Title: Sol
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I do not own the Sandman, or any of the characters associated with it. I love it too much to steal it.
"Don't lie to me, I know I look like an old man," Sol coughed, his hair flaring peachy flames, causing those nearest to retreat a bit.
Cynoa looked at him peevishly as she aided him with mounting the large stone stairs. Sol was much older now than he had been during his first visit here, back in the beginning. So many of the faces here had changed while so many had not.
Sol was not a grand star. He was rather mediocre really and his invitation to the banquet had been considered, he believed, only because of the Lady's extravagant kindness and compulsory mind.
"Come, sit," Cynoa said. She was a kind young blue, the nearest neighbor Sol had ever had. Fairly new to the neighborhood, the two had formed a bond as father and daughter- or more as patient and nurse Sol thought sadly, frowning at his own ending state.
He took his seat gingerly, coughing up another flare. His color had changed slowly over the last few billion years until he was a fiery red – far from the young yellow he had been.
"Ladies, Gentlemen, please, find your seats," their hostess implored. The banquet hall was lit from every wall with soft, pervasive starlight. Water fell from the edifices, running down through the palace floors and disintegrating into oblivion. Vines crept up the stone facades, as well-crafted as they had been so many eons ago.
Their hostess beamed from the head of the table. Soft and blue, eons had not changed her features. Sol found himself feeling inadequate in the lavish space.
"I see you have all found your places comfortably," she smiled amicably. "I am honored so many of you have chosen to attend- to celebrate our longevity and most of all the longevity of the Order. Formed eons ago, I dare say you remember that meeting, many of you attended, many of you were not yet born to attend, but all of you remember. It is reflected within the very star-stuff of your beings."
She beamed into the crowd, each member of which shown with their own individual light. "There is a beauty to all of us, a light we shed to tell our story." She paused again to survey the crowd, her eyes resting reassuringly on Sol.
"I would like to honor that tonight with a story. Not my story," she affirmed, "Sol, would you take this seat?"
Sol stared at the mention of his name. Every eye in the room seemed to be directed at him. He did not want to move, nor did he think he could until Cynoa whispered into his ear, "Come now, sir," and gently took his arm.
Sol stumbled awkwardly out of his seat in the manner of old, unbalanced men. Cynoa guided him to the front where Her Lady waited.
"Lady," his voice shook and his head bowed before such an old and influential star. "I am a common sun, no story-teller."
Her gentile smile unfolded, "We are all storytellers."
She held his arm firm and guided him up the raised daises to her own seat. Sol gulped, scrambling for a voice and a story. All he could see were the glowing faces, a thousand eager eyes, while the only thing he could think about was the End of the World.