Through coridors of sleak silk and rural bricks you may walk. Though bed drapes you might move on to sleep though the night without a thought of the danger laying outside of your room. Deep down you know, that soon the darkness will corrupt. Maybe even you.
&Sleep well my dear, work hard to be what you are and what you are not.&
A hand slips across your forhead then a dark chuckle might you wake.
A gift is left in your hand marked with simple words that say -
The Lord of the Masquerade
Oh thank you Lord of the Masquerade, or can I call you Lord Masquerade?