create – Longest Night Midwinter Masque

Masque Prep Fanfic: Petrea nó Cereus

Petrea nó Cereus stood in front of the full length mirror as an adept of Eglantine House busied himself around her with fabric and bric-a-brac, sketching and stitching the beginnings of her costume for this year’s Midwinter Masque. She frowned at the mirror, unhappy with her reflection. She was getting on in the years, the beauty of her youth seeming to fade faster and faster every day. But wasn’t that almost the point of Cereus House – for one’s beauty to fade? How was that supposed to be something to be admired? Petrea sighed. How had she ever risen to Second of the most glorious and noble House of the Night Court with thoughts like that?

Outside the room, Petrea could hear adepts gossiping in low tones. Of course, no one could stop talking about the affair between the Dauphin and Odilia nó Dahlia, and certainly not in the Night Court. The mood in Cereus House seemed to be one of the biggest topics of discussion and whether or not the Prince choosing a Dahlia was seen as a slight to the oldest and most noble House. Petrea shook her head and absently stroked the Eglantine adept’s head. Did people really think that the Prince had purposely fallen in love with Odilia out of spite? The social politics of the Night Court – and noble Court, for that matter – drove her practically to madness at times. But gossip as thou wilt was practically a second tenet of the City, so she could not ignore it, lest she look foolish to her patrons and bring dishonor to her House.

Turning her thoughts back to the grand plans for the Masque, Petrea reminded herself to make sure her private invitations had been delivered. The position of Second did allow her certain privileges and she didn’t hesitate to take advantage of them when it suited her. It had been a difficult year and she planned to enjoy every moment of the Longest Night.

Read the story of our Masque here and submit your fanfic story.

Masque Prep Fanfic: Eirini nó Gentian

“Stay still, Corinne,” Eirini nó Gentian tried to sound firm even through her smile as the young adept squirmed with excitement, “If I stab you with this hair pin, guess whose fault it is.”

“I’m sorry,” Corinne tried to sit still, “It’s just….my first Midwinter Masque! Eirini, I’m so excited!”

“I know,” the Dowayne said with a patient smile, remembering how excited she had been for her first Masque years ago. She secured the last part of the intricate hairstyle and shooed the girl away, “Go find Eva for final checks.”

The adept curtsied and left, closing the door to the Dowayne’s apartments silently behind her. Finally alone, finally with the time to prepare herself, Eirini nó Gentian sat behind her desk, poured herself a cup of tea, and took a moment to breathe. The awareness of the breath was the first thing Gentians learned upon arriving in the House, for it was the foundation of life and the basis for all meditation and trance-work. She breathed, in and out, and it was only too easy to close her eyes and sink into the meditative state she had been resisting all day. It was Midwinter, the shortest day of the year and the longest night. It was a tipping point between dark and light, winter into spring, night into day. It was a sacred and magical day. And there was much riding on this day and the Masque this night.

Eirini had heard the news, heard the gossip in her dreams and in the salon as well. The young Dauphin, the new Crown Prince Gustav de la Courcel, would be standing Cassiel’s Vigil tonight, not attending any of the fetes throughout the city, not in the Royal Palace and not in Cereus House. But lest his absence be considered an insult or offence, he had chosen a representative to send in his place. His Official Companion would be attending the fete at the Palace, playing nice with the court and courtiers. But to the Court of Night Blooming Flowers, the Dauphin had chosen to send a Dahlia. A deliberate slight? An innocent action? After the unrest and the loss that had gripped the nation at the beginning of the year and changed everything, there was too much riding on this night to risk entering Cereus House unprepared.

So Eirini reached for her deck. Six cards, arranged around the teapot still steaming on her desk. Six cards, turned over one at a time. Six cards, each whispering in her mind, trying to give their wisdom and warnings. The spread had become a vine, a single stalk with two unfurling branches, a single momentous choice with two potentials revealed.

Tarot Card Spread

The Wheel of Fortune and the Fool warned the Gentian about grand changes, changes that the country may not be fully prepared for. The right branch spiralled from the Lovers reversed into the upright Seven of Cups. Shallow intimacy and lack of deep and true connection that would lead to dreams impossible to achieve and a time of stagnation for Terre d’Ange. The left branch rose from the Fool, through the upright Two of Cups to end at the Devil reversed. Connection and communication and community would bring freedom and a Terre d’Ange in control of their own fate.

Eirini sat back in her chair. She reached for a flask from one of her desk drawers and spiked her tea. She would need it.

“Joie to us all,” she muttered.

Masque Prep Fanfic: Odilia nó Dahlia

This begins our fanfic series of our roleplaying characters preparing for the Masque. Read the story of our Masque here and submit your fanfic story.

“What are you afraid of?”

“What am I not afraid of?”

“Odilia.”

Odilia nó Dahlia turned from her vanity, turning from her reflection to look at the Dowayne standing behind her, “Jocaste, everything has changed. How am I supposed to do this? This wasn’t what I expected.”

“Odilia nó Dahlia,” Jocaste said, her silver and black hair gleaming in the lamplight, “You have done so well. You have brought pride and honour to this House. You have supplanted the Cereus as the rulers of the Night Court and you did it because of what you are. What are you, Odilia?”

