The Wrong Coat

The anteroom of the Valdris Masquerade sits just off the grand ballroom, hushed and cold. A row of silk cloaks hangs along one wall, and the chandelier light falls like frozen honey. You came to retrieve your grandmother's brooch — pawned here by your cousin without permission — but you only have your cousin's invitation, not your own. Madame Helck stands at the inner door, checking names against her list with the patience of snowfall. You will not be admitted as yourself.