Life is a fleeting entity, a blink of an eye to that of a human being. People are unable to notice its short giving’s, its lackluster time until the dwindling moments lying on their sick beds before death finally manages steals their last breath. Succeeds in shaking away the Guardian Angel that had been safeguarding their charge from the first to the last breath. Till the end is unavoidable.

It then most likely would have been better spent, better cherished. No regrets would be had, no “what-ifs’” would be made. Man would have lived life to the fullest, and done what made their soul happy and content. Social standard strays away from such a reality. Society does not want to think of the end or even death, they do not want to realize time eventually comes to end. Rather continue their nonsensical days without a lick of understanding or being, because it is believed that day will always continue similarly onto the next.

Unfortunately the time may never arise when one does not take advantage of their short lived time table, but enjoy God’s given gift. The gift of life and pleasure. To throw away the standards which hold the people away from true living; true being.

   Death is the only end in which one will meet, no exceptions are to be made. For which reason man needs to live while he can, enjoy what he can while he can. Not even a self-proclaimed God can invade Death’s grasp. Death is undeniable, for it is the will of nature. To defeat nature would be to defeat and kill humanity; something that should be shunned, not strived for.

We were ignorant to that concept. May it be that the most indestructible fell, groveling at the feet of the unshakable truths. The very fault which had chosen we should fall from our glory into the fiery fields of Damnation. Into the abyss of Hell, rather than the next great adventure. We had been at accountability for condemning ourselves.

The year was 1920; our world was a protagonist of life, seemingly infallible in its wake and sensibility. Magnificent balls, masquerades, and astronomical parties were held night upon night. The guests basking in one another and bountiful spirits, drunk on the moment, the identity they had made for themselves. They had drowned themselves so thoughtlessly in the wrongful misdeeds of earthen sorts.

Ivory our alluring Hostess was ever so indulging, even in her solitude of cool and collectedness. She was similar to the royalty of old, held in a high imposing manner. Always dressed in immaculate silver floor length gowns, an opposition to the new age flapper dresses, and intricately spun ebony hair, contradictory to those blonde little bob cuts.

Whilst the parties and its inhabitants became wild and insanity driven, she stood off to the side watching with rapt attention as if not understanding. As if she saw something more, something worth pitying, whilst we only could perceive a bounty worth basking in. Ivory with wise eyes allowed we are ‘fun’, she made her own by creating that which was ours.

There was one night in particular, one of Ivory’s masquerades were in full swing. Musicians happily belted out merry tunes, and partygoers swung around each other care free. They dipped and twirled, shimmying and shaking hips with a multitude of partners. It was a circus of individuals, no different than her usual parties.
Ivory the hostess herself currently was nowhere to be seen; more than likely hiding away in her safeguarded study.

Rolling around midnight as the chorus met its peak a ghastly scream pierced through an air of euphoria. It was sickening, it was bone-chilling. The hall had become silent, as the crowds parted to allow Ivory to sweep through to the open back room; some attendant must have gone and fetched her.

I stood of to the sides of the room watching with rapt attention, unbelieving of this monstrosity. The lifeless body of Madame Astoria lay sprawled across a poker table. There was a pool of blood, and horrific gore pooling around her head. The weapon of death lay innocently besides her skull.

“Who dare bring forth such a game of folly?” Ivory’s melodic voice was cool, and unwavering. No one dare step forward.

“If no one shall be brave enough to step forth, we will leave it to the police ending the masquerade for the night.” There were calls of anger at her proclamation. No sympathy was given for the dead women; her death had been her own foully.

“Another well take place tomorrow, without this Russian made atrocity. Now be on your way.” With that Ivory cut through the crowd in exit, agitation clear in her stance.

Slipping through the crowd of annoyed people, I snatched our games weapon before roving eyes could glance my way.

The party started anew the second night with the thought of Madame Astoria pushed aside. The blood stains and body had been sweep away the night before, allowing the joyous air once more.

As the orchestras meet its peak once again there was not a single peep from guests alike. But when the tune slowed down coming to its end, a soul wrenching screech penetrated the air, even more horrifying than the last.

  I watched as the crowds parted again allowing Ivory through. Senator Yasha Allah was impaled on an iron knight’s sword, blood dripping rhythmically down his front.

“Will anyone come forth and claim their doings?” No one dared, leaving Ivory standing alone by the deceased.

“Break up the party up then for the night and return for tomorrows; the help shall remove these metal death traps, for the cause of hopefully this accidental made death.” She left, with guests exiting out of main entries. Many huddled in pairs gossiping in carrying whispers.

“Ivory obviously is covering for someone….”
“No, no she did it…”
“She was too far away…”
“Maybe she’s a Demon or vampire who feed off of others misery…”
“Ridiculous, ridiculous the poor man was to drunk, must’ve feel forward...”

It was ridiculous indeed that even with the deaths and fear of foul play everyone once again returned the next night. But the air held a more strained type of joy, one of ill hidden fear. Ivory was shied away from, kept at an arms distance, as was anything remotely sharp or dangerous. Her guests now feared her very presence, suspecting her of homicide; but still willing to indulge on her generosity. She was left alone alike the other victims. This time it was not from her indifference; it was from her partygoers own doings, the doings that would warrant her own death. Kindness repaid in hate and abandonment.

I slinked through the crowd’s; unseen in the mix of bodies edging closer and closer. I was invisible in mass of beings pretending to be God’s. Ivory stood by a balcony face drawn in weariness.

Paying little too no attention, I sweep past the hostess, unaware of my shoulder bumping into Ivory’s back. Her scream startled me as she stumbled down steep marble steps. How did that happen?

Turning to the where the scream originated, Ivory lay dead at the bottom of the stairs, a horrified expression on her face. It had happened once again. But how?