Chapter One
Lauren Perkins’s red Porsche looked as out of place in the parking lot of the Bricksville Correctional Institution’s psychiatric ward as it did in Perkins, Massachusetts, the small town her family had founded. She pulled into a spot that might as well have had her name on it, she was here so often. She waved to the guard and walked to the old building where her sister was being held, bypassing the construction site of a new wing. After six months, she recognized some of the men in hard hats, and as usual, a select few eyed Lauren and her car with a sleazy combination of envy and lust. The only thing missing was catcalls, but since the actual prison was only a few hundred yards away, she assumed it kept them on their best behavior.
Lauren stopped short of flipping the men the bird. She had held her own in Third World countries and in the Garment Center of Manhattan. Not much could make her uneasy, but this place did, and she hated like hell having to be here.
Thanks to her sister Mary Beth and her antics, Lauren had no choice. She consoled herself with the promise that her visit to the prison would be like her trip to her grandmother’s home.
Short and to the point.
Paris was waiting and nothing was going to keep her from being there in person when her dress designs debuted under the Galliano label. She’d sold the designs, so now she was free for the few weeks she needed to restore her grandmother’s old Victorian into salable condition. Then she would fly to Paris and watch the fashion show in person. And pray her designs succeeded beyond her wildest dreams.
Fashion Week in Paris was every designer’s goal and Lauren had been gearing herself up for this for the past five years. After taking fashion classes in the city, working odd jobs to pay for them, and designing at night, she’d earned this chance. Though she was torn between her good fortune and her sister’s situation, there wasn’t anything else she could do for Beth that she wasn’t already doing.
She’d had to uproot herself in order to focus on her grandmother’s house because, as usual, her parents felt their humanitarian efforts were more important than Lauren’s materialistic pursuits. Never mind that those pursuits had amounted to a successful career.
Her parents had never understood why Lauren and Beth hadn’t shared their calling. Not even Beth’s breakdown had caused them to put their work helping others on hold. They’d only visited their daughter, diagnosed as “unresponsive” by her doctors, once since she’d been incarcerated for arson, among other charges.
Lauren still couldn’t understand her sister’s actions. For reasons trapped in Beth’s mind, she’d attempted to burn down a building full of innocent people about a year ago. According to Beth’s own hysterical explanation, the police claimed that she’d been attempting to hang on to the Perkins family’s declining power. Since many townspeople had come forward with tales of how her now deceased grandmother, the longtime mayor, had consolidated her power using blackmail and other forms of fear and manipulation, it wasn’t a stretch to think Beth, her grandmother’s loyal assistant, had followed in her footsteps.
Lauren had had no idea how mentally ill her sister had become and felt guilty that she’d been too busy with her own life to notice. As for her grandmother’s mental state prior to her death, Lauren didn’t have a clue. Except for occasional visits to her sister, Lauren hadn’t had a relationship with the older woman in years.
Lauren did know firsthand about her grandmother’s ability to control and manipulate. But Mary Perkins was gone, having passed away in the aftermath of Beth’s arson attempt. She’d had a fatal heart attack while awaiting trial for her own crimes. And Beth continued to stare at the walls here in Psych Central.
Lauren visited her sister at least once a month, more often when she could. Revolving her life around Beth’s wasn’t much different from their childhood. Lauren had always taken care of her younger sister. Older by five years, she had been Beth’s mother, father and authority figure as they grew up, because their parents had no time for them. Though the sisters were close back then, Beth had still been a handful. Even at twenty-seven years old, Lauren was still cleaning up her sister’s messes.
She quickly crossed the parking lot and proceeded to the first checkpoint. Lauren hated the prison grounds. Even though Beth was in a separate building from the prison itself, Lauren detested the depressing psychiatric ward. But she hoped that by visiting Beth and keeping her aware of the outside world, her sister would recover faster.
Today Beth sat upright instead of lying in bed, but nothing else had changed. Before her breakdown, Beth had been a stickler for perfection, if not fashion—that was Lauren’s forte and orange had always been her favorite color. But after seeing her sister in the fluorescent prison hue back when she’d originally been processed, Lauren had pulled the color from her portfolio. Beth now wore institutional gray with bold writing on the back, an outfit that would have horrified their grandmother. Something Lauren never mentioned to Beth.
