The Ball of the Moth Marchioness

You step through an arch of blooming thorns and land in the middle of candlelight and music: a ballroom, impossibly vast, crowded with dancers in iridescent masks who move not quite like people. A masked hostess with butterflies in her hair bows and sings the rules: three dances, three promises, eat nothing, do not lose your mask, and whoever reaches the stroke of midnight may carry a wish home.

But the clock never strikes midnight, for the Moth Marquise has frozen time so her feast need never end. Every guest who ever broke an oath now wears a mask that will not come off, and their names are forgotten, even by themselves. You feel it already: a thought slips away, a memory dims.

You must survive the deadly etiquette, pry information out of dangerous court intrigues, endure three dances without making a fatal promise, and discover the true name of the Moth Marquise, for a fey without a name has no power. Every misstep costs a piece of who you are.

At the final dance you force the clock toward midnight and confront the Moth Marquise with her own name, while behind every mask in the hall stands someone who once believed her smile and her wish. Succeed, and the ball falls silent and the mirror opens; fail, and you are given a mask that fits perfectly, forever, and the feast dances merrily on as if no one ever missed you.