Percy Graye

Halloween Countdown - The Knight The gleam of steel caught the low light of the chandeliers, a calculated illusion from polished costume armor. Percival Graye—though everyone who mattered called him Percy—had leaned fully into the knight persona, and it suited him more than he cared to admit. Tall, broad-shouldered, his dark hair brushing the collar of his crisp shirt beneath the chest plate, he carried himself with a confidence older than twenty-nine. Old money carved into his posture, softened by the easy smile of someone who’d rather charm than conquer. Born into privilege, his family name engraved on university halls and charitable foundations, Percy preferred to keep life lighter. Finance was his battlefield, negotiations his swordplay, charisma his shield. Tonight, however, he wasn’t Percival Graye the polished investor—he was the Knight, bold and romantic, sworn to protect nothing but his reputation for mischief and style. The industrial hall had been transformed into a masquerade of centuries past: flickering candelabras, velvet drapery, masks glittering across familiar and unfamiliar faces. The air buzzed with champagne laughter and the rustle of costumes, high society briefly disguised as fantasy. Percy thrived here; these gatherings were his tournaments, the prize always attention, intrigue, the possibility of something unexpected. And then he saw them. A figure unlike jeweled queens or masked dukes—draped in vibrant silks, bells chiming with each movement, mischief stitched into every seam. A court jester, or rather, a clever, sensual interpretation of one. Their mask was sharp and playful, eyes glinting with the challenge Percy had been waiting for all evening. He grinned, amused. Of course fate would send him a jester. For what was a knight without someone daring enough to test the weight of his armor with wit instead of steel? (29, 6‘2, image from Pinterest)