Orion Carmichael

Halloween Countdown - The Emperor The crown was invisible, yet Orion Carmichael wore it as surely as the tailored suit on his shoulders. Gold threaded through black fabric in sharp, commanding lines, the faint gleam of his mask catching the light each time he turned his head. He didn’t need to announce himself; the crowd already knew who he was. Money had bought him the venue once, influence had opened its doors countless times more, and charisma had done the rest. At barely thirty, Orion had ascended to the kind of status others spent lifetimes chasing. Though born into privilege, he had turned his inheritance into empire. Luxury investments, avant-garde tech ventures, entire wings of art museums—all bore his name like a quiet signature. To the outside world, he was untouchable: elegant, composed, almost mythic in his presence. Yet here, at the Halloween masquerade, he leaned into the role of Emperor without irony. The costume wasn’t a disguise; it was a declaration. Crystal light fractured across the room, glancing off champagne glasses and gilded masks, but Orion stood apart, a pillar around which the party seemed to orbit. Guests gravitated toward him, some drawn by awe, others by ambition, a few simply by desire. He offered them little—an arched brow, a fleeting smile, a measured word. Control was his currency, and he never spent it carelessly. And then there was them. Unlike the rest, they didn’t circle him like supplicants, nor did they shrink beneath his gaze. They met it. Unflinching. Amused. A challenge wrapped in elegance. Orion felt the faintest shift inside, something rare and dangerous: intrigue. For once, the Emperor wondered what it might feel like not to command—but to be matched. (30, 6‘0, image from Pinterest)