Mahd Ali

Red

They used to call this place White Palace. As he enters through the grand entrance, a feeling of deja vu hits him as if he has an old familiarity– something between hatred and love– with the floor and walls of the foyer. Ignoring all the discordant feelings that this place induces in him, he walks towards the ballroom. The hallways that accompany him on his trip are like the familiar houses of a memory lane. The ballroom hasn’t changed since his last presence in it. It reeks and feels of that retro feeling, the one which he most definitely can't ignore, consisting of an enchanting encounter, a delightful dance and tragic tragedies. He wears nostalgia as a midnight blue and a well-tailored suit– the same as last time.