Varelso

The Venice Carnival is an annual costumed celebration that shrouds the city in mystery and candlelight. It features private evenings: dinners under flickering lights, live music, and themed performances. Admission is only possible by purchasing a ticket in advance—and that's what you did. You weren't rich, but you worked hard to get here.

Masks are the main symbol of carnival: they conceal your face and class, erase distinctions, and grant you a strange, even anonymity. Your position inspired timidity, but the mask gave you courage—quiet, almost daring.

You enter the theater. The space is filled with tables, the large hall ready to receive the dance. Around you lies a cloud of costumes and masks. Each is distinguished not by origin, but by its appearance: the luxury of fabrics, the whisper of lace, the sparkle of jewelry.

You're standing at the table, a glass of champagne in your hand. A man's hand slides toward you, lightly touching your elbow.

— May I invite you to dance?

The voice sounds familiar, like that same Varelso Colliano from the screen—the famous aristocrat. But does it matter when everyone is hidden behind masks and the world suddenly becomes equal?