You are cordially invited...
Posted: Thu Apr 23, 2015 6:01 pm
The sky glowed with subdued light as the sun dipped below the horizon, as the moon crested over the tops of the ancient trees that bordered one of the first cities of the current Age. A cold breeze swirled eastward from the snow covered mountains to kiss the ancient lichen below with frost, and an elk with massive antlers eyed the ferns growing at the base of the forest floor while an owl hooted mournfully overhead.
It was time. Past time. It was late. Months too late.
With a negligent wave of one hand, he called to life all the torches set into the walls, each sconce ablaze with light that danced in the shadows reaching down from the high ceiling above. He glanced towards the musician's gallery and in less than a heartbeat the minstrels took form and began to play his favorite melody, each note a promise of the night's revelry to come.
Satisfied with setting the stage, he beckoned to his manservant. "Make sure these get to the right people," he instructed in a low voice that seemed hollow, an echo of itself. He handed over a set of gilt-inscribed invitations, each one sealed with wax the color of fresh blood. With a deep bow the manservant departed upon his errand.
A gilded cup materialized out of the air and settled into its master's hand, and he raised it to his lips and drank it dry. "Fashionably late to my own party," he chuckled, watching the dancers fade in and out of their misted existence. "Finally... time to dance."
(Open now through Sunday. Enjoy.)
It was time. Past time. It was late. Months too late.
With a negligent wave of one hand, he called to life all the torches set into the walls, each sconce ablaze with light that danced in the shadows reaching down from the high ceiling above. He glanced towards the musician's gallery and in less than a heartbeat the minstrels took form and began to play his favorite melody, each note a promise of the night's revelry to come.
Satisfied with setting the stage, he beckoned to his manservant. "Make sure these get to the right people," he instructed in a low voice that seemed hollow, an echo of itself. He handed over a set of gilt-inscribed invitations, each one sealed with wax the color of fresh blood. With a deep bow the manservant departed upon his errand.
A gilded cup materialized out of the air and settled into its master's hand, and he raised it to his lips and drank it dry. "Fashionably late to my own party," he chuckled, watching the dancers fade in and out of their misted existence. "Finally... time to dance."
(Open now through Sunday. Enjoy.)