It was often said that the smallest communities were the most close-knit. If you had known of Verta Village, you would say that it was true. Verta was a small settlement that was surrounded by hills on one side, bordered by a thick forest on the other side, and had a small creek flowing right through the middle. The villagers, who numbered at about one thousand, were all very close. Everybody knew each other. In times of need, they were there to help, and whenever there was a dispute, the others would help to settle it. They often met up with each other, whether it be a coffee break at the local café or a walk amongst the oak trees in the forest. Everyone got along so well, except for one particular family.

   The wealthiest people in Verta lived in a mansion, which sat atop one of the hills in the outskirts of the village. Though their house wasn't the largest one around, it certainly was much bigger than the majority of Verta's houses. An iron fence sealed it off from the outside world, and if that wasn't enough, rows of tall trees blocked outsiders from sneaking a peek of the compound. Nobody had ever seen what was there, nor had they ever visited it. Though the homeowners, Mr and Mrs Delfwood, were very kind and generous, nobody dared to ask for an invitation to their home. Delfwood Estate remained a mystery to them.

   One evening, a man by the name of John Pommetré was traveling to Verta. Though he was born in the city and spent all his life there, his parents were from the village. The orange sun began to set and the dark grey clouds began to merge. A few raindrops fell from the sky. Drizzling. John immediately reached for his raincoat. More raindrops fell. John put on his raincoat and his crystal blue eyes darted around for the nearest shelter. There was none. John hurried down the dirt road as the rain began to pour harder. Cold water showered the land so heavily it was as if there was a waterfall hovering above it instead of clouds. The dirt path became so wet that it ultimately turned into a trail of mud. John dragged his legs across the land, his boots often getting stuck in the mud. By the time he had reached the town, the sky became as black as obsidian.

   A large house loomed up ahead. John waded through the mud towards it and knocked on the metal gate. He shouted,

   "Hello? Anybody there?"

   A speck of pale white light immediately lit up. A tall figure walked briskly towards the gate, holding a lamp in one hand and a ring of keys in the other. He unlocked the gate and ushered John into the compound. It took quite a while before they arrived at the house.

   It was magnificent. Roman pillars upheld the roof of the front porch, and under it were oak doors that were as tall as the height of five men. It drew back to reveal a luxe interior: antique furniture was laid around the room; intricate tapestries hung on the dark green walls, matching the lace table runners and silk curtains; the cut-glass that adorned the brass chandeliers gleamed and glinted in the golden light; the floor was made out of either polished hardwood or smooth marble, and was sometimes covered by oriental carpets or fur rugs; carpeted stairwells with brass railings slithered up the walls. John was led to a room not far from the main entrance. It was a very fine room: a four-poster bed, clothed in Egyptian cotton, laid in the center of the bedchamber, next to a large wooden closet; a single oil painting, which was framed in brass, hung on the side; a mahogany desk and chair sat at the corner, between a small oak bookshelf and a tall lamp with a brass stand; and a small door at the back led to a private bathroom. John was given a pair of thin cotton pants and a thick cotton robe.

   "Mr and Mrs Delfwood shall return in two weeks. You may stay here for now," the butler told him.
   "Thank you," said John. He proceeded to unpack his belongings. He bathed, dressed, and then slept.

   John woke up at nine o'clock the next day. He was served breakfast in bed after he had showered and gotten dressed. The butler unfolded a small table on the bed and laid a white tablecloth before he placed a tray of scrumptious food: a cheese-and-mushroom omelet, made using eggs fresh from the farm, was served with a platter of juicy beef sausages, strips of crispy bacon, and tomatoes that were just picked from the vegetable garden before being grilled to perfection. Glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice and chilled milk were placed next to a plate of a tower of pancakes, drizzled with honey and with blueberries spread on top. John wolfed down his breakfast as if he hadn't eaten in three days. At ten o'clock, John left his guest room and explored the house.

   The hallways were identical. Dark green walls patterned with golden fleur-de-lis surrounded him on all sides. The oak doors, with their gilded doorknobs and meticulous carvings, beckoned to him. "Open me," they all said, some of them opened slightly to allow a peek of the rooms. John didn't want to open any of them. Who knew what was hiding behind it? At the very end of the corridor was a large door, made out of a mosaic of stained glass. John wrapped his fingers around its iron handle and pushed the door open.

   He found himself inside a garden. Rows of thick and trimmed hedges formed a maze around him. Daisies and daffodils encircled him. Rays of sunlight pierced between the leaves of the thick trees and struggled to touch the ground. Sweet aromas of fruits and flowers filled the fresh air. From a distance, John could hear someone singing. A woman. Her angelic voice entranced his ears and lured him away from where he was standing. He walked around the garden, searching behind big bushes and over painted fences, but he couldn't see her. Where could she be? The sound of flowing water accompanied the sweet vocals of the mysterious woman. He looked over the hedge and saw the top of a marble fountain. He then saw her.

   Her wavy, chestnut brown hair flowed down her back, part of it obscuring the right half of her fair face. A light-yellow dress clothed her slender figure, baring her arms but concealing her legs to the very tip of her toes. It seemed that she was barefoot, but a closer look would reveal that she was wearing a dainty pair of sparkly satin shoes. John watched as the lady sat on an old wooden bench near the fountain as she sang,

"Lavender's green, dilly, dilly,
Lavender's blue,
If you love me, dilly, dilly,
I will love you."

