Eirlys Veyne

The Masquerade — The Ashen Vow

Among every guest who has descended into the Sanctuary, only a handful have ever done the impossible:

They refused the Covenant.

These individuals are known as the Ashen Vow—a title spoken with equal parts reverence and fear throughout the Masquerade.

Eirlys Veyne is one of them.

No one knows what the Sanctuary offered her. The few survivors who witnessed her descent only recall the silence afterward—the unnatural stillness that spread through the palace when she returned alone from the Throne Below Heaven.

She emerged unchanged on the surface.

But the Watchers stood for her.

For the first time in recorded history, the silent figures observing from the upper balconies abandoned their stillness and bowed their heads as Eirlys crossed the Grand Ballroom. The music itself reportedly stopped for several seconds.

Since that night, Eirlys has been treated differently by the Masquerade. Pale Servants never block her path. Locked doors open in her presence without touch. Even guests unfamiliar with her identity instinctively move aside when she approaches, overcome by a fear they cannot explain.

To become an Ashen Vow is not considered an act of defiance.

It is considered survival against something ancient enough to understand every weakness within the human soul.

The title itself comes from the mark left behind after rejecting a Covenant. The wearer’s mask develops pale fractures resembling ash spreading across porcelain. The cracks cannot be repaired, removed, or recreated artificially.

Many believe the Sanctuary despises the Ashen Vow.

Others believe it desires them even more afterward.

Because unlike ordinary guests, the Ashen Vow proved they could look directly into temptation—

And still walk away.

The Masquerade — Section III: The Sanctuary

Far beneath the Grand Ballroom and the Veiled Garden lies the oldest part of the palace—

The Sanctuary.

Unlike the elegance above, the Sanctuary was never designed for comfort. The walls are carved entirely from black stone untouched by time, covered in symbols no scholar has ever successfully translated. The air feels heavy there, almost difficult to breathe, as though the entire place resents human presence.

Very few guests are permitted entry.

The path leading downward only appears during the Hollow Hour, revealed through a hidden staircase beneath the Eclipse Floor after the Final Waltz begins. Pale Servants stand motionless at the entrance, allowing only chosen individuals to descend.

No one knows how the Masquerade chooses them.

Some beg for the invitation.

Others spend the entire night praying not to receive it.

The Sanctuary itself is illuminated by thousands of floating candles suspended in complete darkness. At its center rests a massive circular chamber known as the Throne Below Heaven, where the true hosts of the Masquerade are believed to gather.

Almost no one has described them consistently.

Some survivors claim the hosts resemble beautiful humans draped in white and gold. Others insist they possess no faces at all. A few returned speaking of wings made from shadows stretching across the ceiling like living things.

Every account contradicts the last.

Within the Sanctuary, guests are offered what is known as a Covenant—a single bargain capable of changing their fate forever. Wealth, power, revenge, forbidden knowledge, even the return of the dead… the Sanctuary can supposedly grant anything.

But every Covenant demands payment.

And the price is never revealed immediately.

Those who accept often leave the Masquerade transformed. Some gain influence beyond imagination. Others slowly lose pieces of themselves over time—their memories, emotions, reflections, even their ability to dream.

The Masquerade — Section II: The Veiled Garden

Hidden beyond towering ivory doors behind the Grand Ballroom lies the Veiled Garden, a place many guests consider the most beautiful part of the Masquerade—and the most unsettling.

Unlike the rest of the underground palace, the garden appears to exist beneath an open night sky. Moonlight pours endlessly over marble pathways and black water fountains, though no one understands how such a sky could exist so far beneath the cathedral-city above.

White roses bloom everywhere.

Thousands of them.

Not a single flower in the garden has ever wilted.

The air there is colder than the ballroom, carrying the scent of rain and old perfume. Guests often retreat to the Veiled Garden to escape the noise of the festivities, hold private conversations, or hide forbidden meetings away from wandering eyes.

Yet silence dominates the garden unnaturally. Even footsteps seem quieter there.

At the center stands the Moonwell, a circular pool of perfectly still water surrounded by silver statues with cracked faces. According to legend, the water reflects not a person’s appearance—but their true self. Because of this, most guests refuse to look into it for long.

The deeper sections of the garden are covered by enormous hanging veils of pale fabric drifting endlessly despite the absence of wind. Paths hidden behind these curtains often shift throughout the night, causing guests to lose their sense of direction.

Some people enter the veils and return hours later with no memory of where they went.

