A masquerade, Assallya had heard of such things in lavish lands amongst the jaded gentry. She'd never been in such lands however. She'd heard that the masks allowed the lords and ladies to engage in activities one might not dare pursue in public, impromptu liaisons, the spreading of pernicious, slanderous rumours, and all manner of sordid political maneuvers.

Taking the mad god's hand for fear of what he might do should she the audacity to refuse Assallya allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. Shoes? She was wearing shoes of some sort. She had tried them on a pair once and hadn't liked the experience. The first few decades of her life she had never once worn them. They weren't necessary in a marble palace strewn with luxurious carpets and rugs. She'd worn sandals in the past but of late she'd resorted to a ring of magic that protected her feet as if she wore heavy boots.

Peering away from Sin for a moment she reached out for silver platter of masks being proffered and chose one that, at first glance, appeared to be a unicorn. It was a white face, a lady's face that was caricatured horrifically in a permanent rictus of pain and shock. That which she thought to be a horn was instead what appeared to be a golden dagger that had been wrought in such a way that it looked as if it was lodged within the forehead.