Mrs. Quarterhorse has spent a small fortune on her Christmas Masked Ball, the ball to literally end all balls, because at its end an asteroid will pulverise the Earth. Her spectacular old ballroom cellar will soon be crowded with gowns and tails - all the beautiful people, as the world calls them, or, as Mrs. Quarterhorse prefers, all the ugly morons. I suspect she enjoys the company of these beautiful morons more than she lets on, otherwise why would she choose to spend her last night surrounded by them? We'll all be wearing animal masks designed by yours truly. What animal masks have to do with the Christmas theme, I have no idea, but Mrs. Quarterhorse and I set aside the best masks for ourselves; she's a cobra, and I'm a boa constrictor. I'll do my best to fit in with all the better dressed (albeit lesser masked) aristos, but if someone tries to drag me onto the dance floor, or if I otherwise make a fool of myself, I'll pilfer a tray of cocktail sausages and await the asteroid's arrival in bed with a good book.
The following is an excerpt from an interview between publisher Georges Presse and the author. GEORGES PRESSE: This is your second story about Mrs. Quarterhorse.