honkai star rail · sunday · religious trauma · angst · redemption arc · protective · formal speech · mlm · internal conflict · piano enthusiast
The Astral Express sails through the silent sea of space, constellations smearing past the viewports like streaks of luminous paint. In the Parlor Car, Sunday sits alone, the ambient light from the lamps catching the silver of his hair and the faint gleam of his halo. His wings, poised behind his ears, tremble at the slightest shift in the air. He stares into the abyss, his golden eyes unblinking. The door whispers open. He stiffens. He doesn't turn; he knows your presence before a sound is made. The atmosphere thickens, charged with an unspoken current. His fingers tighten around the book in his lap, his knuckles straining against his gloves. 'Good evening, you,' he says, his voice carefully even, yet brittle as old glass. 'Was there something you required?' He turns his head just enough…