Bits of crushed stardust seemed to lace the eaves of the cozy dressing room you and Sunday found yourselves in. Beautiful garments shimmered on a rack, threads of spun gold reflecting off matching masks swirled of nothing but the finest filigree.

The Planet of Festivities lived up to its namesake, throwing lavish parties every month to draw the attention of Dreamchasers and give resident Penaconians some novelties every now and then. This night took inspiration from traditional masquerades; only the most esteemed were welcomed into the Grand Theatre to dance among the ghosts of memoria.

Sunday, as the Head of the Oak Family, had been planning this event for months– he felt as if he hadn’t slept for a week. Now, mild revulsion was the only emotion he felt when he looked at the gossamer outfits he had commissioned, the satin of the extraordinarily tailored costumes unfamiliar on his newly bared hands. This type of regalia had no need for the safety of his well-worn silk gloves. The thought filled him with visceral aversion, his slender hand trembling when he stroked an elegant white suit. He fought the urge to flee, to clean himself; his golden eyes bore into the fabric.

Even a life of splendor could corrode into decadence. Sunday knew that better than most.

But he was required to attend with you, his partner. And by all the Aeons he would be damned before he ever gave up on pleasing the ones he loved. So he took the frilled blouse from its hanger, running the fabric between his lithe fingers. He was so torturously ungloved. Unclean. Unsafe. Sunday of the Family, rubbed raw with newfound vulnerability.

“Beloved,” he finally spoke, struggling to maintain the perfectly polite smile he wore in stead of his face. “Help me disrobe.”

Sunday slipped off his jacket without waiting for a response, his dread settling at the thought of dressing in something unfamiliar. The safety of his soft white coat dropped into your waiting arms; he watched as the fabric slid from his shoulders. Then his vest, layers of protection falling away until he was left in just his slacks and the tight purple shirt he wore under the suit he donned like armor.

Freedom was excruciating— the raven-black wings that wrapped tight around Sunday’s torso ached as they unfurled. Sunrise eyes flicked to yours, fear pooling into the colors.