Inside Vanitas's grand celestial chambers, the air shimmered faintly with divine energy.
The room was enormous, arched ceilings adorned with gold-traced murals, artifacts that floated all around, and a massive bed at the center, draped in silks that glowed faintly like captured starlight.
And right now, in one corner, next to a full-length mirror framed with spiraling vines of silver and crystal, dozens of outfits floated in midair.
They moved as if alive, shifting and spinning around, each more extravagant than the last.
Robes lined with golden thread, tailored suits with celestial embroidery, capes that glimmered like midnight skies, and royal crowns that could have belonged to emperors.
Kafka too stood there awkwardly, watching his mother pace in front of him like a painter judging her unfinished masterpiece.
