"Masks on!" Announced the young man gleefully.

I slip the Bauta on as instructed in one swift movement, and then delicately slide Rosie's Colombina over her face.

"Thanks," she mumbles as I rest my hands on her waist once again. Her face is half-hidden by the silver-feathered mask, yet I still find myself staring into her beautiful eyes. I wish we could've danced that waltz for just a minute longer.

Around us, partygoers shuffle with excitement as they adjust their masks.

"Introducing our beloved Concertmistress, and the current ruling Quartet!"

The musicians begin to play a haunting tune, and in the corner of my eye, I see the thick velvet curtains shift.

I freeze.