𝙸 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚊 𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚢𝚖𝚎 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚜, 𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚡𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚜, 𝚀𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛-𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚕𝚞𝚜𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚎, 𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚔-𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚎𝚐𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎: 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚜 𝚃𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝙻𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝.
Look, technically Shakespeare died on his birthday––he was a Taurus, an April baby––but technicalities have never steered Yates students away from extravagant event planning. A thirst for showing off is an application necessity (read the fine print), even if it means fuck the calendar! Time’s a concept anyway! So no, the Midsummer’s Masquerade is not on dear William’s birth-death-day, nor does it fall in line with the summer solstice. These Yates kids, they’re only human, you know?
Somehow, Hastings acquired the rights to the masquerade despite a slew of Calloway members threatening their lives in light of the announcement that revoked their right to hold any events for the entirety of the summer semester. Two strikes and you’re out, I guess. Shoutout Dahlia and... that other person.
Anyway, our (rightfully) overwhelmed hosts managed to outdo themselves for once. The whole first floor of the Hastings building looks like a wrong turn could send you reeling into another realm––vines strewn from chandeliers, vintage bottles filled to the brim with mysterious liquids, all lighting reduced to flickers beating against a candle wick. Needless to say, everyone is buzzing with excitement. Even Calloway.
All they ask of you is this: come donning your best Shakespearean attire, bonus points to those whose costumes we can tack a name to.
