He wanted her to succumb. To lie back as he stripped her of her clothes, as his calloused fingers rubbed against her skin. “Stay still,” he yelled as his hands reached for her body, his order to obey coming out like a hiss. In other rooms were other women, women who knew what would happen if they fought, and so they lay on their stomachs and backs while these men got on top of them, stinking of booze and the crops they tended. In other rooms were other women, each one rented out by masked men who wanted to relinquish their desires in the safety of secrecy.

“Marceline, stop it now. Stop!”

Mira would not yield. She would not quiet or succumb. She’d spent an entire life doing nothing—of sheltering herself, of not speaking up, of hiding, of letting others go before her, of denying what she wanted—and looking at this masked man filled her with rage from all of it. Her hands reached for his face, wanting to claw at the skin, wanting blood.

The man’s mask loosened and it fell off onto the floor. This made him jump back, shocked at this sudden revelation of his face. It was Roman Woodsman. Mira recognized the same eyes, the same squint-eyed expression that had been in his portrait. “What are you doing? This isn’t how we do this. This isn’t how we play.”

Roman’s face quickly shifted from confusion to anger when he realized that her resisting wasn’t part of whatever game they played.

“You should know better,” Roman said.

Mira reached to grab for Roman’s mask but he blocked her with his body. He laughed, seeing her distress. His laughter grew louder, maniacal, and when he lunged toward her she darted away, grabbing for the mask and heading for the door. He tried to stop her but Mira was quick, opening the door to escape before he could hold her down. She took one last look behind her and almost gasped. Another woman was on the bed—the same woman in white. Her eyes held a vacant stare. She was gone, somewhere other than here, and Roman towered over her, his pants lowered to his ankles, his bare buttocks thrusting with fury.

Mira ran down the hall of the house, hoping to get as far away from the ballroom and the other men as she could. The clacking of Roman’s shoes resounded in her head, chasing her, until Mira had to stop. Her body shook as she tried to shut out the noise, but the rapraprap would not stop. She closed her eyes and waited, silently counting the seconds, and eventually all was silent. Mira opened her eyes. When she looked down at her hands the mask she thought she’d taken was gone.

XXII.