Somewhere, latched onto the void between, like a bed bug in the folds of your sheets, there floats a room. White and featureless, it squishes and squelches. The walls buzz with a wet static. They undulate, and they begin to sweat milk. The buzz becomes a gurgle, and the floor rips open inward like a soaked paper bag. It sees you.
Emily opened her eyes to a familiar bed, in her white, featureless room once more. Her black, tight-fitting, silken nightgown wrapped around her body, which laid atop her white lacey bed, buried by her fluffy comforter. She smiled, rubbing her legs against the softness, a glimmer of contentment on her silvery face. Then, with a deep sigh filling her chest, she sat up, her onyx locks falling into place, and set her bare feet on the smooth, matte floor. No chill reached out from that surface, nor was it warm to the touch. As Emily stood, marionetted on slender legs, the floor mirrored her temperature perfectly.
In a moment, the bed was already gone, and when Emily turned she found herself facing a mannequin. Snow-white, velvety, and wearing a low-cut, white-laced, forest-green ballgown, the mannequin wore a smooth, porcelain mask with two almond-shaped eye holes. The otherwise empty mask stared back at her, and Emily understood. She shrugged the thin straps of her nightgown off of her pale shoulders, peeling it down over her perky breasts and letting it fall to the floor. She stepped out of it, now fully naked, and set to work adorning the elegant display before her.
There were many intricate layers of clothing, starting with a fine corset that, thankfully, laced in the front, gripping her torso and supple mounds as she pulled it tight. Once she had the dress on, she noticed the stitching on the mannequin wasn't completed all the way, leaving an exposed slit in the velvet just between the breasts. Delicately, Emily reached inside and found a hidden compartment, a thin wooden panel just 2 inches long. Popping it loose, it hinged upward to reveal a small vial of shimmering, clear liquid about the size of her thumb. uncorking the top, it smelled like honey and champagne. Realizing it must be perfume, Emily dabbed a little on her chest and her wrists, spreading it around. The shimmer stayed, catching the light and bringing out her already fair complexion. Finally, she held the mask in her hands, featureless save for the eyes, and placed it over her own face, letting it rest against her cheeks. In the moment that her vision was obscured, the mannequin was already gone, and across the room on the wall was a door.
Emily approached, still adjusting to the restrictive clothing, and inspected it. Wildly extravagant, with stained blonde wood and ivory inlay, She gripped the gilded doorknob and, with a sharp breath, turned it and pushed into the breach. In a whirl, gone from her familiar home, she was struck with music, dance, and glamor. Dozens of men and women twirled and stepped to the gossamer tinkling of the piano, each dressed to the nines in suits and dresses of burgundy, turquoise, goldenrod, and everything in between. All were hidden behind the centerpieces of their outfits: luxurious, striking masks that covered their entire face, each one unique. Some were porcelain, while others were a complex pattern of lace and cloth, and more were carved from oak or made of gold and silver. One, Emily noticed in the blur as they tried not to be trampled, was even crafted from fish or snake scales, each individually stitched together in a mesh.
