At midnight, under a crescent moon, the invitation arrived. Embossed on black card, its silver letters promised an evening of “unforgettable experiences”. Curiosity nudged Clara towards acceptance. The address led to a dilapidated mansion, its silhouette highlighted against the night sky.
Inside, masked figures danced in silence, their movements too smooth, too precise. When a masked stranger offered a hand, she hesitated, then accepted.
The moment their hands touched, the room spun. The dancers stopped, their eyes on her, gleaming with hunger. Clara understood too late—the invitation was not for entertainment, but a selection. And she had been chosen.
A Drabble – exactly 100-words long.
Mike Jackson 