It was a lovely evening, much to Weston’s surprise. There was a pretty decent crowd as well. For an event like this he had expected something that was a lot more extravagant, flashy and showy. It was a nice surprise to see that it was rather quiet.<br/><br/>He wandered about the room casually, posture relaxed. The mask he wore was something that reminded him of Mardi Gras; he liked the colors in it especially.<br/><br/>The invitation had come in a very formal envelope. It had at first been dismissed as junk mail, but something had compelled him to open it and see what it contained. He didn’t usually receive mail from people these days, not when he primarily used his email or phone, sometimes fax, to communicate with people. It was a lot easier in most cases. Most mail, when it wasn’t time to be reminded to pay his bills, or some holiday card, was usually just junk mail.<br/><br/>Weston was nevertheless enjoying himself. He spoke to a few people here and there, trying to gather more information. Some were as surprised as he was that they got invited. He was almost glad that he ignored the pleas from his good friend, Mark, not to go. Mark had gotten a bad feeling about this. To be honest, so did Weston the more he spoke to people. But it certainly had not stopped him at all. He truly had wanted to go, not just for the masks and shooting the breeze with the locals, because he had heard rumors about this ball.<br/><br/>Often, those who attend do not return. He wasn’t sure if this was true however, being a believer in the preternatural world, even experiencing it first-hand, and a lover of conspiracy theories, he could not help but wonder. This whole event was shrouded in mystery. It could very well be possible that the person running it was the head of some cult, and this was just a way to recruit people.<br/><br/>He made some mental notes here and there and would really look into this place more when he got home.<br/><br/>Weston couldn’t help himself. A woman was standing alone, sipping wine. He decided to approach her and make conversation. Everyone else he had been speaking with moved on to other things.<br/><br/>“Evening, miss,” he said, keeping his tone casual, friendly.<br/><br/>She looked at him, smiled, and said, “Good evening.” She seemed stand-offish, and he soon figured out why.<br/><br/>A man had hurried over to them and took the woman’s hand, even going out of his way to cast an annoyed glance Weston’s way. The two then disappeared into the crowd. Weston merely shrugged and decided to take the woman’s spot. Can’t win them all, he thought, chuckling to himself and smiling as he took a sip from his own wine glass. It was good wine, perfect for a good evening.<br/><br/>What an evening indeed.