The Tale of the Vanishing Masquerade
There is a place in 4EverMore that exists only when the moon is at its highest, and never in the same location twice. A place whispered about in hushed tones by those who think themselves bold, yet have never dared seek it out. The Vanishing Masquerade.
It is said that if one receives an invitation—sealed with midnight wax and pressed with a sigil that vanishes the moment you look away—you are bound to attend, whether you wish to or not.
The grand hall in which it is held is never the same. Sometimes it is a ballroom woven from twilight itself, the chandeliers made of suspended stars, the floor an endless reflection of the night sky. Other times, it is a gilded prison of shifting mirrors, where every dancer sees a hundred versions of themselves waltzing alongside figures who should not exist.
And the guests? Ah, the guests.
Masked figures of impossible beauty and terrible power. Kings and queens who have never ruled a throne, ghosts who have never died, creatures with eyes that know the weight of centuries. They dance and whisper, spinning secrets into the air like threads of silver. Some say if you listen closely, you may hear the future in their laughter—or your own past rewritten in the lyrics of a song you’ve never heard before.
But there is one rule above all others.
Do not remove your mask.
No one knows what happens to those who do. Only that when the Masquerade vanishes with the first touch of dawn, there is always one mask left behind on the floor, as if its owner was simply… erased.
Of course, this is just a story. A legend. A piece of whispered lore carried by the wind through the immortal realm of 4EverMore.
But if, by some twist of fate, you find an invitation pressed against your palm one evening…
If you accept it and go.
Whatever you do, DO NOT take off your mask.
Now do not ask how I know of such things. Some stories are meant to be told, not explained.
.jpg)
.jpg)