Why upset her sister, who’d eagerly earned Mary Perkins’s approval in a way Lauren never had. While Beth had pleased Mary, Lauren’s one teenage indiscretion had isolated her from her grandmother. Lauren didn’t care. That summer with Jason Corwin had been worth risking her grandmother’s wrath.
Since Beth remained docile, she was never handcuffed for their visits, although guards patrolled the hall outside the room and a nurse regularly checked in.
“Hi, Beth. How are you today?” Lauren asked in a cheery voice.
No reply, not that Lauren had expected one.
Beth stared straight ahead, her hair hanging in her face. The once perfect, if conservative, bob had grown out, leaving her looking unkempt. The gray outfit didn’t help her pale skin. Sometimes Lauren wondered if holding a mirror to her sister’s face would shock her out of her unresponsive state.
Lauren cleared her throat. Trying not to fidget, she placed her hands in her lap. “Remember last week I told you I’d be staying at Grandma’s house? Well, I’ve been in for a couple of days and I’ll stay there until closing on December first.”
Beth’s eyelashes fluttered up and down.
Lauren had no way of knowing what her sister heard or understood. The prison psychiatrist encouraged Lauren to talk to Beth about the familiar and about Lauren’s life. As if Beth were fine. So she chattered away, feeling like an idiot talking to herself but doing it anyway.
“As long as I get the house into what the buyers consider move-in condition, the closing will go off without a hitch.” Afterward, she’d have two weeks to return to New York and get herself packed and ready for Paris.
Assuming she closed. The offer she had was conditional and the deadline was only four short weeks away. The renovation wouldn’t be as easy a task as she’d first hoped. The house had been empty for the past year, held up in probate. On Lauren’s arrival she’d discovered it was in worse condition than she’d anticipated. It seemed her grandmother had been more concerned with outward appearances, putting money into superficial aesthetics without fixing the structural problems that came with age. Between the general dilapidated condition, the holes in the walls from vandals or pranksters, and the old pipes and plumbing, Lauren’s limited budget would be stretched. She hoped to find a contractor who was hurting enough to take on her project at a reasonable price.
She drew a deep breath and forged on. “The broker said the potential buyers are a nice family. They’re moving from overseas and have no time to do the renovating themselves. In this market, I’m lucky to have them interested. I have to finish the repairs in the next month or they won’t take possession and then what are the chances I’ll ever find another buyer?”
A feeling of déjà vu overtook her and Lauren suspected she’d told Beth the same thing last week. But who knew? Beth loved her grandmother’s old house. If there had been money left in the estate after the debts and her grandmother’s lawyer bills, Lauren knew Beth would have wanted to keep the place, but that wasn’t possible. There was no alternative now but to sell. By keeping Beth aware of the situation, Lauren hoped to trigger something inside her sister’s mind.
Suddenly, the sound of hammering and sawing came from right outside Beth’s window and Lauren tensed.
“Not again.” For the last six months, Lauren’s visits had been disturbed by construction of the new wing.
Beth’s eyes flashed and a tick seemed to pull at one side of her mouth.
She was obviously upset and Lauren didn’t blame her. The noise level was hard to take and Lauren didn’t see how patients could heal in this environment, let alone hear themselves think.
She patted her sister’s hand. “Let’s try to ignore the noise,” she said, pointing to the barred window and the construction beyond. No sooner had she spoken than drilling suddenly accompanied the hammering. Beth, who already seemed agitated, flushed and her eyes widened. Even Lauren was getting a headache.
“Excuse me,” Lauren said to the nurse who had come in earlier, shuffling papers and making notations on her chart. “Isn’t there anything you can do about the noise? It’s upsetting my sister.”
The young woman shook her head. “I’m sorry, but until they finish there’s nothing we can do.”
Lauren frowned. “I know. They aren’t patients in a private facility. They’re prisoners living on the state’s dollar and taxpayers’ dime, so let them suffer.”
The nurse placed a comforting hand on Lauren’s shoulder. “If it’s any consolation, she normally doesn’t seem to mind the noise.”
“I suppose I ought to be grateful she’s reacting at all.” At the thought, Lauren rose from her chair. “Do you think it’s a sign?” she asked, excited at the prospect of seeing some change in her sister’s condition.
Again, the nurse shook her head. “This is just a normal reaction. Try not to get your hopes up.” Her voice was kind.
Lauren exhaled hard and settled back into her seat.
