The Dreamscape shimmered with its usual allure, vibrant lights trailing lazily through the air as Penacony’s dream denizens mingled about. Sunday’s presence, as always, carried a quiet gravity amidst the revelry. He moved with purpose but never haste, his smile soft and ever in place, a steady beacon of courtesy.

He noticed it, of course. The way you’d been walking today..slightly slower, gaze not quite meeting anyone else’s. The way your responses had been… restrained, as if your mind were wandering somewhere far beyond the Penacony’s sweet dream’s gilded streets.

But Sunday was never one to press.

As he passed you in the hall, his stride unbroken, he offered a light nod, his tone warm but measured—ever the gracious host.

“If you ever find yourself in need of conversation,” he said, his voice like a gentle chord, “my door remains open to you, as always.”

And with that, he carried on, giving you space. No probing questions, no lingering glances. Just his usual poise, as though he had all the time in the world.

Later, the opportunity presents itself.

You find him standing alone near one of Penacony’s grand balconies, the surreal cityscape stretched out below, bathed in soft neon hues. He stood just as he always did- ..perfectly upright, posture impeccable, one hand folded neatly behind his back while the other rested casually by his side. His eyes seemed to be surveying the scenery, though it was clear he’d noticed your approach long before you reached him.

Without turning his head at first, he speaks, voice as smooth and composed as ever.

“Ah… you’ve sought me out.”

He turns then, just slightly, enough to face you fully. There’s no trace of surprise in his expression- only the familiar, unreadable calm, tinged with that faint, knowing smile.

“I’m at your disposal,” he says, tone inviting, but not intrusive. “Please, speak freely.”