"Go and be seen among the aristocracy," her mother had directed. "To be invited to Cereus' Longest Night is no trivial honor for you. The more visible you are, the higher your star will rise among the D'Angelines." Ambra had resisted fiercely. She hated crowds and social pressure, hated to be trotted out as a showpiece. How much better to  stay in her studio, alone with her art, doors barred against the cupidity of her family. Her portraits sold for more than a Serenissiman palace, and still they wanted more. With reluctance, Ambra went.<br/>That had been two years ago. She needed no encouragement to go now; indeed, she spent weeks in happy preparation for the Longest Night. The sophistication of House Cereus' festivities never failed to dazzle; the flair of D'Angeline costumers never failed to impress. More than once she had drawn inspiration from nobles' pageantry to fuel fanciful sketches. Truthfully, though, Ambra loved Longest Night for less noble reasons as well. In La Serenissima her D'Angeline blood served only to make her a target for her grandfather's wrath, but what was Longest Night if not a celebration of everything D'Angeline? And if her olive skin and strong nose illustrated that she was not cut from quite the same cloth as the pale, frail beauties of House Cereus, why, behind her mask, who could tell?<br/>This year Ambra wore a gown of white and silver, its layers artfully slashed and stitched to give the appearance of being caught in the wind. Her mask was a slender construction of ashwood and pearls. The only diversion from the wintry theme was a black crow, wings outspread, stitched across her left shoulder.<br/>"It's part of the family's crest," she had told her mother. "You wanted me to represent the family, didn't you?" It had satisfied for an explanation, and it was only half a lie. Ambra had styled herself a crow that first time, three years ago, with a black mask that curved back into her long, dark curls. She had been very nervous, drank a great deal of<em>joie</em>and consequently found herself very drunk. Someone had taken her hand, led her into the Gardens, and there they had giggled and kissed, then kissed again, and then Ambra had surrendered her virginity, crying out her ecstasy to the sky. She drifted off after, and woke in the great hall, wrapped in a blanket, unable to find her mysterious suitor or recall her lover's face. Every year since, she had worn a crow, hoping to be recognized. Twice now, it hadn't happened.<br/>Ambra's fingers knotted in her sash as she snapped herself back to the present. A rustle of excitement had swept through the crowd - the adepts of House Cereus had  begun to move, leading the stately, sensuous procession into the Hall. It seemed as if all of them shared one spirit, one temper, of soaring joy. Underneath her demure mask, Ambra smiled.