“A Dahlia.”

“And our words?”

“Upright and Unbending.”

“You will do this. It’s just one more impossible thing and I have watched you eat the impossible for breakfast. There is a reason I chose you for my Second and it is because no matter your parentage, you were born to be here.” The Dowayne drew herself up to her full height and said, “You will enter that Masquerade at my side with your head held high because that is where you belong. And you will continue to do us proud. You charmed a prince, you can charm a ballroom just as easily. Now, set your hair, paint your face, and dress in your costume. It is the Longest Night Midwinter Masque and Dahlia will represent.”

The Dowayne closed the door to the Second’s apartments firmly behind her, already speaking to Aurelie waiting in the hall. Odilia exhaled and turned back in her chair to face herself in her mirror. Who was she fooling? She was as common as they come. Born to a jeweller off Rue Courcel, from a mother who was a painter. An artisan family. Dahlia had found her and raised her up to be a queen of her own little court, proud and fearless, confident in her power. But no matter all of that, her peasant heart still beat with common blood. And somehow she was supposed to be fit for a prince? The Crown Prince, no less.

She covered her face with her hands and dared to wish that he hadn’t come to her. She had been happy as the Second, content to lead the House and ready herself to move up to the Dowayne position when it was time. She was happy to give back to the House and the family that had educated her and trained her and shaped her to be part of a grand legacy of courtesans in Terre d’Ange. And then he had come. And he had chosen her. And he had been young and still learning himself and she had listened and given advice and he had followed it and he kept coming back and she had teased him; people will say we’re in love, and he had turned red and she had seen it in his eyes. And he had set the fashion, more nobles and courtiers were coming to Dahlia, coming to see what courtesan could have turned the prince’s head from mourning his older brother, coming to look at her and gossip about her.

She had heard the whispers. Heard the speculation. She knew there were bets on whether he would ask her to be his Official Consort, whether she would survive court, whether she would crack under the pressure. And then he had asked her to represent him, asked her to attend the Masque with his voice, in his place, and she had felt fear. What was she afraid of? She was at the edge of a precipice, staring into the unknown, terrified to take that step because what if she fell?

Then again, what if she flew? And those gossip-mongers, those blue-blooded nobles, those who were waiting for her to fall and fail, they didn’t know her. They didn’t know that the best way to get Odilia nó Dahlia to do something was to tell her she couldn’t.

She took a deep breath and picked up her dahlia necklace. How better to remind everyone at the Masque who she was than by wearing her flower with pride? She was Odilia, Second of Dahlia House, favoured by the Crown Prince Gustav de la Courcel. And her Dowayne, Jocaste nó Dahlia was right. She ate impossible for breakfast. She held her head high and clipped the necklace around her throat.

A poem for your beloved

“O, dear my lord…

Let this breast on which you have lent

As close in love as a foe in battle,”

~Jacqueline Carey, Kushiel’s Dart

These words, written by Anafiel Delaunay to his secret lover Prince Rolande de la Courcel, begin the poem “Antinous’ Ode to His Beloved.” The ode, once proscribed in Terre d’Ange, was later to be lauded and performed by the royal poet Thelesis de Mornay, shouted and whispered by besotted admirers to woo their beloved.

Now, it’s your turn – woo or declare your love with a special gift. Our own Eva nó Gentian will compose a unique poem for your beloved, to be presented to them in written or spoken form at the Longest Night Midwinter Masque*.

Choose from a two (2), four (4), or six (6) line verse, each with the following options:

Recited for your beloved at the Longest Night Midwinter Masque, January 4, 2020 (specific time TBD)
Written on beautiful 11″ x17″ high quality paper, suitable for display, presented to your beloved at the Longest Night Midwinter Masque, January 4, 2020
Both recited and written

Prices are as follows:

Two (2) lines
- Recited – $5
- Written – $10
- Both – $13
Four (4) lines
- Recited – $10
- Written – $15
- Both – $23
Six (6) lines
- Recited – $15
- Written – $20
- Both – $34

To purchase your poem, please email poet@thelongestnightmasque.com and specify your options. You will be provided with a payment link. Once your payment has been processed, the poet will begin composing your verse.

*Note: if you are not attending the Masque, we can arrange for shipping of a written poem to your home.

Calling All Makers!

The Longest Night Midwinter Masque is looking for volunteer crafters to join us in our fundraising efforts for the Fairfax County Public Libraries. D’Angelines have amazing and special talents and we would love to utilize your gifts to create unique items for sale. floral scrollwork

Some of the projects you’ll be hearing about in the coming months include personalized birth charts, handmade Terre d’Ange soaps and essential oil blends, and 2020 Midwinter Masque logo apparel.

Whatever your craft, we want to hear from you! Send a short proposal to fundraising@thelongestnightmasque.com with your ideas. Have a talent you would like to share but don’t have something specific in mind? We are happy to work with you to develop your own unique project!

Love as thou wilt,

Arietta de Millazza nó Bryony

Fundraising Coordinator