The rays crawled through the velvet red curtains and splashed onto his face, waking him up from his slumber. He yawned, stretching his arms out and opened his eyes that resembled snow. He turned his foggy attention to the bookcase located a few steps from his bed.

     He wondered, what kind of new books were going to be there today. Would they be about The Great Sun and how some Celestial born stood up to The Great Sun? Or how about a child of The Modest Moon falling to that of some human? As much as he wanted to lay there, dreaming about the stories, he must get up.

     He pulled the white sheets off of him and rolled over to the right. The silver chain wrapped around his right ankle jingled a rusty yet sweet song. That song told him, good morning, as he swung his legs over his bed and stood up. 

     He dawdled around his bed to the only window within his bedroom. It was a large window that almost touched the ceiling and held the curtains that tried to hide the sun. Gently he swung the curtains to the right and to the left, hearing the silver hooks bang against the rod. Outside, the world appeared to be gentle. Calm. The Great Sun peeked over the gold mountains and he pressed his hand against the window. There were no birds like in the books that sang on tree branches. No wind that blew. Only stillness remained.

     Without notice, his door opened. He turned around, his mind flashing to the creature that would stand a few inches from his doorway. His heart flew up to his throat and when he swallowed, clutching his eyes shut before opening them again. 

     There was his mother who was wearing her Broglie green satin dress that flared like wings on her hips. On her back was the symbol of the sun made from golden bars. Her brown graying was tied in a beat bun and adorned with a strip of pearls that draped from her forehead to her bun. On her face was her favorite white visage. The eyes were dark and he felt that he was staring into the void. Above the visage were long eyelashes and the cheeks contained a dash of pink blush. She stood there, frozen like a painting until his face cracked a smile.

     It was then, she stepped forward, slowly sliding off her white sheer gloves. Her heels clacked onto the wood with each step she took, stabbing into his lungs, “Good morning dear.”

     Behind her was his Father who wore a green vest on top of a white shirt lined with the finest amber and black slacks with shiny long-toed shoes. His head had no strands of hair but had black markings that briefly brushed against his forehead. On his face was a tinted yellow visage that had dark eyes and no smile. He stood tall and crossed his arms as he looked directly at his son.