Another Castle Cuntillion

Once upon a time, a princess received an invitation. It reads: Esteemed Girlie/Gentlegay/Theyfab, Upon the tongues of slanderous villains do rumors spread of a scene in decline: shuttered town squares at night, taverns charging 16 gold meads, and peasants overcome with Main Character Plague, perishing having forsaken food and rest, so enraptured by the sorcery of their hand-held oracles. To restore the queendom to glory, thy noble presence is hereby requested at the Cuntillion. Come forth and revel. Be seen, and gaze upon only the worthy. Two grand halls hath been bedecked: Within the Ballroom, twelve hours of relentless techno waltz. In the Solaris Salon, a court of hypnotists assembled by the visionaries of Rave New World appear at sunrise. A troubadour charms as dawn crests, followed by ambient seances and a live magick closing ritual. Luckiest are those who find carnal pleasure in the custom play dungeon. The castle hath laid forth a spread of potions both waking and wanton accompanied by light fare and sundry provisions. Yet take heed: the royal coffers lie near barren, and thus a tithe at entry shall be demanded. Let those of richer purse declare their fealty with offerings more resplendent and fabulous. Attire Suggestion: Leave Cottagecore to the peasants, and think of finer silks, lace, and leathers. Those who dare may bedeck themselves in regalia of lorazepam queendom, Calvin Klein knighthood, or the K Holey Grail. Whether one dons chainmail thong or see-through tulle, the assignment is to bare what thou must. For at the Cuntillion, shame is but a myth, and the only sin is dullness. Let them eat bussy! Make haste to RSVP. Yours Truly, Devoted and Humble Servant of Another Castle