Author's note: Hello Readers! Sorry I reposted this story because the text in the first version got screwed up due to HTML. I hope this is more readable! Excuse the simple language and cheesy lines. I haven't written anything in so long and this is my first attempt at getting back into a groove. It's just a fun (slightly cheesy) Halloween themed story (: Oscar is a bit out of character but I felt like exploring that side of her. I found that she was a lot more receptive to people's appearances in the manga than she was in the anime.

The golden liquid swirled lazily in the glass cup. The Captain of the Royal Guard took a sip of the champagne and grimaced. Too sweet. She looked onto the scene before her with unmasked boredom and disdain. Another All Hallow's Eve. Another masquerade ball. As if an excuse was needed for a ball, anyway. She turned around and faced the large windows of the ballroom, sipping more champagne, which only served to deepen her grimace.

"Enjoying yourself as usual, Commandant?" came a sultry voice behind her.

Oscar did not have to turn around to tell who it was. "Was there something you wanted, Girodelle?"

"Sssht!" he rudely hissed at her, eliciting her indignation. Did her lieutenant just shush her? "No one is supposed to know it's me," he went on, straightening out his tone and slightly teetering forward in her direction. She placed her hand on his chest and gently pushed him away. He was clearly drunk.

"Pfft," she sniggered at him. "What is the point? Everyone knows everyone. This is utterly ridiculous."

She put down her glass on the window sill and began walking away from him, but to her dismay, Girodelle seemed to take it as an invitation for further conversation.

In a way it was her fault. He did ask her for the night off, so she had no right to order him not to drink. And who was she to criticize, anyway? The bottle had been her companion to bed these past few months.

It wasn't always like that, though, was it?

But ever since him… her eyes quickly darted across the room to where the object of her misery was clinging to the Queen. Yes, it was obvious who was who. No masks needed. Yet her heart couldn't help but constrict slightly.

"You don't smile as much as you used to," remarked her unwanted companion. "You know you can confide in me… whatever you like." He uttered that phrase in a tone that was unmistakably suggestive.

"Can I help you with something, Girodelle?" she turned around abruptly to face him, causing him to crash into her. But the only thing he did was lament the contents of his glass that went flying everywhere.

"Try to have a little fun, won't you?" he scolded her, annoyed.

"As you may well recall," she returned, gesturing up and down at him in his silly costume of a jester, "you asked to be off duty tonight so I am here in your place. Had you been doing your job, I might just be having a little fun, hm?"

But before Girodelle could come up with a retaliation, the two were interrupted by loud screams coming from the ladies on the dance floor. They exchanged a nod and pushed their way through the crowds, Oscar's hand at the hilt of her sword, ready for action.

"Ah," Girodelle merely remarked as it became clear that the ladies were only screaming in delight and amusement. A young man was twirling several of them on his arm and dancing with them all at the same time. "Him."

Oscar stared in amazement at the young man. He moved with such agility and nimbleness, twirling one woman, waltzing with the next and so on. He was literally the only man in a sea of seven women and they seemed to delight in him beyond anything. And how could one not? He was the definition of dashing. Broad-chested and well-formed in all the right places. His face, although covered with a thick black mask, was clearly handsome, chiseled. And those eyes! Oscar couldn't tell if they were blue, green or grey. They seemed to change color with every move as the light from chandelier cast a different hue in them. But there was a roguish playful sparkle in them that was utterly alluring. And there was something in the way his legs moved, in the way his arms wrapped around waists and subtly grazed the women's skin, something in the way he looked at them. It was all so… sensual.

Oscar hadn't realized that her head had tilted to the side as she analyzed the scene before her. Ugh! She willed herself together, completely repulsed by her own reaction. Since when was the word "sensual" in her vocabulary?

Oh yes, a part of her answered that rhetoric: since him. Fersen.

"Hmm see? Even you," Girodelle teased.

"Shut up," she muttered, blushing.

Girodelle only raised a hand in surrender but to his surprise, his commandant didn't move away.

"Who is he?" she asked, instead.

"Oh," he replied condescendingly, "I thought you knew everyone here. After all, masks can't fool you."

She only supplied him with an icy glare, which successfully served to put him back in his place.

"He's not from around here," he explained. "A foreigner, apparently. He speaks no word of French. Italian, I suppose." He said the last part with noticeable disinterest and slight disdain.

"We should probably keep an eye on him, then," replied an absent-minded Oscar.

"Oh?" Girodelle raised his eyebrows. Admittedly, he couldn't help but feel slightly jealous in face of the reaction this nobody had elicited in her.

"He seems suspicious, who knows what these foreigners can get up to," she said in her usual military tone.

"Indeed." He gestured loosely with his glass in Fersen's direction.

She knew exactly what he meant. She automatically turned to him, the ire radiating from her like wildfire. He had gone too far. He bowed to her respectfully and left her to watch the dance. Or rather, the dancer.

…

Oscar let out a loud sigh. She leaned on the balustrade and closed her eyes, taking in the fresh air of this crisp October night.

He had noticed her. The mysterious man in the black mask had noticed her staring at him. And the worst part was that she became flustered by that. She blushed and didn't know where else to look. So, she did the only dignified thing she could possibly do: dashed out of the ballroom.

