The Dancer and the Masks

They came for me in the dead of night. Silent like ghosts. Three faceless men with one thing on their mind, revenge. The Dancer I was stolen. Ripped from the people I love, and imprisoned in a medieval castle in Scotland with walls as thick and impenetrable as the stone encasing my kidnappers’ hearts. Do as they say and you’ll survive this place. Refuse their orders and feel the consequences of their wrath. Everyone here calls them The Masks. I call them my enemy. I may seem fragile, weak, but I’m not like all the rest. I’m not just a dancer, or a singer, or a musician that they can loan out as entertainment to sick men and women. I’m a fighter. I come from a long line of them. This time they stole the wrong girl, and these walls…? They’ll come crashing down even if I have to rip them apart myself, brick by bloody brick. The Masks We took her. A payment for a debt. A very personal one. With our father “The Collector” dead, we are the heirs to a twisted dynasty with nothing but revenge in our hearts, blood on our hands, and darkness in our souls. Our home bears witness to our cruelty. The prisoners within it, scarred by our wrath. We’re the soulless creatures as twisted as any monster real or imagined. We steal, thieving not just the artist themselves, but the light that makes them shine bright. We must keep up our father’s legacy. We must have revenge. The Dancer we stole is ours to play with. Ours to use. She won’t survive this place. We’ll make sure of it.