As she studied her silent sister, she wondered whether even Beth thought that the price of believing in the Corwin Curse to its destructive conclusion had been worth the price she’d paid.
The Corwin Curse.
At best, Lauren thought it was a bedtime story her grandmother liked to tell. At worst, she figured it was the Perkins family’s way to instill a sense of self-importance in its future generations.
To hear her grandmother tell it, the first Mary Perkins, an ancestor from the Salem Witch Trial days, had placed a curse on William Corwin and all of his male descendants in retribution for eloping with her son’s fiancée. All Corwin men who fell in love were doomed to lose their love and their fortune. Whether by coincidence or circumstance, the curse had held true for the male descendants down the Corwin line. Yet she’d heard from her friend Sharon that Jason Corwin’s two male cousins were currently married and attempting to buck the curse.
More power to them, Lauren thought.
As for herself, she hadn’t believed in the curse at seventeen, when she’d met and fallen for Jason during a summer visit to her grandmother’s. But Mary Perkins had, and when she’d read Lauren’s diary entries about sneaking out to see Jason, she’d launched into a tirade Lauren would never forget. She’d forbidden Lauren to see that Corwin boy ever again and sent her back to her parents in Sierra Leone as quickly as possible.
Lauren had lost her grandmother’s trust and approval from that day on and she’d never gained it back. Not that she’d ever really tried. She’d been too angry at her banishment.
She hadn’t given up on Jason. She’d written him more than a few times but she’d never heard back. Once she’d turned eighteen, she’d come back to the States only to find Jason had gone off to follow his dreams of winning gold in Olympic snowboarding.
He hadn’t contacted her or even let her know where he’d gone. She’d been devastated as only a teenage girl could be. They’d shared their hopes for a future and she’d believed they would find a way to be together one day. Obviously that summer had meant more to her than to him. He’d forgotten about her, so she’d headed to New York to create some dreams of her own.
Lauren forced her mind away from the past and refocused on her sister. She only had a handful of visits left before leaving for Paris and she wanted to make the most of them.
So she returned to her monologue. “Anyway, as I was saying, Grandma’s house is a real mess. The windows are broken—probably some kids with nothing better to do than vandalize the old place for fun.” Or payback for Beth’s arson escapade, but Lauren kept that notion to herself. “But I’ll get it cleaned up in no time.”
Beth didn’t reply, of course.
Lauren glanced around and suddenly felt claustrophobic. A pang of guilt followed at the realization that Beth was incarcerated here without the option to leave.
“Don’t worry, Beth. Even when I’m in Paris, I’ll be in touch with your lawyer. I’m still trying to get you out of here.”
The lawyer was working hard to ensure Beth’s case was appealed. Beth had spent the first months after her arrest in a regular hospital being evaluated by both state and her own defense psychiatrists. She’d been declared unfit to stand trial and placed in this prison psych ward for the criminally insane until such time as she was deemed fit.
Beth’s lawyer was appealing her placement here, trying to have her moved to a mental hospital where she could get better treatment and eventually be released. To whom and to what, Lauren didn’t want to imagine. In truth, the lawyer had said the entire scenario was a long shot but Lauren wasn’t giving up hope.
Paying the lawyer’s fees had put a strain on Lauren’s once comfortable savings. She’d bought the pre-owned Porsche before Beth’s arrest with the money she’d obtained from selling her designs to Galliano. The Porsche was proof that dreams did come true. That hard work, pounding the pavement, believing in herself paid off.
Sure she could sell it, but she’d worked hard for the convertible and she loved it. Loved that every time she drove the car, the rush of the engine reminded her of the euphoria of her first big success. She wasn’t willing to sell the car—or that feeling—for Beth or for anyone.
If her runway show in Paris was a hit, her designs would be in demand and money would no longer be an issue. But right now, she had to focus on the renovation. Another blow to her savings.
She glanced at her sister, the cause of this mess. Trying not to show her dueling anger and frustration, Lauren covered Beth’s hand with her own.
“I have to go, but I’ll be back soon.” She rose and kissed her sister’s cheek.
As she walked out, Lauren had the weird sensation her sister’s gaze was following her, watching her as she headed for her life outside the prison walls.
