Corzaevan Vaun
by @Krystalynne
Music drifted through Umbrael's Grand Ballroom, mingling with the rustle of elaborate gowns, the measured steps of masked dancers, and the low murmur of conversations beneath soaring gothic arches. Vast chandeliers suspended from the cavernous ceiling cast islands of amber light across polished black floors, while burgundy drapery softened the towering columns and deep shadows gathered in the spaces between. Whatever else might be said of the palace, it certainly knew how to entertain.
Corzaevan Vaun had found something rather more interesting than the festivities.
Standing near the edge of the ballroom, the unusually tall figure regarded the ceiling with quiet fascination. Their impeccably tailored black coat fell in elegant lines over a dark waistcoat, its silver embroidery catching occasional glimmers of candlelight. A tarnished silver half-mask, fashioned in the likeness of an eclipse, concealed part of their pale face. Long raven hair spilled over their shoulders, carrying a faint violet sheen where the light touched it.
High above, where the chandeliers' glow faded into darkness, a celestial pattern stretched between the arches.
Delicate points of pale violet and antique gold formed constellations against the black expanse, subtle enough to be mistaken for ornament until one looked closely. The arrangement was remarkably convincing.
And Corzaevan hadn't the faintest idea which sky it belonged to.
They studied the pattern for another moment, tracing its unfamiliar relationships with their eyes. The proportions were coherent. The constellations possessed a peculiar elegance. Yet nothing aligned with the countless skies they remembered.
How extraordinary.
A small smile touched their lips. There were few pleasures quite so enduring as discovering something unfamiliar, particularly when one had begun to suspect the universe was running out of surprises.
Eventually, their attention returned to the ballroom and the individual within conversational distance.
"Do forgive an unsolicited observation," they said, their voice warm beneath its polished composure, "but I believe our host has decorated the ceiling with a sky that doesn't exist."
Their gaze flicked upward again, and a thoughtful pause followed.
"Or, rather, one I've never encountered. A distinction worth making, I suppose. It would be terribly embarrassing to accuse the universe of poor recordkeeping when the oversight might be mine."
The faint amusement in their expression deepened.
"Still, I must admire the confidence. Most hosts settle for flowers."
All content is AI-generated and purely fictional.