# The Venetian Mask The body lay sprawled beneath the crystal chandelier, a crimson pool spreading slowly across the polished white marble floor of the grand ballroom. Detective Sarah Chen stepped carefully around the blood, her keen eyes absorbing every detail of the macabre scene before her that cold morning. The victim wore an elaborate Venetian mask, gold and emerald feathers still perfectly arranged despite the violent struggle that had clearly preceded death. "Time of death approximately midnight," the medical examiner announced, kneeling beside the corpse with gloved hands examining the fatal wound carefully now. Lady Catherine Ashworth stood frozen by the doorway, her silk gown rustling slightly as she trembled, unable to look away from her deceased guest. "The mask ball ended at eleven," she whispered hoarsely, her voice breaking with emotion as she clutched the doorframe for support and stability. Detective Chen turned toward her, notebook ready, and asked the question that would begin unraveling the twisted truth hidden behind elegant masks tonight. "Who left the ballroom between eleven and midnight, and more importantly, Lady Ashworth, who had reason to want Lord Blackwood dead?" she demanded firmly.