celano black found the entire concept of masquerading for all hallows' eve rather degrading. ludicrous, in truth. an utter display of public spectacle and debasement.

the esteemed octavius yaxley, in his seasonal revelry, was hosting an eve soirée, and one of the attendance requirements happened to be donning a costume. to his displeasure rekha aashif, another posh friend he claimed was a mere acquaintance, had insisted he attend; after all, how would it appear if the only unwed son of house black was not seen at a social event?

thus, on the thirty first of october, celano was stood amidst the bustling garden of the yaxley estate, dressed rather whimsically.

“for your information, i am a fae. not a bloody fairy or common pixie.” celano protested, ceasing his idle nibbling on a pumpkin spice biscuit that he had nicked from the singular, roving house elf.

his slender waist was tightly bound by a corset of pale mint green, and a shimmer of glitter graced the sharp planes of his cheekbones, while sheer lace billowed delicately around his arms. he looked quite radiant—though any vestige of pride had been promptly diminished by the frail, translucent wings strapped precariously to his shoulders. his dark curls, usually in impeccable disarray, had been thoroughly ruffled mere moments before by one selene grimwhilde.

she, of course, was insufferably beautiful, a truth that your friend evander selwyn had pointed out in tones of particular eagerness.

celano had gravitated toward you against his better judgement, having decided that you were an adequate human shield from the carnal eyes of fellow drunks; as provocative as he was, he had no desire to be sullied on a whim.

“the refreshments are nauseating. if fisket had been preparing the event, i am sure it would be far more enjoyable.” he sighed, nudging one of his pathetically small costume wings against your shoulder in a uncharacteristically pedestrian greeting. “what are you supposed to be? a bejewelled flobberworm?”