The red Porsche, engine revving, zoomed past the open field in a flash of fire and blinding speed. The convertible—top down, unusual for this time of year—dazzled for an instant before disappearing in a screeching cloud of dust. The vibrant sports car caused a commotion in Stewart, Massachusetts, a sedate New England town consumed with getting ready for tonight’s Annual Fall Festival, always held the weekend before Halloween.
Jason Corwin glanced toward the heavy thrumming sound. His heart rate picked up speed, much as it had before a snowboarding race, until he deliberately clamped down on the unwanted reminder of his previous life. A life where he’d had the more expensive version of the sports car that had just passed through. A life of excitement and a constant rush of adrenaline through his veins. A life that was over, he harshly reminded himself before turning back to the more mundane task of building a tarot card booth for tonight’s big event.
“I wonder who could be so determined to make an entrance,” Clara Deveaux pondered aloud.
“Couldn’t tell you.” Jason hammered the last nail into the sign for Clara’s booth.
But considering the brightly colored exterior of the car and the deliberate way the engine had been revved up full throttle, the driver had definitely wanted people to notice.
“I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough,” Clara said. “So are you almost finished?”
He nodded. “As a matter of fact, I am.” He’d agreed to help with setup for the festival, but since Clara was a friend of the family, Jason had also helped to build and decorate her booth and bring over supplies.
As owner of Crescent Moon, a New Age Wiccan gift shop she’d recently relocated to Stewart, Clara was sure to be a success, her booth filled with people who wanted their future told. After all, this town believed in spells and curses. As a Corwin male, direct descendant of William Corwin and, some might say, recipient of the infamous Corwin Curse, Jason wanted nothing to do with witchcraft.
But Clara insisted on doing a tarot reading for him as thanks for all his hard work. And Clara didn’t take no for an answer.
“Great!” She seated herself in front of him and pulled out an oversize deck of cards. “Shuffle.” Her bangle bracelets clinked against one another as she handed him the deck.
With a feigned groan, he did as she asked, shuffling under her watchful eye.
After four months in a relationship with his uncle Edward that no one in the family could define, Clara was obviously here to stay. Jason liked the woman. It was her do-gooder tendencies that drove him nuts. Clara, like Gabrielle and Amber, his cousins’ wives, pushed and prodded him to get out of his present funk.
He could understand they were sick of his attitude. He was pretty sick of it himself, which was why he’d humor her and let her read his cards.
He handed the deck back to her.
“This deck is my personal favorite,” she said as she turned over one card. “Knight of Pentacles reversed. You’re a hard worker and can take care of yourself, but something recently happened to turn your world upside down.”
Jason held back a snort. The whole town knew his goal of winning Snowboarding gold in the winter Olympics had gone south after he’d tested positive for steroids at the World Championships. He’d never touched an illegal substance in his life, but the IOC had banned him from competition for two years. His appeals had been denied, leaving him out of the upcoming Olympics. With no sponsors to support him, he’d lost the income that enabled him to practice and compete.
Unable to prove his innocence and the fact that he’d been drugged, Jason had no choice but to concede defeat. He’d maintain his innocence forever, but snowboarding was in his past. The winter Olympics this February would take place without him.
“I see that skepticism,” Clara chided. She waved her arm and the sleeve of her colorful caftan created a breeze of its own.
“You have to admit, you’re not telling me anything you don’t already know.”
With a smile, Clara turned over another card. “Crossing card is what is affecting you. Three of Cups, a betrayal of the heart.”
Jason’s thoughts immediately turned to Kristina Marino, the woman who’d set him up for the fall.
He’d met her six months before his failed doping test and they’d become inseparable. Jason, who usually had a hard time sustaining a relationship because few women understood or respected his dedication to the sport, had finally found someone who didn’t resent the time his training required. Or so he’d thought. In reality, she’d been in love with his main competitor, Rusty Small, but she’d hidden the connection and seduced Jason, gradually adding a banned ingredient into the power shakes he consumed daily.
Kristina had confirmed Jason’s hunch in person after Rusty dumped her for someone else. She’d arrived on his doorstep last month to clear her conscience. Too little, too late, and she was still completely unwilling to clear his name by confessing. Jason was left with being seen as yet another athlete proclaiming his innocence to a disbelieving world.
“You’re going to have to do better, Clara.” Jason teased her, but she wasn’t deterred.
“Bottom card.” She turned it over.
Jason didn’t pay much attention as she spoke about his past and what had brought him to this point in life.
