An elf pushes the tall stone door open just enough to step through, and a dwarf, a giant spider, and a large gray cat follow her through. Torchlight shines through the doorway, and the first rays of sunlight through the uppermost windows play across the floor. The elf goes to the lower windows and throws open the curtains, filling the room with the light of the approaching dawn.

The spider scampers up a wall, carrying a streamer in its sharp teeth, and uses a dab of webbing to attach the end of the streamer to the corner where the room's high ceiling meets the wall. It then walks carefully but quickly all around the ceiling, letting the streamer play out and attaching it to the ceiling every so often so that it hangs in a celebratory and decorative fashion.

Meanwhile, the dwarf looks around the room and tests each of the doors---locked, at this hour, with the first preparations only beginning. But since none of the doors seems (from his glimpse through the keyholes at his eye level) to be a closet anyway, he murmurs something to the cat. The cat sits up on its haunches, extends its claws, and with a musical mirrup? and a few gestures as if plucking threads no one else can see, pulls an expansive marble-topped table from who-knows-where, setting it prominently in the middle of the room, near the main door.

The elf begins pulling items out of the sack she carries, starting with a long scroll of thick parchment, three large white quill pens, and a deep ink-pot, which she sets down on the table. She hands a tapestry to the spider, which with the dwarf's help carries it over to and up the wall to hang it, then takes one cupcake after another from the bag and sets them on the other end of the table. The cat leaps up on the table, tail held high, but the elf scolds her: "No! Those are for the party!"

Dawn is nearly breaking, but everything looks to be ready, and the four figures pass out the way they came, talking quietly about pulling games out of whatever storage they were put in after previous parties. A young man, in dark slacks and a blue shirt that would be sharp if they weren't so rumpled, enters through the same door a moment later. He looks at the preparations, nods in satisfaction, then cocks his head and snaps his fingers, and lanterns appear, hanging from previously-invisible hooks in the ceiling. He steps up to the table, dips the quill in the ink, and makes himself the firstin loco Dominae Airiannae to sign the roll of celebrants at this year's party for posterity:

Ego, Jonathan (rex-joannes) Lovelace, Chronographus in Terrae Cycli Candentis, historiae Vaynahimis, Regni Apricitatis, Imperii Candentis Rudisque, et terrae rerumque conexarum, hic in communionem virtualis qui se vocat Mundi Sacri hoc die aniversarii noni conditii XII a.d. Kalendae October anno Domini MMXIIX

(I, Jonathan (kingjon) Lovelace, Chronicler in Earth of the Shine Cycle, history of Vaynaheim, the Sunshine Kingdom, the Shine and Wild Empire, and associated countries and events, was here in the virtual community calling itself Holy Worlds on the day of the ninth anniversary of its founding, September 20 of the Year of our Lord 2018.)

To that legibly-printed paragraph, the young man adds a nearly indecipherable scrawl that must be his name, then a blob of wax which he marks with a silver seal. Wiping a tear from one eye as he thinks of those who will most likely not make it to the party, he sets the quill back into the ink-well and steps back from the table, nearly tripping over the cat, which has come back in and attempted to twine around his ankles, and then jumps back up onto the table and arranges herself carefully between the quills and the end of the table. (Must be a Gumbie Cat, he thinks.) He gives her a scratch behind the ears, then goes to one of the side doors and unlocks it to see to further party preparations.

As soon as he does so, a young gnome sneaks in carrying a ladder, climbs up the wall, sets a glitter bomb on top of the door, and sneaks out again.

In a flash of light, additional text is automatically appended to the page.

(Come one, come all: make your mark to record your presence at today's festivities so that future generations may know you were here!)

A young woman, dark blue skirt swirling about her legs and white top with flowing, full sleeves steps into the room tentatively. Seeing few people, she approaches the table with more confidence. She picks up a quill and after a moment's hesitation scrawls,

I, Lady Faith, authoress of the historical realms, was here for the noble ninth birthday September 20, in the year of our Lord 2018

Reiyen shulks in, and scrawls, I'm still here...

A regal woman searches the room with her sapphire eyes, eyes that seem bright and inviting in contrast to her austere bun and severe eyeliner. Her heavy black cloak only loosely conceals a gown of scarlet as she approaches the table.

She inscribes her name with curls and scratches. She leaves no note. She lingers, long enough to trace her fingers over the other signatures, then leaves, a silent yet content smile posed on her cheeks.

*Peeks in* I'm still here too! Albeit extremely late!