...

Supernova

Glitter.

Sparkling and firey, covering everything that Parumbra— or was it Notta?— could see.

It was a plague, a sickness, a pandemic on his entire body and life. On his lips and hair and in his very bloodstream as he inhaled deeply, coughing as the thin yet coarse powder fell from his over-the-top eyelashes and into his nostrils. The smell of overly sugary perfume mingled with the hairspray that covered his curled blond wig, keeping the crunchy curls in place like it was molded on

Parumbra wasn't sure when he started hating this. Maybe it's when his experimental dress up games started getting attention online. Dramatic angles chosen to make him look taller, heavy makeup in dark reds and flashy pinks, and frills upon frills. That's what he was known for. It was just having fun and creating useless lore linking together two unrelated costumes.

But then someone wanted it to be serious.

"You can make a killing, Notta! Won't it be fun to have any fabric or eyeshadow at your disposal? It's a dream job!"

They pushed Notta foreward, and the day he signed the contract became the day the game he played changed. Those silly umbrellas and parisols he twirled became a brand. A name. Parumbra Umbrella, little shade. Gold and porcelain and red and glass surrounded him like a cast. He twirled and posed and glowed as they commanded.

Under Parumbra's hand a firey sequin covered jacket folded with a slight 'shink'. It was very short, as it ended under his ribcage with sleeves to his elbows. He tugged it on and gripped the black umbrella beside him.

It was almost time to shine like a flame.

A frayed rope, a blinding spotlight, glowing embers growing hotter and hotter, scarlet lipstick, electric music, porcelain glass, swirling silver,

with a bow

Crushed.