The grand ballroom was set.

  Or at least, as grand as a little girl’s pyroom could be. Silk scarves draped over chairs to make elegant thrones, a bnket puddled on the floor like a velvet dance floor, and candlelight flickered—though not from actual candles, but from little floating orbs of dim blue light, courtesy of Astrid’s ever-watchful demons.

  At the center of it all, Astrid stood, dressed in one of her mother’s old ce shawls, which she had fastened around her waist like a ballgown. A glittering mask—cut hastily from paper and dusted with crushed chalk—covered her face. In her hands, she held Sir Bun-Bun, his own tiny mask secured with a ribbon.

  She cpped her hands together. “Welcome, honored guests! The Midnight Masquerade is about to begin.”

  The stuffed animals sat in a regal semi-circle, their button eyes filled with silent anticipation. The demons, dressed in scraps of fabric Astrid had forced upon them, stood on either side of her. Jack had a silk ribbon wrapped haphazardly around his shadowy form, Fox wore a golden napkin ring like a bracelet, and Nine had the most noteworthy handkerchief wrapped around his head like a headscarf. Nine watched the girl with glowing, amused eyes.

  “The rules are simple,” Astrid decred. “Everyone must dance. And at the stroke of midnight, the masks must come off.”

  One of the demons chuckled, bowing low. “And what happens if we do not remove them?”

  Astrid grinned. “Then you must stay masked… forever!”

  The room hummed with anticipation. The stuffed animals remained obediently silent, but the demons moved like flickering candlelight, shifting and twisting in the dim glow of their own conjured lights.

  Music—soft, eerie, and sweet—began to py.

  Astrid did not know where it came from.

  The demons had not conjured it.

  The wind had not carried it.

  Yet it pyed, winding through the air like a whisper from another world.

  Astrid, ever fearless, grabbed Sir Bun-Bun, her first dance partner, by the paw and twirled him in a sweeping waltz. The demons followed, gliding like shadows through moonlight. The stuffed animals sat in still reverence, watching their queen lead the dance.

  The room swayed, the air grew thick with something other as Nine seamlessly swapped dance partners with Sir Bun-Bun. The dignified rabbit took his seat beside his wife, allowing the queen and her demonic consort to have the floor. The candlelight orbs flickered, stretching long, unnatural shadows against the walls.

  And then—

  The grandfather clock in the hall outside began to chime.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  The demons hesitated.

  Four.

  Five.

  The shadows stretched, curling toward the masked figures.

  Six.

  Seven.

  A whisper, soft and beckoning: Do not take them off.

  Eight.

  Nine.

  Astrid’s grip on Nine tightened. The mask against her face suddenly felt too heavy, as if something pressed from the other side.

  Ten.

  Eleven.

  The demons, flickering now, uncertain, looked toward Astrid.

  Twelve.

  The final chime echoed through the pyroom.

  And just as Astrid reached for her mask—

  "Astrid, my love."

  A warm hand brushed against her shoulder.

  The music stopped.

  The candlelight orbs flickered and steadied.

  The shadows retreated.

  Astrid twirled, blinking drowsily at her st dance partner. There stood Saul, his golden eyes filled with sleepy amusement, his voice thick with affection. “You’ve danced past your bedtime again, little star.”

  Astrid, still caught between dreams and waking, swayed slightly where she stood, not giving up the sweet tune she clearly remembered. “But the masquerade… I had to see it through.”

  Saul chuckled, bending down to scoop her up into his arms. “And you did, my darling girl. The finest queen of the finest ball. But even queens must sleep.”

  Astrid yawned, “Papa, you’re just in time for the final dance...”

  Saul stepped forward, kneeling in front of her with a smile. He gently plucked the mask from her face, brushing his thumb over her rosy cheek. “For the final dance, a Foxtrot to Dreamnd.”

  Astrid gasped as she was swept up into Saul’s arms. She twisted back, pining for Fox but her drowsy call barely uttered a sound higher than a sweet whine. Saul spun Astrid gently, and she shrieked with ughter, her mask slipping from her hand and nding softly on the bnket floor.

  Breathless from the dance, she clung to Saul’s robe, curling against his chest. “Will you carry me?”

  Saul grinned and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Always.”

  As he carried her toward her bedroom, the demons watched in silence.

  “Until next time, Mistress Astrid,” Fox whispered.

  Astrid waved sleepily over Saul’s shoulder.

  The masks they wore—had they ever truly been off?

  Jack, still clutching his ribbon sash, reached up hesitantly.

  A soft whisper lingered in the air.

  Do not take them off.