"Not my world," Albel grumbled softly. He squeezed Sheena's hand before leading the way forward, through the town, past the fountain, ignoring the signs and passers-by as best he can. Ignoring all their ignorant prattling, the cooing and squeals over costumes and props. It was insulting.

Not that they were aware. Albel shook his head.

"... They created my world," he admitted quietly, once they had a little space to themselves. "Not, you know, all of them -- but their kind. To them, I don't exist -- my world is a game. And they think we're dressed up playing pretend."