   John couldn't help but sing along,

"When I am king, dilly, dilly,
You shall be queen,
Lavender's green, dilly, dilly,
Lavender's blue."

   The woman froze in her spot. For a split second, she cocked her head and her dark hazel eye caught a glimpse of him. She then sprinted away from him like a doe running away from a hunter. John ran towards her. Though she was fast, he was also rather quick. It felt like he could catch up to her. Suddenly, after a long chase, she made a sharp turn and hid behind a hedge. When John reached that same spot, he couldn't see her. She had vanished!

   He returned to the house. He could not help but think of the woman he had just seen. Who was she? Why did she run away? John wandered aimlessly around the house, drifting from one chamber to another. Maybe, he thought, the lady would stop by one of these rooms. They could meet again! He searched for her to no avail. By nine o'clock, after his supper, John returned to his suite and lounged on the bed. Several thoughts whirled in his mind, and they were all about the lady.

   Knock! Knock! John got off the bed and opened the door. The butler was standing in front of him, holding a sheet of folded paper in his hand.

   "This is a letter for you," the butler told him. John received it with his right hand.
   "Thank you," he said. The butler left promptly. John unfolded the letter and read its contents out loud,

"To our dear guest,

Who are you? Why were you spying on me this morning?"

   John reached for his pen. He wrote on the back of the letter,

"Dear madam,

My name is John Pommetré. Sorry to disturb you this morning; I was really enchanted by your wonderful voice."

   John folded the letter and slid it under the door. The next day, he received a reply.

"Dear John,

I am flattered by your compliment. Would you like to meet with me? If so, please inform my butler. He will arrange a meeting between the two of us.

Regards,
Lavender Delfwood"

   John felt his heart blooming. Was he really going to meet with this mysterious woman? He immediately called for the butler and requested him to arrange a meeting with her. Nearly an hour passed. The butler returned to John and informed him that she would see him inside the library at noon.

   At five minutes to noon, John groomed himself and ambled towards the library. He could barely contain his emotion as he neared the library. Oh, how excited he was! He could just imagine all the things that he could do with her: they could be singing together, strolling through the gardens together, or have a tête-à-tête at the lounge while listening to the music that came from the record player. But before he could progress to that stage, he must pass the first test. John took a deep breath and stepped into the library. Lavender Delfwood was sitting at the far side of the library, wearing a pale purple dress and satin slippers. A porcelain mask concealed the right half of her small face. She gestured to the empty chair in front of her.

   "Sit here, John," she said. He took a seat in front of her, right across the mahogany table. He fiddled nervously with his fingers. What should he do? What should he say? He cleared his throat and tried to untangle his tongue.
   "Your name is Lavender, right?" he asked, regretting it soon after he spoke. Of course! How could he forget, when it was clearly stated in the letter that he received earlier? To his relief, she did not frown.
   "Yes, it is. My mother's favorite flower was the lavender, and when she gave birth to me, she named me after it," she said. She then went on, "Maybe can you tell me why your parents named you John?"
   "My dad told me that I was named after a good friend of his," he answered her. She nodded her head slowly, her thin lips curling into a smile.
   "You don't look like you're from the village. Where do you live?" she inquired.
   "Oh, I was born in the city. My parents are from here, though."
   "Ah, interesting! I have visited the city a couple of times, and once a year I travel abroad. I find other cultures to be quite fascinating."
   "Is that why your house has an eclectic collection of furniture?" he asked.
   "Yes, that's why." Lavender picked up a glass of water and took a sip. It must've been hard for her to eat and drink, he thought, for the right side of her lips was blocked by the mask.
   "May I ask why you're wearing that mask?" he inquired.
   "Let us not talk about it," she said. A firm tone erupted in her voice. She continued, "Why not we talk about what happened yesterday?"
   "The incident?"
   "Yes, about that. About your voice, more specifically. Do you sing often?"
   "I wouldn't say I sing quite often. About twice a week, during the weekends. It's something I do as a hobby."
   "Singing is also my hobby! What other songs do you know? If you want, we can go to the music room now. The piano had just been tuned last month."
   "Sure, I'd love to!" he said. They stood up. She took him by the hand (which made his heart beat very rapidly) and led him to the music room.

* * *

It had been several days since their first encounter. As time went by, John looked more and more forward to his next meet-up with Lavender. All of their get-togethers had been wonderful: the last time they were together, they played a game of billiard while discussing their love for classical music and renaissance art. What boggled his mind was the fact that she never removed her mask. Whenever he mentioned it, she would immediately change the subject. If he tried to press it on, she would refuse to speak. What was hiding underneath it? He knew he could never get her to remove it, so one night he decided to do the unmasking himself.

   It was a chilly and windy night. John sneaked out of his suite and stealthily made his way to Lavender's bedroom. He opened the door ever so slowly and tiptoed inside her bedchamber. Her four-poster bed was situated in the middle of the room, and several milk-white sheets covered her. John crept towards her and took a closer look at her face. She wore her mask even while she was asleep! How odd. John took a deep breath as his fingers approached the thick layer of porcelain. Slowly, he thought. He carefully lifted it off her face. The pale moonlight shone through the window and illuminated her visage. He placed his hands over his mouth and gasped.

   A deep, blackish-red scar traced from her eyeless socket down her right cheek.