Shall we dive into the endless well of whispers, where truth and fiction tangle like lovers in the dark?
I think we’ll step into the glow of a crimson moon.
Shall we begin?
The Blood Moon Waltz
There are certain nights in 4EverMore when the moon turns red, and the air thrums with something ancient—something hungry. The elders call it The Blood Moon Waltz, a night where the veil between past and present grows thin, and forgotten souls rise to dance once more.
Many think it’s just a legend.
But I assure you… the dance is very, very real.
It was on such a night, centuries ago, that a lone traveler named Laurent found himself in the heart of the City of Nocturna. He was no fool—he knew of the Blood Moon Waltz, and he knew better than to step foot in the grand ballroom of House Nocturne.
And yet… he was drawn in, as all mortals are, when temptation wears silk and whispers promises in the dark.
The doors of House Nocturne stood open, candlelight flickering like liquid gold against the marble floor. Music poured out into the night, weaving its way through Laurent’s veins, until his feet moved of their own accord.
Inside, the air was thick with perfume and laughter. Couples twirled beneath a ceiling painted with constellations that shifted as they danced. The musicians—if they could be called such—played upon instruments that did not exist, their skeletal fingers moving with eerie grace.
And then… he saw her.
She was dressed in deep red, her mask carved from bone and laced with rubies. Her eyes gleamed like embers behind it, locked onto him with a knowing, wicked glint.
Laurent did not ask her name. He did not have to. He knew, in the marrow of his bones, that she had been waiting for him.
They danced.
And as they danced, the music grew louder. The air grew heavier. The faces of the other dancers blurred, their laughter turning hollow, their reflections flickering like candle flames in the mirrored walls.
Laurent tried to pull away.
The woman in red only smiled.
"Stay with me," she whispered. "The dance isn’t over."
But Laurent knew better. He had heard the stories. He had read the warnings. And now, standing in the arms of something not quite human, he understood the price of dancing beneath the Blood Moon.
He tore himself away, stumbling back toward the grand doors.
But the ballroom had no doors anymore.
Only endless walls of glass, reflecting a thousand versions of himself—each one still dancing, still lost, still trapped in the embrace of the woman in red.
And somewhere, behind him, her voice curled around his ear like silk and shadow.
"The dance never ends, my love."
The next morning, the Red City woke to an empty ballroom, its candles long since burned to wax and wick.
Laurent was never seen again.
But if you wander too far beneath the Blood Moon’s glow, and the music begins to play—
You might just feel a ghost of a hand in yours.
And if you do…
For the love of all that is still yours…
Do not turn around, Run!
🩸🥀
