We begin the lengthy preparations for the festival. My mother’s maids bathe me in rose water. My hair is brushed until it shines and then left loose to hang down my shoulders in a midnight cloak.

I wear a simple dress with no adornments. But on my face I wear an elaborate mask. This is the custom of my people. We wear masks during our festivals so that we can enjoy our revelries without fear of damaging our reputation, and so that we can honor the gods with proper abandon.

My mask is made of gold and is quite heavy. It made to look like a deer’s head and there are jewel-encrusted antlers that reach high above my head.

After eating honey-drenched pastries and drinking spiced wine, the fertility ritual begins. We dance, the drumbeat urging us on. Faster, harder. My limbs ache with the movement.

As I am dancing, someone suddenly grabs my hand and pulls me away into the shadows. He wears a mask shaped like a hawk’s head.

“Follow me,” he says in a thick voice.

We walk into a clearing surrounded by trees.