Polidori’s Tale – A City of Lights – 057

Very well, if Claire will give you gardens in the sky and Percy an ocean of crystal, then I shall offer you something… less polite.

Picture, Molly, a future city that wakes only when the sun sets. Its streets are roofed with silk canopies that ripple in the night breeze, dyed with the deep colours of wine and midnight. Lanterns float untethered above the avenues, drifting like patient moons, and the people wear masks — not to hide, but to reveal the selves they keep tucked away in daylight.

This is the Carnival of Shadows, a place where every night is a season unto itself. Music spills from doorways carved into living walls of ivy; laughter rings out in a dozen tongues, and the air is thick with scents you cannot name — spices and flowers from continents both real and imagined.

Here, there is no coin. A song may pay for your supper, a dance for your drink, a story for your passage to the next street. The city thrives on exchange of the intangible — wit, beauty, daring. And should you offer something truly rare, like forgiveness or a secret long kept, the city will reward you with a key to one of its hidden gates.

What’s that, Byron? You suspect there’s a catch? Of course there is. The Carnival exists only so long as people remember it. Should it be forgotten, it vanishes like mist at dawn, taking with it all who have not left by first light.

And you, Molly — you are the archivist of this city. Your memory alone holds its map, and each night you decide which streets will be there when the revelers arrive. A dangerous responsibility, perhaps, but I suspect you would enjoy it.

My candle burns low. Byron, I believe the floor is yours.

—Polidori