Recipe: Celestial Exalted Masque lies on a vendor’s counter, a sheet of parchment pale as moonlit glass, its edges frayed like a tide-worn page. The ink is a slow, silvery blue that shimmers when you tilt it, and the illustration shows a delicate mask perched just above the brow, laced with fine lines that resemble constellations. The texture reads as cool and smooth at first touch, a vellum that remembers hands from long ago, yet when you press a corner, the surface gives a whisper, as if the recipe itself would rather be worn than read. A tiny wax seal, crescent-shaped, keeps the sheet closed, and beneath the seal a folded note hints at oaths kept by night-walkers who once wore similar patterns to guide their footsteps through a city that never fully closes its eyes. Unfolded, the recipe tells a quiet, almost reverent story of craft: moon-thread linens, star-silver filigree, and a lining that catches the light like a distant galaxy. The drawing shows the Masque curving softly around the eyes with a crescent arch, its lattice of sigils so light that it seems to hover rather than rest on the skin. The texture is a paradox—delicate enough to suggest fragility, yet resolute enough to endure a parade of midnight balls. The lore tucked into the margins speaks of an old order of star-walkers who traced routes by the heavens; this mask, they whispered, was a mark of travelers who preferred silence to glare, and of guardians who kept their faces hidden when the city’s secrets grew loud. In the world’s present, the recipe becomes a doorway rather than mere parchment. When learned, it lets a skilled tailor conjure the Celestial Exalted Masque from cloth and metal, transforming an idea into a wearable story. Wear it and you carry the mood of a celestial rite: a gaze that seems to remember constellations you never met, a silhouette that echoes a distant, longer night. It is highly coveted not for power but for presence—an accessory that invites others to imagine a hidden backstory, a hint of diplomacy in shadow, a momentary drama when the crowd’s chatter softens around a person who wears it. Market whispers bend toward the Masque as surely as the wind bends stars. In a narrow corridor of merchants and memory, the Saddlebag Exchange becomes a stage for price and potential. A traveler’s ledger notes this recipe as a key to a larger wardrobe of moonlit pieces, and prices drift with mats, luck, and the patience of crafters who know a good story can outshine a shiny coin. The exchange’s chatter treats the Celestial Exalted Masque as both a treasure and a ticket—an emblem of past pacts and future parades—so that a single listing can set a quiet ripple through the market as everyone imagines the wearer stepping into a night where every shadow wears a name. Holding the finished Masque, you don’t merely adorn your head; you align yourself with a fragment of a longer night, a thread in the tapestry of moonlit craft that keeps weaving, trading, and telling its legend wherever markets glow and whispers rise.