a slave for it.
In those early days the Duke's love and devotion to her had sufficed for Nixie to feed upon. Journeying to this realm had been an achievement but it came at a price. This price was the requirement to feed upon emotions. This was as vital to her as sunlight is to budding flowers. Without harvesting she would wilt and her power would fade, something she felt driven never to experience. As she grew bored of the Duke and his slimy lust-filled looks, his devotion didn't satisfy as much as rage, sorrow or total desperation. She decided to leave in order to seek pastures new and since then she had not given him a second thought. That was until she heard news of his death. The love, however false or wicked, he had felt for her had remained with him for the end of his days. The intoxication she had inflicted upon him had led him to gift her all his worldly belongings if she ever returned to him, whether he be alive or dead.
Nixie dropped the jewellery box with complete apathy and moved to the royal looking writing desk. She littered papers and parchments all over the oxblood red floor, the polish still glistening from weekly cleaning. Amidst his papers Nixie's graceful fingers danced over a scroll with a purple silk band and felt an instant prickle of energy travel up through her bones. Yellow-green eyes focused in on the scroll, moving all other things away from it, allowing the mystery parchment space to breathe, unfettered by his other correspondence. If only the Duke would have seen her now, he would have witnessed her smile but this grin was wide and predatory, not coy and cute. This smile was not performing for another but displayed something of a feeling rising up from within her hollow soul. Hands outstretched she touched the scroll again. Energy coursed through her, subtle and fascinating. It seemed to her that this invitation had once been touched by an otherworldly spirit, perhaps similar to her own, perhaps entirely different, but powerful. Energised, Nixie untied the ribbon and devoured the contents.
"A masquerade party". A whisper escaped her lips. Surveying the room once more she was pulled towards a flat box on the desk. The Duke must have ordered it then received it after he passed away as the box was sealed and fresh, as if all the dust particles in the air were too afraid to land on it. She ripped the paper off the box and found a mask. It was ghoulish and ugly, a twisted demonic face. She stopped dead staring into the hollow eyes. It was almost as if she was looking in on a mirror image of her true face. The one that lived within.
The evening of the party, Nixie lined up behind some of the other guests trickling into the manor of Lord Sylvester Dawson and wore her grotesque mask with a sort of pride. She did not change her clothes, a simple white dress, a corset and a cape, all seasoned with the mud of the forests and the grime of the roads. Amidst the other guests, her mask was the most vile. Curious and disturbed glances ran over her skin like fire ants and fed her ego. They could look all they wanted but she still felt invisible. Uninvited, disguised and disgusting she wanted to unravel what was occurring here.