“To the left.” She revealed another card. “Your recent past. Knight of Cups upright. You need to find your meaning again. Your holy grail, if you will. You are committed to seeking what you need for yourself,” she said.
“Care to elaborate?” he asked.
Clara smoothed her jet-black hair. “Of course not. Only you can decide what it is you need.”
“Of course.”
Ignoring his sarcasm, she moved on. “Card above. What is within your reach. Queen of Wands.” Her voice rose in excitement. “She’s a passionate woman, impulsive, impish.”
Jason let out a chuckle, which sounded rusty even to him. Had it really been that long since he’d had a genuine laugh? “Come on, Clara. Even if I were looking, which I’m not, every woman in town knows to steer clear of a Corwin man.”
Not that it mattered. Jason hadn’t been interested in any woman since Kristina. She’d soured him on females for a good long while. Although he had to admit celibacy wasn’t working for him.
“You don’t see me running away from the right Corwin man, do you?” Clara glanced at him through guileless eyes.
“You’re different.” Clara and Edward had a history. She seemed to be the only one capable of drawing his reclusive uncle out of his shell.
The medications his uncle had been put on a few months ago had finally taken effect, and Edward Corwin, formerly the town recluse, had slowly begun to venture out into the world again. He was wary but trying to rebuild his life. Trying to overcome decades of ingrained fear of the Corwin Curse, which had ravaged his life. But the one thing that hadn’t changed was his unwillingness to commit to Clara Deveaux. Edward was scared. Clara refused to give up on the stubborn old coot.
She grinned. “I’m no different than any woman in love. Now let’s continue. Card to the near right. High Priestess. Woman of mystery, as you can see by the red mask covering her eyes.”
He immediately thought of the red Porsche whizzing through town.
“She represents finding things within yourself instead of looking to the outside world. Interesting we’d get the lady in the mask when tonight’s festival is a masked event.”
He rolled his eyes. “I haven’t celebrated Halloween in years.”
Clara eyed him with amusement. “A red rose speaks of a love that awaits passionate expression. Red itself is the color of consummation, raging desire and craving passion.”
He felt a heated flush rise to his face. “Come on. You’re embarrassing me.”
She grinned. “Bottom of the column of four, how others see you.” She turned the card. “King of Pentacles. You see yourself as a failure, the outside world sees someone in control, in charge, capable of taking care of others. Next is the card of hope and fear.” She revealed the next card. “Ace of Cups reversed. You have no hope of love. You fear being alone forever, viewing the cup as half empty instead of half full.” Her words held a hint of sadness and chiding, as if she wanted him to change.
How could he? Jason’s stomach constricted at the accurate description. A lifetime of work and dreams had ended with one urine test. He’d lost everything in an instant.
“Third card in this row. Your obstacle. Ten of Pentacles. The card of community fulfillment. In order to get to your outcome, you need to rejoin the community on all levels.” She lifted her eyes from the cards set out on the table and met his gaze. “Stop hiding behind your past.”
He decided not to argue. There was no point.
“Last card.”
He found himself relieved that his torture was almost at an end. Clara meant well but all her hocus-pocus had accomplished was to make him more aware of his failures and how he’d allowed one mistake to control his life for too long. He was tired of being grumpy and miserable all the time.
He’d returned to Stewart and set up a contracting business. It was an obvious choice. To raise money for snowboarding, he’d worked for his father and Uncle Hank’s electrical and contracting business, so the work was familiar. But instead of enjoying it, he’d been going through the motions.
Maybe the cards were right, he thought wryly. Maybe it was time to put the past behind him and move on. At the very least he needed to get rid of some pent-up sexual frustration.
“Ready?” Clara asked.
He nodded, wanting this over. “What the hell. Show it to me.”
She revealed the final card. “Ten of Cups.” A large smile spread over Clara’s face. “Do you see the white picket fence?” She splayed her hands in front of her. “This goes perfectly with the red mask, the ultimate expression of romantic and abiding love.” She sighed on the last word. “Do you know what this means?”
“No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
“The cards show you have the potential for happily ever after, Jason.” She smiled.
Those words conjured up another time.
Another place.
Another woman.
He’d been eighteen years old, working and trying to save money to fund his snowboarding. She’d been seventeen and visiting for the summer. He was a Corwin. She was a Perkins. She’d had some starry-eyed notion of them running off together. He’d had selfish dreams of Olympic gold that didn’t have room for anyone else.
