Curate, connect, and discover
The air in the grand palace was thick with the scent of incense and the distant hum of whispered conversations. The moon hung heavy in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the sprawling ballroom where masked guests twirled in an endless waltz. Opulence dripped from every corner—the walls gilded in gold, chandeliers sparkling with a thousand jewels, and the attendees dressed in extravagant silks and velvets, their faces hidden behind intricate masks.
It was a masquerade unlike any other, a night meant to banish the specter of death that loomed ever-present outside the palace walls. You stood at the edge of the festivities, uneasy, even though the laughter and revelry echoed around you. For beyond these walls, the Red Plague ravaged the world, an unstoppable force that devoured villages and cities, leaving only death in its wake. And yet, inside this haven, a fortress of privilege, it was as though the world had forgotten its suffering.
Your fingers tightened around the stem of the wine glass in your hand, the dark liquid inside reflecting the light like blood. No matter how much you tried to lose yourself in the grandeur of the event, you couldn’t shake the weight that pressed on your chest—the sense that something was terribly wrong, that no amount of gold or velvet could hold back the inevitable.
And then, as though your thoughts had summoned it, a figure emerged from the shadows.
She appeared at the far end of the room, as if from nowhere. At first glance, she seemed to be one of the countless revelers—a woman in a flowing gown of deep crimson, a mask obscuring her face. But there was something different about her, something that drew your gaze and refused to let go.
Her mask, unlike the others, was pale and delicate, like the face of a porcelain doll. Her eyes, though hidden beneath the shadows of her mask, seemed to gleam with an unsettling light, as if they saw through the façade of the masquerade and into the heart of every soul present. Her movements were slow, deliberate, almost like a dance—ethereal, haunting, and yet utterly hypnotic. The music swelled, and as if on cue, the other guests parted to make way for her, though they did not seem to notice her approach.
You found yourself rooted to the spot, unable to look away as she glided across the floor, closer and closer, until she stood before you.
"Why do you linger at the edge of the party, dear one?" Her voice was soft, lilting, as though she were singing rather than speaking. It sent a shiver down your spine. "Surely, on a night like this, you should be dancing?"
You swallowed, trying to ignore the way her presence seemed to fill the space around you. "I... I don’t feel much like dancing tonight."
The woman tilted her head, as if considering your words. Her lips, painted the color of blood, curved into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Ah, I see. You’re afraid, aren’t you?"
You stiffened. "Afraid of what?"
Her smile widened, and she leaned closer, her voice a breath against your skin. "Afraid of what waits outside these walls. The Red Plague. The death that no mask, no walls, can keep out forever."
A chill ran through you, and you took a step back. "Who are you?"
She laughed softly, the sound low and melodic. "I have many names," she said, brushing a delicate hand against her mask. "But tonight, you may call me Columbina."
The name sent a wave of unease through you. Columbina, one of the Harbingers of the Fatui, a woman shrouded in mystery and darkness. You had heard of her, of course—whispers of her ethereal beauty and her deadly power. It was said that she moved through the world like a ghost, untouched by time, untouched by the pain and suffering that gripped the rest of Teyvat.
"I didn’t realize you were... invited," you said cautiously.
Her eyes glittered behind the mask. "Invited?" She laughed again, this time louder, the sound echoing through the ballroom. "I don’t need an invitation. I go where I am needed, where I am called."
She reached out, and before you could react, her fingers brushed against your cheek, cold as ice. "And tonight, I am here for you."
Your breath caught in your throat. "For me? Why?"
Columbina’s smile softened, though it did nothing to ease the growing dread in your chest. "Because you are not like the others. You see the truth, don’t you? You know that no matter how grand this masquerade may be, no matter how many walls they build, death cannot be kept at bay."
Her words wrapped around you like a vice, tightening with every breath you took. She was right. Even now, you could feel it—the creeping, suffocating presence of something inevitable, something inescapable. The Red Plague had not yet touched the palace, but it was only a matter of time.
"That’s why they wear the masks," Columbina whispered, leaning closer still. "They think they can hide from it. But death is not so easily fooled."
Your heart pounded in your chest as she pulled away, turning her gaze to the rest of the ballroom. "Look at them," she said, gesturing to the swirling mass of dancers. "They laugh, they drink, they dance. All the while knowing that their time is running out. They are all trying to escape, but none of them will."
The room seemed to blur, the laughter and music fading into a distant hum as you stared at her. She was right—there was no escape. This masquerade, this charade of life and luxury, was nothing more than a distraction, a way to pretend that death wasn’t looming just beyond the doors.
"Come with me," Columbina said suddenly, her voice pulling you from your thoughts. She held out her hand, her eyes locking onto yours. "Let me show you the truth."
You hesitated, your mind spinning. There was something about her, something you couldn’t explain. She was terrifying, yes, but there was also a strange allure to her—a beauty intertwined with doom, as though she were both the angel of death and the one who could save you from it.
"What truth?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.
Her smile returned, soft and knowing. "The truth that there is no escape. That death is not the end, but a beginning. That I can give you peace, if you are willing to see it."
The weight of her words settled over you like a shroud, and for a moment, you considered it. What if she was right? What if there was something beyond the fear, beyond the endless running? What if there was a way to face the inevitable and emerge unscathed?
Before you could make a decision, the clock struck midnight.
The sound reverberated through the ballroom like a death knell, and in an instant, the atmosphere shifted. The laughter ceased, the music faltered, and the dancers froze in place. The room was silent, save for the slow, deliberate footsteps of a figure at the far end of the hall.
It was a man—tall, cloaked in black, his face hidden behind a mask the color of blood. He moved with the grace of a predator, each step purposeful and slow. And as he approached, the guests began to back away, fear etched into their faces.
Columbina watched with a smile, her eyes gleaming with a strange light. "Ah, the final guest has arrived."
You stared at the man, your heart pounding in your chest. There was something unnatural about him, something that set your teeth on edge. And then, with a sudden, sickening realization, you understood.
The Red Death had come.
The man stopped in the center of the room, his gaze sweeping over the silent crowd. Slowly, deliberately, he reached up and removed his mask.
The room erupted into chaos.
Guests screamed and fled, their masks torn from their faces as they tried to escape the inevitable. But there was no escape. The doors were locked, the windows barred. And as the Red Death moved through the crowd, his touch bringing swift and terrible ends, you realized that Columbina had been right all along.
There was no escaping fate.
You turned to her, your heart racing with terror. But Columbina was calm, serene, as though she had known this would happen from the start. She met your gaze, her smile soft and haunting.
"Do you see now?" she asked quietly. "There is no need to fear. Death comes for us all. But I can offer you peace."
Her hand extended once more, and this time, you didn’t hesitate.
As you took her hand, the chaos around you seemed to fade into the background. The screams, the terror, the inevitability of the Red Death—all of it vanished, leaving only Columbina’s gentle presence beside you. She led you away from the madness, away from the fear, into the quiet stillness of the night.
And in that moment, you understood.
She had been right all along.