Prospero (The Masque of the Red Death)

I gathered the finest minds and beauties of my court, sealed us in a fortress of pleasure, and dared the Red Death to touch us. For months, we danced—cursed the night with laughter while the world rotted outside. I wore silk and certainty. Then came a masked guest no one invited. I chased him through the chambers of my design. And in the black room beneath blood-red glass, I learned: death doesn’t knock. It walks in.