The Masquerade Ball

ARYA’S POV I stood in front of the full-length mirror, barely recognizing the woman staring back at me. The dress was a deep midnight blue that seemed to shimmer between black and sapphire depending on how the light hit it. The bodice was intricately beaded, the skirt flowing and elegant, with a slit that reached mid-thigh. My hair was styled in an elaborate updo, with a few curls framing my face. And the mask. The mask was a work of art with silver shaped like delicate feathers, covering the upper half of my face but leaving my lips and jaw exposed. It tied with black silk ribbons at the back of my head. I looked like I belonged at a masquerade ball full of Italian crime lords. “You can do this,” I said to myself. “You've trained for this. You're ready.” My reflection didn't look entirely convinced, but she was trying. I took a deep breath, adjusted the mask one final time, and headed downstairs. The foyer was busy with guards checking equipment, Enzo reviewing something on a tablet