Noel stood very still as the costumier worked around him.
The room was narrow and warm, filled with the scent of pressed fabric and starch. A tall mirror stood before him, its surface slightly clouded with age. He barely recognised the man staring back.
He was dressed in pale ivory from collar to hem.
The costume clung lightly to his frame... soft linen beneath, a finely tailored coat over it, fitted just enough to make him appear slender, almost fragile. The sleeves were narrow at the wrist, and the cuffs were simple and unadorned. A thin sash rested at his waist, tied loosely, as though even the clothing feared holding him too tightly.
His hair had been brushed carefully and tied low, left deliberately soft around his face. No powder, no harsh styling. The person who designed Julian Vale had wanted him to look untouched.
Pure.
Breakable.
Noel swallowed and looked away from the mirror.
'Why did I agree to this again?'