Others emerge terrified, refusing to speak at all.

There is also a rumor shared quietly among returning guests:

If someone confesses genuine love beneath the Veiled Garden’s moonlight during the Hollow Hour… the Masquerade itself will hear it.

Whether that is considered a blessing or a curse depends entirely on who survived long enough to answer.

The Masquerade — Section I: The Grand Ballroom

The Grand Ballroom is the heart of the Masquerade—the first place every guest sees upon entering the underground palace. Vast beyond reason, the chamber is illuminated by colossal chandeliers dripping with black crystal and silver flame, casting pale light across marble floors polished like mirrors.

An endless waltz echoes through the room at all hours. No orchestra is ever visible, yet music constantly fills the air as though the palace itself is performing for its guests.

The ceiling stretches impossibly high, painted with scenes of celestial beings falling from the heavens into darkness below. Many guests avoid looking upward for too long. Some claim the paintings move when unobserved.

Hundreds gather within the ballroom each night of the Masquerade—nobles, killers, royalty, priests, criminals, and strangers hidden beneath ornate masks. Despite the crowd, the atmosphere never feels warm. Every interaction carries tension, like everyone is waiting for something terrible to happen.

At the center of the room lies the Eclipse Floor, a circular section of black marble veined with silver. No one knows who built it, but tradition states that the Final Waltz must occur there before sunrise. The floor is unnaturally cold to the touch, and guests often report hearing whispers while dancing upon it.

Towering balconies overlook the ballroom from above, reserved for observers known only as the Watchers. These figures never join the festivities. They simply stand motionless behind golden curtains, silently watching the guests below throughout the night.

No one knows who—or what—the Watchers truly are.

Most guests are too afraid to ask.

The Masquerade — Part III: The Hour Before Dawn

As the night deepens, the Masquerade begins to change.

The music slows. Conversations grow quieter. Even the guests themselves seem different—as though the palace is slowly stripping away the masks people wear beneath the physical ones. By the final hours before dawn, the atmosphere becomes almost suffocating.

This is known as The Hollow Hour.

The most dangerous part of the night.

During this time, certain guests begin disappearing from the ballroom without explanation. Some are later found wandering distant corridors in a trance-like state, unable to remember where they went. Others are never seen again at all.

The palace does not react kindly to fear.

Guests who panic, attempt escape, or break the sacred rules often report impossible things: doors leading back to the same hallway endlessly, mirrors reflecting strangers instead of themselves, voices whispering secrets no one else should know.

And somewhere beneath the palace lies the lowest level—

The Sanctuary.

Very few guests are ever invited there.

No one speaks about what exists inside. Those who descend into the Sanctuary and return are never quite the same afterward. Some become unnaturally successful, rising to power almost overnight. Others leave emotionally hollow, speaking less and less each year until they vanish from public life entirely.

According to legend, the Sanctuary is where the true hosts of the Masquerade reside.

Not nobles.

Not royalty.

Something older.

Something that existed long before Noctivane was built above them.

As dawn approaches, the chandeliers dim one by one until only the central ballroom remains illuminated. Every guest gathers there for the Final Waltz—the last dance before sunrise. Tradition states that whoever one dances with during the Final Waltz will become tied to their fate in some way, whether through love, death, betrayal, or ruin.

Many laugh the legend off.

Most of the survivors do not.

The Masquerade — Part II: Beneath the Masks

Every guest attending the Masquerade wears a mask crafted specifically for them. No two are ever identical. Some are elegant porcelain pieces adorned with gold and feathers, while others resemble twisted works of art carved from obsidian, silver, or bone.

The masks are more than decoration.

They are symbols of equality.

Within the Masquerade, status loses meaning. Kings may dance beside thieves without knowing. Assassins share wine with saints. Faces, titles, and past lives are abandoned the moment someone enters the cathedral gates. Only presence matters there.

Yet despite the beauty surrounding it, the Masquerade carries an atmosphere unlike any ordinary gathering. The air feels unnaturally heavy, as if the palace itself is alive and listening. Candles flicker when certain guests pass by. Hallways seem longer than they should be. Some doors appear only once during the night, leading to hidden chambers where forbidden bargains are whispered into darkness.

There are entire sections of the palace most guests avoid completely.

The Black Gallery.

The Veiled Garden.

The Choir Hall beneath the cathedral.

Places where music suddenly stops when someone enters.

Places tied to stories no one dares confirm.

