Solstice Ball
There is a hush from the outside when you first step into the wide hall of the Night Court Keep. It is almost reverent, the way the excitement turns from shouts to eager whispers. Everything has been transformed, and in this first room (oh, with so many more to discover!) you almost feel caught in the feathers of a brilliant tropical bird, so bright are the flags and drapes. There are tables covered in silks and furs and gossamer veils, tables hidden by row after row of masks - some frightful, some lovely, some simple or extravagant. For those more secretive, there are painted and wooden-slatted screens to adorn themselves behind. Drape yourself, help those around you. Who will you be tonight?
Not far from the entrance is a row of tables groaning under cut-glass bowls of punch. Some shimmers like Vitreus lake under the stars, some is as emerald-green as the grasses of the prairie, some as red as the flames that leap and spark in Denocte’s bonfires. Enjoy, but beware - too much, and you may find you can’t bring yourself to stop dancing, stop smiling, stop laughing. (That, or you may find that a once-Crow or pesky page has spiked a punch bowl).
Beyond that, each space in the sprawling Court has become its own world, full of its own wonders, subtle and grand. One room mimics underwater, everything deep green and dreaming blue, gauze flowing along the walls and glass orbs suspended, filled with water and golden fish. One room is nothing but black and white from high ceiling to intricate floor, and each colorful guest that goes through looks like a new dream. All of them have room for dancing. Still, there are a few untouched places for those that need to slip away - the library is cozy and crackling with banked fires, and the baths are quiet, secretive, waiting for those who wish to make the night more intimate yet.
Like the markets, there are performers here - but where the crowd outside is raucous and loud, everything within is a little slower, a little stranger. In one room a sole singer wails and whispers and sways, and in another a string quartet plays a dizzying waltz and never seems to tire. There are ribbon-dancers, and poets, and even a wandering pantomime - perhaps you might turn around only to see a mirror image of yourself.
Not far from the entrance is a row of tables groaning under cut-glass bowls of punch. Some shimmers like Vitreus lake under the stars, some is as emerald-green as the grasses of the prairie, some as red as the flames that leap and spark in Denocte’s bonfires. Enjoy, but beware - too much, and you may find you can’t bring yourself to stop dancing, stop smiling, stop laughing. (That, or you may find that a once-Crow or pesky page has spiked a punch bowl).
Beyond that, each space in the sprawling Court has become its own world, full of its own wonders, subtle and grand. One room mimics underwater, everything deep green and dreaming blue, gauze flowing along the walls and glass orbs suspended, filled with water and golden fish. One room is nothing but black and white from high ceiling to intricate floor, and each colorful guest that goes through looks like a new dream. All of them have room for dancing. Still, there are a few untouched places for those that need to slip away - the library is cozy and crackling with banked fires, and the baths are quiet, secretive, waiting for those who wish to make the night more intimate yet.
Like the markets, there are performers here - but where the crowd outside is raucous and loud, everything within is a little slower, a little stranger. In one room a sole singer wails and whispers and sways, and in another a string quartet plays a dizzying waltz and never seems to tire. There are ribbon-dancers, and poets, and even a wandering pantomime - perhaps you might turn around only to see a mirror image of yourself.
