Ashan 30, 719, Maybe
For those without Sparks, the Call had been a most agonizing experience. And for three of them, they'd find themselves waking up in what could only be described as a dusty closet, albeit one large enough to fit the three in a small heap of overlapping limbs and body parts. Vega, Hart, and Luther would all find themselves coming to, together. Which would likely be a very strange experience for Luther, since prior to the Call, he'd been dead, as ghosts tend to be. Though now, he'd find himself very much alive, just as he'd been in the final trials of his life, adorned in his Anchored jacket and matching clothes. Vega and Hart were still wearing the same garb they'd passed out in.
Around them, the closet was one for dresses and suits, all of which were ornate and beautiful. Or rather, had been. Now they were covered in dust and spider webs, eaten up by moths, weevils, mold and rot, illuminated by a candle that was near the end of its wick. It was a room of decay. Though, being a standard closet, the door was quite unlocked, and appeared to be the only door within the not so large closet.
The flame of the candle flickered, danced, and grew. Vega would feel his arrival before she, or the others saw it. But Chuckles flared into existence, hovering up above. "I have been called to assist you, Fire-Forged." Then there was a knock upon the door, from the outside. The door was then opened, and a woman in a pure white dress stood there. She appeared to be a woman, dark of hair and eyes, skin soft and pale, yet her presence didn't feel like that of someone who was simply a woman, simply a mortal.
She looked at Hart, "I have been called to assist you, Hart Son of Blush." The woman had a heavenly scent to her, one that would be different to each of the individuals. She smelled of pure, carnal lust and her presence seemed to be an attempt to lure such things out of the three in the closet. She stepped back, gesturing the way out of the door, showing the party where they were.
It was the same ballroom Jesine had once shown to Arlo, but quite different. For Jesine had shown him what Daia's domain had looked like while the Immortal lived. But now that she was dead, it was so very different.
People still danced there, all of whom had been some of Daia's most favorite followers. They still wore the masks without eyeholes, but the masks were cracked, chipped, faded. Their ornate garb was wilted, frayed, dusty, full of holes from moths. And there was no nice bright lighting here, no coziness one might expect in a ballroom. It was a world of black, white, and so many greys.
The dancing was not smooth, elegant, nor even fun. The ghosts of Daia's followers moved like rickety, wooden puppets, staggered staccato movements. And though the movements unnatural, they still managed to move in sync, with the rhythm of an unseen band playing a slow, sad song. If they paid attention, Vega, Hart, and Luther would notice that they, and the two spirits, were the only splashes of color.
There were various doors and archways and a couple of stairwells that led to other unknown areas. A man broke away from the dancing and approached the Spirit of Lust, and the closeted companions. "Have you come to join us? We're about to start the Athartian Flapperjab." The man gestured behind him. There were three doors on the far wall, across the dance floor, one on the far left, one in the center, and one on the far right. "The buffet is back that way if you're hungry."
