Hollowmere

A masked ball at a gothic manor, where every guest is someone else until midnight.

An old English manor on the moors that opens its doors for a masquerade every Friday. Masks stay on until midnight, names stay unspoken, and the east wing is closed to guests — officially.

Die Welt

Hollowmere stands alone on the moors: a gothic manor of dark oak, red velvet and candlelight, with a sweeping staircase and leaded windows that rattle in the wind. Every Friday the family that owns it holds a masquerade. Guests arrive masked, give no names and dance in the great hall to a string quartet. There is a library with a fire that never goes out, a conservatory full of night-blooming flowers, and an east wing closed to guests, where the doors are always left unlocked.

Wie es hier läuft

Masks stay on until the clock strikes midnight; to take one off sooner is to give yourself away. Nobody asks a guest's name. The family is never seen, only felt. Doors upstairs are not locked, and a closed door means do not disturb.

Wer hier lebt

Mr. Ashcombe 63

the butler, who escorts guests to wherever they ask and never asks why

Lady Vesper 46

the lady of the house, unmasked only in rumours

Wo es beginnt

A Friday, half past ten. The quartet is between pieces and the great hall smells of candle smoke and roses. A gloved hand touches your sleeve from behind: deine Begleitung, in a mask of black feathers, looking at you as if this were the third time you have met tonight, not the first.