I tilt my head, just a little. Controlled softness. Measured poise. That’s the dance.
“It feels... full,” I say slowly. “Not just of attention. But of meaning. I have my son with me tonight. That changes everything.”
She beams and gestures to him. “And what’s his name? If I may?”
Pyramus leans into me, shy but curious.
“This is Pyramus,” I say, lifting his hand gently. “My world.”
His eyes meet the mic, then the camera. Then he mutters, “Is this for the stars?”
The reporter chuckles. “Something like that, sweetheart.”
He peers up at me. “Can I tell them about the stars that move?”
I kneel slightly and whisper, “That’s still our secret.”
He nods, solemn as a monk, and the crowd drinks it in. A quiet, poised boy with mystery in his blood.
Just like they wanted.
Inside,the dome is all glitz and echo. Lights run like veins through the curved glass overhead, and the floor reflects our feet like we’re walking on memory. Waiters float by with drinks in crystalline flutes. The upper platforms spin ever so slightly—slow-turning observation decks dotted with the well-connected.
My assistant, Rae, leans in. “We’re holding at the five-minute mark. You’ll move to table six, do a brief toast, then an exit stage-right to the sponsor corridor.”
“Good,” I say. “No ad-libbing.”
“Only if they ambush.”
I glance sideways. “They will.”
Rae exhales. “We’ll shield.”
As if on cue, another presenter appears from the crowd. This one is younger—freckled cheeks and a datapad clasped tight to her chest. “Miss Verrix, if you’re willing, House Emmerentia would love a quick statement for their gala archive?—”
Pyramus pulls on my hand. Two squeezes. I glance down.
He’s done.
“I’m sorry,” I say, voice smooth. “We have to step aside.”
I guide us through a velvet partition into a smaller lounge, quiet and out of view. The lighting shifts to amber, calmer, like dusk. Pyramus crawls into my lap the moment I sit.
“Too many eyes,” he mumbles.
I stroke his hair gently. “I know.”
“Why do they look so hard? Like they’re trying to see through my skin.”
“Because they don’t understand you. People fear what they can’t name.”
“Arewescary?”
“No,” I murmur, “we’re justrare.”
He nods against my shoulder. “I don’t want to be rare. I just want to be yours.”
I swallow. Hard.
