Our stage was set at the stroke of midnight, under a glowing crescent moon's indifferent gaze. The audience, a congregation of shadows, gathered for a spectacle unseen in ages past.
Imagine this: a weary Count, his cape caught in a torrential monsoon of misplaced enthusiasm, slides across the floor, a somber ghost waltzing with unceremonious grace. Dancing with disaster they say.
"Why did the raven land on the octopus?" pondered the stage manager, her eyes wide with existential dread, as stage lights flickered like the last breath of a dying star. The answer, buried under centuries of dust, remained unanswered — much like this very play.
Enter the jester, a harlequin with mismatched opinions and a penchant for chaos, juggling swords of fate. The audience gasps, but it's merely a soft sigh through the veil of night. Laughter echoes, hollow and haunting, followed by an intermission of pure pandemonium.
Care to join the procession of the absurd? Shadows beckon, whispers offer riddles cloaked in mystery, where every punchline is a portal to realms unknown. Remember, the glow isn't guidance — it's a warning.
Discover more of the unfolding mystery: Hidden in plain sight.