They’re massive black feathered wings that span at least six feet when fully extended. Each feather looks real, ranging from deep black to hints of iridescent purple and blue that only show when light hits them just right. The wings attach to a harness hidden beneath the corset, positioned so they look like they grow naturally from my shoulder blades. When I move, they respond slightly, creating the illusion that they’re actually part of me.
The accessories complete the transformation. A delicate silver circlet that looks like twisted thorns, dark eye makeup that makesmy eyes look huge and mysterious, and silver jewelry that catches the light. My hair falls in loose waves over my shoulders, contrasting perfectly with the black feathers.
I slip everything on, and when I look in the mirror, I see a dark angel, something powerful and hauntingly nightmarish. Something that might grant your prayers or might drag you into beautiful darkness, depending on her mood.
Twenty minutes later, I’m making my way downstairs, the wings creating a dramatic silhouette against the walls.
Blue stands at the bottom of the staircase, and the sight of him stops me completely.
The plague doctor costume is flawless and absolutely terrifying. The long black leather coat reaches almost to his ankles, fitted to emphasize his broad shoulders and lean build. The leather is aged and weathered, making it look authentic rather than theatrical. Black leather gloves extend past his wrists, and his pants are tucked into tall black boots that look like they could kick down doors without showing a scuff.
But it’s the mask that makes my breath catch. The plague doctor’s beak is longer than I expected, crafted from dark leather that’s been treated to look centuries old. Dark glass lenses hide his eyes completely, giving him an inhuman appearance that makes my skin crawl in the best possible way. The beak extends far enough that it completely changes the shape of his face, making him look like some hybrid between man and bird of prey.
A black leather hat sits low on his head, and when he turns slightly, I catch the outline of his axe handle beneath the back of his coat. The weapon is positioned along his spine, completely hidden by the flowing leather but obviously accessible if needed.
He looks like Death’s personal surgeon. Like something that would haunt plague-ravaged cities and collect souls for processing.
“You look...” He stops, tilting his head to study me. “Terrifying.”
I laugh. “You look like you stepped out of a medieval nightmare.”
“And you look like a death angel.” There’s something satisfied in his observation, like he’s pleased with how we turned out. “We match.” He offers me his arm, then pauses. “I should have mentioned—everyone dresses up for the Dryad’s Dance.”
“I figured that out from the costume.” I gesture at my wings. “But why? Is it just tradition?”
“Folklore. The story goes that during the Dryad’s Dance, when the barrier between realms grows thin, the fae use the opening to lure humans back to their world.” Blue’s voice takes on the tone of someone reciting an old tale. “But if there are no humans to be found—only other creatures, other magical beings—then there’s no one for them to trick.”
“So everyone pretends to be something else to avoid being kidnapped by fairies.”
“Exactly. Hide in plain sight.”
“Smart. I can work with that.”
He offers me his arm. “Ready?”
Outside, a black carriage waits in the circular drive, complete with two midnight-colored stallions that stepped out of a fairy tale written in shadow and starlight. These aren’t ordinary horses—they’re magnificent creatures with coats so dark they absorb light, their manes flowing like liquid silk in the evening breeze. Steam rises from their nostrils in the cool air, and when they shift their weight, muscles ripple beneath their glossy coats like coiled steel ready to spring. Their eyes are intelligent, almost knowing, and when one turns to study me, I swear I see recognition pass through those dark depths—like it knows exactly what I am.
The driver perched on his seat wears a tall black hat and cape that billows dramatically in the wind, his face hidden in shadow. The whole thing is so dramatically over the top that I stop walking.
“Seriously?” I stare at the carriage with its ornate silver details and lacquered black finish that reflects the estate’s lights like a dark mirror. “We’re taking a carriage to a forest party?”
“Right for the occasion.”
“How far is this thing anyway?”
“Not far. But you’re wearing wings.” He helps me up into the carriage, careful not to crush the feathers. “And I thought you might enjoy the entrance.”
I settle into the velvet seats, my wings spreading behind me. The interior is sumptuous—black velvet cushions so soft they embrace me, silver trim that catches the moonlight filtering through the smallwindows, and enough space that my costume doesn’t feel cramped. “You really don’t do anything halfway, do you?”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
The driver clicks his tongue and the stallions begin moving, their hooves creating a steady rhythm on the gravel drive that sounds like distant thunder. The carriage rocks gently as we make our way down the winding path toward the forest, and I have to admit there’s something magical about arriving this way.
As we settle into the rhythm of the journey, Blue reaches across the space between us and takes my hand. The gesture is simple, normal—something boyfriends do with their girlfriends on the way to parties. His fingers intertwine with mine, thumb tracing gentle circles across my knuckles, and for a moment we’re just two people holding hands in a carriage.
It’s the first genuinely normal thing that’s happened between us.
Everything else has been wrapped in shadows and danger—kidnapping and murder, handcuffs and belt around my throat near suffocation, passion that burns so hot it leaves marks. Even our tender moments carry an edge of darkness, a reminder that Blue is something beautiful and terrible that I should probably run from but can’t bring myself to leave.
