Gluttony

Gluttony smiled, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. He wore a posh waistcoat and a crisp white shirt. A snowy corset held up his belly. In the dusty attic, Gluttony stood out like a crow amongst swans. Raising his monocle, Gluttony bent painfully and opened the clasp on a chest. Using his handkerchief, he wiped off dust and grime.

Barely visible in the gloom, costumes lay in the chest, untouched for decades but never forgotten. Popping a peppermint in his mouth, Gluttony lit a candle and settled comfortably on the wooden floor, not minding the dust. They settled like flakes of never-melting snow on his immaculate slacks, but Gluttony took no heed of them. His eyes were trained on the contents of the chest.

Fondly, he reached inside and pulled out a yellowing piece of fabric. His Grecian costume from when he was four years old. Gluttony gave a snort as he held the tiny thing up, mockingly holding it against him as if to see if it still fit.

"Of course it won't, you old fool," he said to himself. Time had not treated his figure kindly, nor had his candy addiction. The next costume to be held close to his fading eyes was a gladiator suit from age 14. His friends had scorned his love of Morostide, but Gluttony never took it to heart. Costumes were one of the few things in this life that Gluttony loved with his very being.

A silk suit caught his eyes, and then the other suit, slightly more tattered and likely a pass-me-down. A tear trickled down his face as he remembered who had worn it.

He had been Gluttony's best friend, the one person who hadn't judged him. He had understood what the costumes meant to Gluttony, that they weren't just a hobby, but rather a way to escape this confusing world. When he died, a part of Gluttony died as well. Gluttony had lost much more than just a buddy to keep him company; he had lost a brother.

Tears ran down Gluttony's wrinkled face. After him, there had been no more long nights of trick-or-treating, no more contests to see who got the most candy. Gluttony had shut himself away in his mansion, turning away from the world. With extra care, Gluttony put his suit back into the chest. He inspected the other costumes. They were gruesome and cruel, lonely and depressed. Morostide no longer held its magic with out Gluttony's best friend, and Gluttony's costumes reflected that.

The chest was locked once again, and the old key inserted back into Gluttony's pocket. With effort, he climbed back down the stairs, out of the gloom and into the light. In the full length mirror, Gluttony inspected himself. Dust covered him from head to toe and tears had left streaks on his face. In the flickering candlelight, Gluttony looked more ghostly than alive. A small smile on his face, Gluttony sat in his favourite armchair, feet warming by the fire. Outside, the sounds of Morostide celebrations trickled into Gluttony's house. The old man leaned back; his head cradled in the soft velvet fabric and closed his eyes, thesmile still lingeringon his lips.