She put her face in her hands and shook her head. She groaned loudly.

What was wrong with her? Why can't she just live the life that was meant for her? The life of a man.

First, Fersen and now, this. What, you fall in love with one man and that somehow unlocks a series of others?! Is that how it worked? Her mind flew back to the ladies of the court who went through lover after lover as if they were nothing but dresses that came and went out of fashion. Was she to become like that now?

The guilt began creeping up on her. How could she even be attracted to another man? Didn't she love Fersen? Wasn't this a betrayal of her love to him?

And yet those eyes…

"Aaarrgghh!" she shouted, willing these thoughts to go away.

"Che bella sera," came an amiable voice behind her.

She turned around, mortified.

Him. It was him. And he had heard her moaning in agony. Would the earth just open up and swallow her? And yet, there was something so… calming, almost familiar about his presence. Something that drew her in.

"Stai bene? » he ventured, seeing as how his interlocuter seemed to be frozen in place.

He approached her gently, his hand almost touching her face. But it seemed as though this gesture was what it took to shake her out of her reverie, for she leapt back a few steps to avoid him.

"Cosa vuoi, signore?"

He merely grinned. A charming toothful grin that, she hated to admit, made her feel a pleasant shiver down her spine.

"Che me dici di una danza? » he asked.

He offered her his hand but she merely scoffed at him.

"Balli con gli uomini, signore?"

"Ovviamente no, » he laughed. "ma penso che sappiamo entrambi che… non sei un uomo."

By now he was two inches from her face and she wasn't sure just when the distance between them got smaller. Time seemed to stop and all she wanted to do was lose herself in his eyes. She still couldn't tell what color they were, for the light outside was lacking but looking into them was like staring into her own soul somehow. It was as if he knew her.

And there was something in the way he looked at her, too. With a fiery determination. With… passion. No one had ever looked at her that way before and she had to admit, it made her feel weak in the knees.

Ah, and those lips… as much as she tried to maintain a solid eye contact with him, her eyes couldn't help but sneak in a few glances further down his chiseled jaw, down to his lips. She swallowed with difficulty. How must it feel like to be kissed by him? Would it feel as good as her body was telling her it would? All she had to do was lean in a bit closer and reach in for a little taste. What harm would it do? There was no one around…

And then it all happened so quickly. There was no time for her to even think.

Without any warning, his hand encircled her waist in an attempt to draw her in. it was precisely at this moment, right when his hand touched the small of her back that the Commandant of the Royal Guard arose from her slumber and retook its hold of Oscar's body.

No one.

Absolutely no one touches Oscar Francois de Jarjayes.

She grabbed his arm with such force and twisted it behind his back, completely immobilizing him.

Or so she thought.

The man in the Black Mask merely chuckled and broke free from her.

The next thing she knew, her hand instinctively reached for her sword. He reached for his, in turn and no sooner than that, they were locked in combat.

He was like none other she had faced before. Was it that he had caught her off guard? That she was already flustered and couldn't get her bearings right? He seemed to anticipate her every move with such skill and agility.

They parried for several minutes and while Oscar was grunting and panting, he simply appeared… amused, which made her even angrier and more impulsive in her tactic.

"Tsk tsk," she could hear Andre's mocking voice in her head. "You must learn to control your impulsivity, Oscar. It just never ends well."

Sure enough, he was right. This man had driven her right to the edge of the stairs. She glanced down behind her, analyzing her surroundings. Evidently, it was a mistake to even take her eyes off him, because by the time she faced him again in that split second, he was already upon her and she lost her footing.

Time seemed to stop.

Her feet were no longer on the ground. She closed her eyes in reflex. A memory flashed in her head of when her father struck her once, causing her to fall down the long staircase at their manor. How that hurt! And this is going to hurt too, but not as much as the wound that was inflicted on her pride.

But the fall never came and she simply couldn't stop what happened next.

His arm wrapped around her waist just in time, forcefully bringing her back to the landing. Taking advantage of the position she was in, he pulled her tightly to him and pressed his lips onto hers.

Her eyes widened in surprise at the contact and she felt paralyzed. Alas, her own body was betraying her. Her hand loosely wrapped itself around his neck, surrendering herself to him in spite of herself. His lips were warm and pillowy. The way he tasted was intoxicating.

He disengaged slightly from her, to allowing his tongue to traced a humid line on her lips.

"Mm," she moaned, despite herself. No, no, no! A voice inside of her protested.

Just as she was about to push him off of her, the clock struck twelve and the man abruptly disengaged from her. He appeared flustered, as if bitten by a snake.

They stood facing each other for what seemed like an eternity. He gazed at her with such sorrow and regret in his eyes that struck her deep in her heart.

"What…" she began but before she could finish, he wrapped his cape around him and ran away from her.

"Grazie per la danza, signora," he called out to her, his voice raspy.

"ATTENDEZ!" she chased after him.

She almost succeeded when she managed to grab his arm.

Alas, he was stronger than her and wiggled out of his glove. Ultimately, he was faster than her and he eluded her.

And so, she found herself standing by the gates, panting and breathless, holding his glove in her hand like it was a dead animal.

Who was this man?

She never needed to know anything so desperately as the answer to that question. For once, it was her heart that demanded it and it was impossible to ignore it.

A suivre!