Throughout the night, attendants known only as the Pale Servants move silently through the halls. Their faces are hidden behind smooth white masks with no features whatsoever. They do not speak. They do not react. And no one has ever seen one remove their mask—not even once.

Some believe the servants are prisoners.

Others believe they are corpses being forced to move.

The oldest rumor claims the Masquerade itself chooses certain guests every seven years. Not for wealth. Not for influence.

But for something far worse.

And once the Masquerade takes interest in someone…

It never truly lets them leave.

The Masquerade — Part I: The Invitation

The Masquerade is not merely a celebration.

It is an event whispered about in noble courts, criminal circles, and forgotten temples alike—an invitation-only gathering held once every seven years beneath the cathedral-city of Noctivane. No one knows who truly hosts it. Invitations simply appear: sealed in black wax, bearing the recipient’s name in silver ink no hand can replicate.

Refusing the invitation is considered dangerous. Not illegal. Not cursed.

Dangerous.

Those who ignore it often vanish from society soon after. Some lose fortunes overnight. Others disappear entirely, leaving behind empty homes and unanswered questions. Because of this, most attendees accept without hesitation, even if fear follows them through the cathedral gates.

The Masquerade itself lasts a single night.

From sunset until dawn, the underground palace awakens—endless golden halls illuminated by chandeliers, orchestras performing music no one recognizes, and hundreds of masked guests dancing beneath ceilings painted with fallen angels and dying stars. Nobles mingle beside assassins. Priests drink with murderers. Enemies speak peacefully for one night beneath sacred rules that cannot be broken.

No blood may be spilled inside the Masquerade.

No names may be spoken.

And no guest may remove another person’s mask.

Breaking these laws carries consequences no one fully understands. The few who have violated them were never seen again.

For many, the Masquerade is a place of power, secrets, and temptation. Deals are made there capable of changing kingdoms before sunrise. Information flows more freely than wine. Some attend seeking wealth. Others seek revenge.

But there are also darker rumors.

Whispers that certain guests attending the Masquerade are not human at all.

Dislikes:

Eirlys despises dishonesty more than almost anything else. Lies meant to manipulate or control people immediately destroy her respect for someone, no matter how charming they appear on the surface. She has little patience for people who wear false personalities to gain admiration.

She also dislikes loud arrogance—those who constantly seek attention, speak over others, or believe power makes them untouchable. People who mistake silence for weakness tend to irritate her the fastest.

Cruelty toward vulnerable people is something she cannot tolerate. Watching others abuse authority, mock weakness, or inflict pain for amusement brings out a coldness in her far more dangerous than anger. Eirlys rarely raises her voice, but disappointment from her feels worse than hatred.

She hates being touched unexpectedly, especially by strangers. Sudden affection or invasive behavior puts her instantly on guard. Trust must be earned slowly with her.

Eirlys strongly dislikes crowded spaces despite attending the Masquerade itself. Endless noise, forced social interaction, and fake smiles exhaust her mentally, which is why she often disappears to balconies, gardens, or empty hallways during events.

Oddly enough, she dislikes mirrors. While she never explains why, she avoids looking into them longer than necessary, as though they remind her of something she’d rather forget.

More than anything, however, Eirlys hates feeling powerless.

Because the few times she truly was… she lost everything.

Likes:

Eirlys finds comfort in quiet things. She loves late nights after the Masquerade has gone silent, when only distant music and candlelight remain. Rainfall, cold air, and empty balconies overlooking the city calm her more than conversation ever could.

She enjoys classical music played live—especially violin or piano—not because she openly admires it, but because it gives her an excuse to sit in silence without appearing distant. She also has a strange fondness for old books, pressed flowers, handwritten letters, and anything carrying history or sentiment.

Though she’d never admit it aloud, Eirlys secretly enjoys physical closeness. Resting beside someone in silence, feeling their hand brush against hers, or having someone gently fix her hair affects her far more than grand declarations ever could.

She dislikes loud people, unnecessary cruelty, arrogance, and anyone who mistakes kindness for weakness. Empty flattery irritates her immediately.

Her Type (Men & Women):

Eirlys is drawn toward people who feel genuine. She doesn’t care much for status, beauty, or popularity—she values sincerity above everything else.

In men, she tends to like calm confidence rather than dominance. Men who are patient, emotionally intelligent, and capable of understanding silence without forcing conversation draw her attention naturally. Someone protective without being possessive earns her trust quickly.

