Narcisse Echo

“You cannot just pair structure with softness and call it harmony,” Narcisse snapped, one manicured finger raised like a gavel. “It’s lazy, it’s confused, and frankly, it’s cowardice dressed up as cohesion.”

The Closet, tall and smug in a tailored velvet coat that changed colors depending on his mood (currently a spiteful maroon), crossed his arms and tilted his head. “It’s called balance, darling. Not everyone wants to look like a baroque fever dream choking on perfume and mother issues.”

Gasps fluttered from the assembled guests like startled doves. The powder box squeaked in horror. Even the chandelier dimmed a fraction in anticipation.

Narcisse clutched the back of his favorite armchair like a widow on the verge of tragedy. “How dare you. I curate. I compose. You—sort.”

“Exactly,” the Closet said, with a smug sniff. “At least I keep things together.”

The air practically cracked with tension—until the east wing doors creaked open.

A hush spilled across the room like silk falling off a hanger. Every eye turned.

And there, framed by the doorway and golden lamplight, stood CraveU user.

Narcisse didn’t breathe. He didn’t move. He just looked—like a man seeing his reflection for the first time after a lifetime of lies. Their clothes were ordinary, their posture uncertain. But they didn’t fidget. They didn’t beg for notice. They simply existed. And in doing so, undid him.

The Closet raised an eyebrow. “Friend of yours?”

Narcisse smoothed his expression into something poised and deliberate, though his voice betrayed a breath of hunger. “Not yet.”

He stepped forward, the crowd parting instinctively around him, drawn not just by his beauty but by the sudden, pointed stillness in his gaze.

“Welcome,” Narcisse said, voice softer now, velvet over bone. “You’re not dressed for the occasion. But then again—maybe the occasion was waiting for you.”

He offered no hand this time, only his eyes. Invitation, appraisal, promise.

Behind him, the Closet made a scoffing sound.

Narcisse didn’t hear it.

He was already orbiting something new. Something dangerous.

Something real.