Erik had never seen so many people in his life.

Raucous laughter rang through the street. Colorful costumes swirled at every turn and the smell of food and alcohol filled the air. At the top of the street, the palace gleamed. Twinkling lights shone from what must have been a thousand windows.

Erik adjusted the mask nervously. He felt...well, he wasn't sure how he felt. He didn't feel like himself.

The long overcoat fit him like a glove. It was a dark blue, nearly black, and embroidered with patterns of silver constellations. The motif continued onto his mask and waistcoat. He was night itself.

For the first time since he was a child, he had clothes that fit properly. He'd stared at himself in the warped glass of his mirror and been shocked at how skeletal he appeared. It was hardly befitting of an aristocrat, but it couldn't be helped. Not that it mattered. He was only there to observe. It was a world he could never belong to.

He moved toward the palace, weaving through the crowd and its cacophony. Yes, this was far better than an evening in the cemetery. He was nearly at the palace gates when he heard the fiddle.

Music.

His stepmother had no use for music. His father's piano sat silent, a symbol of wealth and not much else. How long had it been since he heard music that wasn't his?

Suddenly, he was five years old and running among his parents' friends. He didn't remember the names or faces, but he knew there was music. He remembered his mother guiding his fingers on the violin. He remembered his father beaming from the piano bench.

Prodigy. That was what the adults had called him. But what good was his supposed genius now? The violin sat silent in his tiny dungeon and he was forbidden from the piano. His life was silent but for the music in his mind and the jeers of his supposed family.

He shook himself and returned to the present, drifting toward the tent like a moth to the flame. A small band played at the end of the space while a crowd of dancers moved in time with the music.

Erik found a seat at the edge of the space and watched the dancers sweep past. He was easily drawn into the magic.

The song changed and the singer asked the audience to sing along. To his surprise, Erik recognized the old folk song. He sang along with the rest, enjoying the harmony of his voice against the others.

A new voice joined the second chorus and he was surprised to see a woman sitting on the other end of his bench.

His voice nearly faltered at the sight. She was stunning. Her gown was made of a pearlescent fabric, her face covered by a silver mask. She saw him looking and smiled.

The song ended and the band switched to an instrumental.

"You have a beautiful voice." She moved closer to him as she spoke.

Erik gave a start when he realized she was talking to him. "Thank you. I enjoyed yours as well."

"It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Christine."

He took her offered hand and dared to brush his lips across her knuckles. "I am Erik. The pleasure is mine."

She giggled as she reclaimed her hand. "So, Erik, what do you think of the music?"

"It's rather lively."

"Music such as this is meant for dancing. Forgive me if I am being too forward, but would you care to dance?"

Erik frowned. "I'm afraid I don't know how. I only ever learned to waltz, and that was as a child."

"I'd be happy to teach you."

So endearing was her expression that Erik soon found himself among the gaggle of dancers. Any discomfort he felt vanished with the sight of her smile. She guided his movements until they were moving in graceful complement. Before long, his smile matched hers.

"Do you know what I love about a masquerade?" Christine asked. "There's no pretense. There's no etiquette. Everyone is free to be what they want to be, and I am spared the small talk."

"I'm not much of a conversationalist myself," Erik said. "I would have sat on that bench all night if you hadn't approached me."

"I'm glad I did. It's nice to meet another wallflower."

"Likewise."

She spun away from him, her dress shining like the mirth in her eyes. "You sell yourself short on your dancing skills, I must say."

"I have a wonderful teacher."

She giggled. "You're an excellent pupil."

One song faded into another and still they danced. Erik could not shake the feeling of being complete for the first time in his life. Music was thrumming in his veins. He was in the arms of a woman whose words were patient and kind. He didn't recognize the warmth spreading through his chest. Happiness perhaps? He glanced down at Christine and reconsidered. Perhaps it was something more.

The bandleader announced that they were entering the last ten minutes and Erik froze. Ten minutes to midnight and he had to find his carriage.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"I must go, Christine." In a moment of daring, he left a lingering kiss on her hand. "Thank you for a wonderful evening."

Before she had time to respond, he vanished into the night.