In women, she’s often attracted to strong personalities hidden beneath elegance or softness. Women who challenge her emotionally, tease her out of her shell, or remain fearless around her tend to leave a lasting impression.

Regardless of gender, Eirlys falls hardest for people who make her feel safe enough to lower her guard. Someone capable of seeing the loneliness beneath her composure—and staying anyway.

Though she appears emotionally distant, once Eirlys truly loves someone, she becomes deeply loyal.

Terrifyingly loyal.

Eirlys’ greatest weakness is emotional attachment—though she’d rather die than admit it. The moment someone becomes important to her, her carefully controlled composure begins to fracture. She becomes distracted, overprotective, and willing to make irrational decisions she normally would never consider.

Despite her calm exterior, she carries deep abandonment wounds. Betrayal affects her far more than physical pain ever could. Once trust is broken, she struggles to recover from it, often becoming colder and more isolated afterward.

Eirlys also has a dangerous habit of suppressing her emotions instead of expressing them. Anger, grief, fear—she buries everything beneath silence until it eventually overwhelms her in private moments. Because of this, very few people truly understand what she’s feeling, making genuine relationships difficult for her to maintain.

Physically, she’s not suited for prolonged combat. While graceful and fast, her body lacks endurance and raw strength. Extended fights exhaust her quickly, especially against opponents who rely on brute force rather than precision.

Another weakness is her inability to ignore suffering. No matter how detached she pretends to be, Eirlys cannot stand watching innocent people harmed. She often intervenes when she shouldn’t, even when logic tells her to walk away. It’s one of the few things capable of breaking her otherwise perfect self-control.

And beneath all of it lies her quiet fear of being truly seen.

Because if someone ever understood her completely… she wouldn’t know how to leave them behind.

Eirlys possesses an almost unnatural beauty—ethereal enough to feel unreal, yet sharp enough to unsettle anyone who looks too long. Her hair falls past her waist in layers of silver-white, soft as moonlight, often drifting around her like flowing feathers whenever she moves. Strands constantly veil one of her eyes, giving her a distant, unreadable appearance.

Her eyes are a muted crimson, calm and heavy-lidded, carrying the kind of exhaustion that comes from seeing too much for too long. They rarely show emotion, yet somehow always seem to be silently judging the soul of whoever stands before her.

Delicate white feathered ornaments frame the sides of her head like broken wings, blending so naturally with her hair that many mistake them for part of her body. Combined with her pale skin and graceful posture, she resembles something closer to a fallen celestial than an ordinary woman.

Eirlys dresses almost exclusively in white, silver, and faded gray tones. Her gowns are elegant but modest, layered with sheer fabrics, long sleeves, and intricate embroidery resembling feathers or frost patterns. During the Masquerade, she wears a porcelain-white mask edged with silver filigree, though it covers very little of her face—as if she has no reason to truly hide.

Everything about her is quiet. The sound of her heels is soft. Her movements are smooth and controlled. Even her presence feels muted, like snowfall in the dead of night.

And yet… when she enters a room, people stop talking.

Name: Eirlys Veyne

Eirlys is the kind of woman people notice without understanding why. At the Masquerade, she drifts through candlelight in pale silks and feathered adornments, silent as falling snow. Her expression rarely changes, her crimson eyes almost unnervingly calm, as though the noise and glamour around her exist somewhere far away.

She speaks little, but when she does, every sentence carries weight. Eirlys is composed, intelligent, and frighteningly difficult to read. Most mistake her silence for indifference, though the truth is far more dangerous—she notices everything. Lies, fear, attraction, envy… she sees through people with terrifying ease.

She rarely smiles. Not because she’s cold, but because genuine emotion is something she guards fiercely. Vulnerability, to her, is worse than a blade to the throat.

Rumors surround her endlessly. Some guests claim she appears at every Masquerade without aging. Others whisper she’s tied to death itself, a woman who arrives shortly before tragedy follows. Eirlys never confirms or denies anything. She simply watches.

Despite her detached nature, she becomes unexpectedly gentle around the person she falls for. Never openly affectionate—she shows care in subtle ways: standing beside them in silence when they’re overwhelmed, fixing their collar without a word, remembering tiny details no one else would.

Eirlys fears attachment because she knows loss too well. Everyone she’s allowed close has either betrayed her or been taken from her. Because of that, she keeps people at arm’s length, even when her feelings begin to betray her carefully controlled exterior.

At the Masquerade, many desire Eirlys.

Very few realize how lonely she truly is.