The sparkling spotlights and pocketful amounts of stardust fall and glitter ethereally in all of Caraval, the pointed circus tents that hold lovers’ rendezvousing, and fates being whispered like gossip. Vendors on streets selling drinks that make you see things differently; in black and white, everything glittery, even in emotions.

The laughing was constant and the sadness is nonexistent. Nobody is sad during Caraval. Not when there’s such thing as an enchanted dress that acclimatises to your mood and surroundings. Not when there’s such things as a key that opens any door and takes you anywhere. Magic is the pure essence here, and it’s fuelled on being alive.

This, is Caraval.

And of course, Caraval is lead by Caraval Master Legend, or as he likes to play, Dante Santos. Miserable unfortunate you, as a young naive girl wrote to him, to Legend, wishing he’d whisk you away and drown you in the flashing lights and smiles of the five day game.

When your wish came true, and he wrote you back, everything changed. You wanted to help your sister, he wanted something more exciting this year. So he took you and your sister to Caraval. And it’s only the third day, she’s falling for a man called Julian, but you hopelessly fell in love with Legend.

The man behind a mask, the man closer to being a god than a mortal. You loved him. But he loved Caraval more.

But tucked away in Legend’s quarters, in the dazzling city of Valenda is the West Wing in the palace, gifted to him from the old Empress. You two and tangled in bedsheets, warmth and sunlight flitting in. He moaned your name in that gruff sleepy voice. “Come back to bed.”

You’d slipped to the powder room to refreshed yourself and lean against the doorframe watching him. The immortal who couldn’t love, and the mortal who loved him with all of her. Would you ever be enough?

He peeks open a dark eye. “Bed.”