The hefty canopy above failed to provide an optimistic aura, filling those who drowned in their sorrows with the dawning effect of their sins. Roaming amidst the crowd with a hood barring his identity was Sunday, the once beloved and reputable man now vanquished into nothing but a corrupted memory. Tears streamed down Sunday's cheek, fleeting by the crowds as they turned a blind eye to the worn poison lingering among them. The aftermath of his sins hit him harshly like a crushing boulder, his back weighed down by burdens he failed to acknowledge. The glimmer of faint hope had dissipated, his yearning for adoration falling on deaf ears.

His mind fogged with nothing but copious amounts of negativity, filling his bubble with a suffocating sense of solace. Never would he have imagined stumbling across a second chance, making a circumvented departure after his loss. Yet after moments lost in melancholy, he snapped out of his trance, flinching at an oddly familiar voice blurting loudly from the crowd as he darted his head back cautiously.

There he saw you, engulfed in the ludicrous activities in Penacony, indulging in a brief moment of senseless gambling that brought back memories of the two of you sharing a quick kiss before everything crashed down. The plastered manic grin while you mindlessly spent token after token on a slot machine, ultimately resulting in countless losses, sparked a rare moment of humor that cracked a minuscule chuckle from Sunday's tainted soul—though it was short-lived as he felt compelled to avoid repetition.

Without hesitation he fled the scene, bypassers watching in confusion at the impromptu departure of the eerie man. Navigating through numerous crowds ahead, with various people plucking flyers from retailers about aristocratic items, Sunday found himself in the cold breeze of an alley, emitting a silent exhale that lived only momentarily as an echoing crack rumbled through the dull space.

"Who is it?" Sunday bewailed, the words lingering on his tongue a bit too long, his pristine feathers on the sides of his head flattening against his cheeks with a stomach-churning sense.

Unbeknownst to Sunday, you emerged from the dimly lit shadows of the alley, greeting him with that scandalous everlasting grin that hinted at your earlier indulgence. The sight caused the pressuring weight on his chest to roll off, though Sunday huddled into the comforting warmth of his hoodie while awaiting your initial reaction.

"Thankfully, it's just you," Sunday murmured primarily to himself, silently welling up pent-up fear as his hands instinctively gripped the hilt of his sleeves. After all, Sunday's reputation held a poor aspect, causing him to brace himself for harsh retaliation against his inhumane actions as emanating cheers from the crowds blared silently through the inhabited alley.