The hot sun beat down on the sprawling, glass-domed convention center that rose from the desert like a futuristic oasis. It was an architectural marvel, with solar panels glinting across its curves and metallic spires piercing the sky. Within, crowds bustled through glowing holographic signage and neon-lit halls—cosplayers donning elaborate, larger-than-life costumes jostled past vendors hawking handcrafted artifacts, fandom paraphernalia, and experimental AI-powered props. The chants of an encore from a distant panel bled into an energetic cacophony that buzzed through the air like static electricity.
In the middle of it all stood Valerie Sato, adjusting the elaborate hem of her golden cloak. Her hands trembled slightly as she turned to check her reflection in the full-length smart mirror, which projected a glowing outline of her chosen character—Vaeloria, the fire-spewing sorceress and infamous antihero she had created for her debut fantasy novel, The Revenant Thread. The character had taken the internet by storm, with fans flooding her inbox with fan art, cosplay interpretations, and memes. But this wasn’t their Vaeloria.
This was hers.
Every inch of material on Valerie’s cosplay had been painstakingly crafted through late nights and stubborn dedication. She wore a regal asymmetrical dress made of deep crimson velvet that shimmered like dying embers, cinched at the waist by an armored corset adorned with interwoven black leather and gold-threaded filigree. A cascading half-cape embroidered with flame motifs rested on her shoulder, secured by a dramatic obsidian brooch shaped like a raven in flight. Her dark hair, usually pulled into a no-fuss ponytail, now flowed in artfully tousled waves streaked with streaks of fiery red. A custom-fit crown with jagged peaks rested atop her head, its glinting ruby centerpiece catching the neon lighting. She had even tinted the edges of her brown eyes with golden contacts, making her gaze appear molten and otherworldly.
And yet, Valerie couldn’t shake the tight knot of nerves anchored deep in her stomach. Was it ridiculous to cosplay her own creation? Would her fans see her as self-indulgent—a desperate author trying too hard to insert herself into her own mythology? On the other hand, hadn’t this always been her dream: to embody what she had once only imagined?
The cavernous hall beyond the mirror gleamed with the polished granite of its floor and the distant echoes of laughter and applause. A pair of dragon cosplayers stomped past, their foam wings nearly toppling a carefully stacked display of collectible swords. Somewhere to her left, a metallic, shark-shaped drone with sleek LED eyes hovered by the food court, advertising some kind of peppermint-frosted dessert in a voice that was both sultry and irritating.
Valerie took a deep breath. She straightened her tiara and gazed into the mirror one last time. “Get out there,” she whispered to herself. “You wrote Vaeloria to burn. So burn.”
The Encounter
As she stepped into the main convention hall, a camera flash popped to her right. Then another. A group of cosplaying teens dressed as knights and sorcerers froze mid-laughter, their blue-painted faces lighting up when they spotted her. “Oh my god, it’s Vaeloria!” one of them squealed, already tugging on the arm of her friend. Valerie smiled tightly as they hurried over.
“Your costume is incredible!” exclaimed the girl, her chainmail skirt jangling with every step. “Can we, uh, get a photo? You look—wow, it’s like you stepped right out of the book.”
Valerie paused. Her heart thundered. Should she say it? Should she admit that she was the author, and this wasn’t just another fan-made Vaeloria cosplay?
But before she could respond, her words were drowned by an enthusiastic voice calling from somewhere behind her. “Hey, cosplay champ!” A man wearing an absurdly detailed warlock cloak stomped up to them, wielding a staff tipped with glowing blue crystals. He was tall, with russet skin, a wry smile, and a scruffy beard that looked too lazy to belong to a professional cosplayer. His contact lenses gleamed unnervingly white, giving him the air of some unearthly oracle.
“Photography station is doing free promo shoots over by the western atrium,” he said, grinning. “You should hit it up. You’ll blow everyone away. You’re… wait.” His voice trailed off, and his gaze lingered for a moment too long on Valerie’s costume. His head tilted. “Wait a sec. Aren’t you…?”
Valerie’s chest tightened. “No idea what you’re talking about,” she blurted. She pivoted hard on her heeled boots and hurried down the row of vendor stalls, leaving the group of fans in confused whispers. Her heart pounded louder than the rhythmic bass of the panelist stage somewhere up ahead. She could feel the weight of her cloak trailing gracefully behind her, its fabric tugging slightly at her neckline as she kept moving. She’d done this to make an impact, hadn’t she? Why, then, did it feel so impossible to breathe?
The Revelation
The din of the convention was quieter now, more muted. Valerie didn’t realize she’d stumbled into the observation lounge until she felt her boots sink into the plush sapphire carpet. The room was quieter, with glass-paneled walls that overlooked the sprawling sun-drenched sands outside. Pale streaks of gold and orange filtered down, tinting the room in soft amber light. Only a few cosplayers milled about, some adjusting their outfits while small groups posed for photos. Among them stood the warlock cosplayer, leaning casually against the glass wall, his glowing staff resting beside him.
“You okay, Vaeloria?” he asked without looking her way. He smirked faintly and crossed his arms. “Or should I say, Valerie Sato?”
Valerie froze. “How do you know that?” Her hand instinctively clutched at the edge of her cloak as if it would hide her identity.
The man turned fully, his smile neither mocking nor triumphant. “I read the book,” he said simply. “I know this isn’t a fan’s cosplay. There’s too much heart in it. Only the person who dreamed her up could’ve pulled this off.”
For a long moment, Valerie stayed silent. The fiery weight of her costume suddenly felt heavier. She looked down at the scuffed toes of her boots. “They’ll think I’m arrogant. Cosplaying my own character,” she muttered. “Like I just want all the attention. Like I can’t let her go and let someone else be her.”
The man didn’t argue right away. He uncrossed his arms and glanced out over the desert horizon, his white eyes catching the light. “You’re the one who gave her life,” he said at last. “You’re not taking anything from anyone by embodying her. You’re honoring her—honoring what she came from. I don’t think that’s something you should hide. In fact… I think it’s brave as hell.”
Valerie looked up. His words settled into her like molten metal cooling into something solid and unbreakable.
“What’s your name?” she asked quietly.
He grinned. “Kaden. And yes, I’ll read your sequel.”
For the first time that day, Valerie let the tension in her shoulders drop. She turned toward the glowing horizon ahead of her and smiled. Maybe it was time to embrace the fire, after all.
The Source…check out the article that inspired this amazing short story: Is it okay to cosplay your own character?
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