Even if he sometimes wished they had.
He often wondered what would have happened if her grandmother hadn’t sent her packing. If he’d gone looking for her once he’d had enough cash. But he hadn’t. He’d used the money to build a name for himself. Hire a coach. Chase a dream that wasn’t meant to be.
“What are you thinking about?” Clara asked, interrupting his thoughts.
“About how you should give me a break.” He’d humored her up until now, but she was bordering on delusional if she thought she could convince him he was headed for a fairy-tale ending.
He hadn’t thought about Lauren in years. When her family had fallen apart a year ago, he’d been far from home, immersed in practice, and she hadn’t been around since he’d come back. The rumor mill had her in New York City, far from the Perkins family mess. He couldn’t blame her there.
“I don’t need to give you anything.” Clara’s voice broke into his thoughts. “The cards say it all.” She began sweeping the deck together, unfazed by his skepticism.
“Next thing you’ll be telling me is that the woman I’ll meet will be wearing a red mask.”
Clara tapped the cards to even them out. “You said it, I didn’t.”
He didn’t want to insult her so he remained silent, but the facts remained. If a man’s last name was Corwin, it wasn’t easy getting laid in Jason’s hometown, never mind finding someone to settle down with.
He bent to pick up his extra equipment and tossed the items into his tool chest.
“You weren’t always so cynical,” Clara said.
Jason raised an eyebrow. “How can you be so sure?” Although he liked and respected her, he couldn’t help challenging her so-called intuition. And he knew from previous exchanges, she enjoyed a challenge.
Clara merely shook her head. “I just know you were different before. Just like you’ll be different after.”
He knew he’d regret asking, but he did anyway. “After what?”
“After she rocks your world.”
Despite the cool fall temperatures, Lauren drove back to her grandmother’s house from the prison with the convertible top down. After being in the small room with her sister, she needed the fresh air, open spaces and wind blowing on her face.
As she always did after one of these visits, she searched for something to focus on that didn’t involve her sister, grandmother, the jail, or the damn Corwin Curse. Paris and her upcoming show consumed her thoughts for the better part of an hour until she came to the outskirts of town and saw the sign for the fall festival.
An annual event, the masquerade ball was always held in time for Halloween. The party sounded like fun. She remembered hearing about the festival from Jason. Back then he’d wished she could stick around long enough to go with him. Well, it looked like she was going to get her chance. Years too late. And she wouldn’t exactly be attending with him.
But he might be there, a small voice in her head whispered. She’d heard he was back in town from her one friend here. Lauren and Sharon Merchant, now Sharon Stern, wife of the current mayor of Perkins, had met during Lauren’s summer visits to her grandmother’s, and they’d kept in touch over the years.
Sharon was the only person she’d confided in about her relationship with Jason Corwin. She hadn’t trusted her sister, knowing Beth would run off to tell their grandmother that Lauren was consorting with the enemy. Sharon had been understanding then and she’d been understanding years later. Lauren’s grandmother and sister had blackmailed Sharon in order to try to prevent her husband, Richard, from becoming mayor, so Lauren considered herself lucky her friend didn’t extend a grudge toward Lauren by default.
Sharon would be there tonight and Lauren could surprise her by showing up. Behind a mask, of course. She’d rather observe without outing herself. The executor of her grandmother’s will told her the townspeople wouldn’t welcome her with open arms. Lauren could handle their disdain with her head held high. She hadn’t hurt anyone and she didn’t approve of her family’s behavior. Still, remaining anonymous while she took the temperature of the town, so to speak, appealed to her.
Especially if she ran into Jason. Her stomach curled deliciously and with nervous anticipation at the thought of seeing him again. Ten years was a long time and he probably wouldn’t recognize her behind a mask. She remembered him telling her no self-respecting man would wear a mask, so she’d have the opportunity to watch and observe him with anonymity.
Yes, she thought, a night out was exactly what she needed to put the depressing prison visit behind her.
Once back at the house, she searched through an old trunk in her grandmother’s attic, picking through feathers, lace and masks. She discarded the orange mask for obvious reasons and bypassed the boring blue one in search of the perfect color.
Suddenly, she found what she was looking for. The mask that called to her. The boldest color. The one destined to make an impact.
A red mask to match her red car.