masquerade | stella & opal

The black halo around her forehead felt like a burn, a scar, an unnecessary crown, and she couldn’t wait to get it off and toss the piece of fabric in the back of her closet. She tugged at it, adjusting its spot on the her skin over the braids that swirled around her head like another crown. Bellezze had inspiration of some sort at the last moment - the victors clothed in all black with flecks of gold around Stella and Nico’s eyes, as she threw Nico into a black suit and Stella into an onyx dress that hung on her curves like a second skin. Ara seemed to have escaped this torture and Arbor was nowhere to be found. Lucky bastards.

Nico was saved from the unnecessary flecks of gold that covered Stella’s bare arms and legs and she glared at him, rolling her eyes as she licked her lips. An outraged “hey!” from her stylist prompted Stella to close her mouth and glance upward lest she get poked in the eye with the mascara brush. At least the bags under her eyes weren’t the size of dinner plates. It was a wonder what a good night’s sleep wrapped in Ex’s arms could do for her mental and physical wellbeing.

Stella eyed Nico’s suit out of the corner of her eye and wished, just wished for one moment, that she could trade him because spending all night in four-inch heels was murder and hell on earth. Even worse than a five-ton avalanche of the bodies of dead tributes flying at you, even worse than being burnt alive on a frozen wasteland. But it would be a cold day in hell before Stella could convince the stylists to let her wear something that (gasp) actually covered her legs.

Ex had declined to join her tonight and Stella felt her absence like a dagger plunged so deep in her heart that she was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to take a breath without the sting. Which was ridiculous, she reasoned, as she clutched Nico’s arm who seemed to loathe these events even more than Stella. It was just one night, one party. Ex had vanished into the darkness as Stella was leaving the penthouse, dressed in a jumpsuit that plunged so dangerously low on her chest that Stella had nearly fainted at the sight of all of that porcelain skin. She knew she was looking for any hint of the twist in the Games, but had so far, come up empty. 

Nico was never one to linger at these kinds of things. He abandoned her at first sight of the bar, and Stella wandered over to a large ice sculpture near the food and drinks. She couldn’t be sure what the hell she was looking at, angling her head back and forth from the right to the left to make out the design. She was stumped, which wasn’t a surprise. Maybe it was, but no, that wasn't right either. 

In hindsight, challenging Opal Earnest to a drinking contest to see who could consume the most glasses of champagne had been reckless, and no doubt the gossip columnists were already whispering into their recorders about the latest scandal from the Victor’s Ball or whatever the fuck this hellish gala was called.

But the party was winding down and all of the sponsors had since migrated to whomever the hell had the largest and newest mansion and Stella couldn’t bring herself to care. She was so damn bored and when she saw the glint in Opal’s eye at the challenge, just a few moments after meeting her with an introduction from Katelyn, she knew this would kill the monotony of the evening.

“What do they call you and Katelyn again? Kopal? What kind of a name is that?” she teases, knocking back yet another mouthful of champagne, with a smirk as she leaned her head on a balled fist.