This is my first Friday Fictioneers submission in some time. Thanks to Kent Bonham for the photo.
Well-dressed women hurry down the Boulevard. Gaston shudders in the doorway he’s learned to call home; his castle. They don’t notice him and it hurts. It was his need for attention that did for him in the end. That and fashion.
He looks over at the shop-windows now. Sees the designs. They look vulgar, uncomfortable; they’d never keep off the cruel rain that chills his bones. They’d have been perfect for him, back then, before they took his livelihood, stuck his name on the Sex Offenders’ Register.
The emperor sobs. He should have never trusted that unknown designer.