Esther looked around the area of the [i]White Rabbit[/i]'s manor, she saw no one around the area. A painful sigh of relief rested its hand on her bare, boney shoulders. The steam was rising, and the mood was setting into a cloudy mess of confusion.  Closing her black, lacy parasol, Esther turned the intricately sewn décor into a cane; she leaned it against the wall by the door, noticing the note.  

Carefully, a thin, pale hand placed itself into the front pocket of her black, corset.  A knife was removed.  It was worn and obviously much used.  A childhood heirloom with many memories she kept close to heart.  However, tonight would be different.  Tonight would be [i]very[/I] different.

After putting the knife into the box, she picked up a face mask: The "Fickle Robin" mask.  It fit uncomfortably well over Esther's fragile face.  Her dark eyes peered through the mask as she carefully crept her long fingers over the doorknob, opening the door as quietly as possible.  Her eyes adverted at the other two guests.  A reluctance to socialize stabbed her in the chest; her heart raced.  The onset of panic had begun.  Her eyes darted at the ground as she quickly closed the door behind her.  

She quickly ushered herself into a shadowy area of the entrance; her fingers slowly crept toward each other tightly.  She felt for the black fingernail polish she had carefully adorned over her nails just the other evening.  The smoothness seemed soothing, and the mood, adjacent to her attack, curiosity, became more apparent in her mind--like a child playing with fire.

Allowing the blooming curiosity to blossom in her mind, she took several small steps closer to the walls. [I]Curiosity killed the cat. But what killed the rabbit?[/I]  Her front teeth gently nibbled her bottom lip, rubbing the lightly painted skin slowly back-and-forth for some sort of unnerving comfort.  She knew about the [I]White Rabbit[/I], and could sense the uncanny tingles of someone watching over all of them.  Removing her eyes from the floor, she looked around the entrance, staring at the adornment and fixtures.

She would not mind being a wall flower for the night.  A delicate approval of the decorations cuddled inside of her.  Perhaps, she could escape without any conversation tonight.  She was simply a pale fire flickering in the darkness of the situation, and any small breeze could persuade her into another state of panic--a risk she was not quite ready to fulfill.