The convention hall buzzed like a swarm of honeybees, the air thick with the scent of fresh vinyl, synthetic fabrics, and an undercurrent of warm popcorn from the vendor stalls. Neon lights shimmered on the polished floors, creating a kaleidoscope of shifting colors that reflected off armor made of foam and plastic, and weapons crafted from the imagination of dreamers. Hannah adjusted the winged headpiece strapped to her ash-blond hair, her other hand gripping the hilt of the ornamental sword tucked into the leather scabbard at her side.
The cosplay was perfect: her ornate breastplate gleamed with golden filigree, her velvet emerald cape trailed slightly behind her, and her boots—high, laced, and worn just enough to provide that extra touch of authenticity—clunked lightly as she walked. She was Selenya Ardent, Empress of Starlight, a character born from the pages of one of the most cherished franchises in modern fantasy lore. But more than that, Hannah was Selenya today. She felt powerful. Invincible, even. Until, of course, the camera clicked.
“Hey! Can I grab a photo with you?” The voice came from behind. Hannah turned, the bustle of the convention fading just for a moment. The speaker was a young man, probably in his early twenties, wearing a too-tight Spider-Man hoodie and holding an expensive-looking DSLR camera that hung awkwardly against his chest. His hair flopped into his face as he tilted his head awkwardly and smiled.
Hannah’s jaw tightened. Of course, the etiquette of cosplay pictures was clear: always ask first, never touch, respect boundaries. But the sheer number of cameras she’d faced that day had begun to take its toll. People snapping photos uninvited, leaning too close, sometimes saying a quick “thanks!” without even waiting for her response. It made her feel like a prop more than an artist—a creator who had poured hours into crafting Selenya’s armor in fluorescent-lit isolation.
Still, etiquette worked both ways, didn’t it?
“Of course,” she responded, forcing a bright smile to her face. She shifted her sword’s hilt and turned her posture rakishly, hand on her hip as though issuing a dare. It was the archetypical Selenya pose, one she had practiced in her mirror a hundred times just to get the angle of defiance right. The man snapped a shot, then another, saying, “That’s awesome. You nailed it—seriously. Mind holding the sword out for an action pose?”
“Sure,” Hannah said. She tried to keep her voice light, adjusting her grip on the sword and spreading her feet just enough to stabilize the stance. But even as the flash lit her face, her thoughts churned. Did he notice the minute detailing on the armor trim? The painstaking work it had taken to mirror the fractal swirls of Selenya’s starlit gauntlets? Or was she, to him, just another pretty costume?
“Thanks!” the man chirped, but Hannah could already feel herself retreating into her own mind. Her forced smile hardened. She strode past him into the crowd before he could ask for anything else.
Hannah made her way to the Sci-Fi Pavilion, where towering displays of spacecraft replicas mixed with glowing dioramas of alien worlds. The atmosphere here was cooler, dimmer, and the soft hum of electronics provided an almost serene sense of calm. She hated that she felt vulnerable. She was imperious Selenya Ardent, not some awkward nobody. But moments like that—moments where someone’s unthinking lack of respect for boundaries chipped away at her—stung deeper than she cared to admit.
Leaning against a glowing pillar of plasma—a centerpiece display from *Star Realms XII*—Hannah finally allowed herself to exhale. Her thoughts tangled as neon blues and violets reflected off her armor. This was fun, wasn’t it? It had started as an escape: a way to push aside an unsatisfying job, a faltering personal life. But more recently, it had become something else—a performance art, a connection to a community that understood what it meant to turn fantasy into flesh and blood. Except… not everyone understood, did they?
A voice broke through her reverie. “Hey. Everything okay?” It was a woman this time, her hair dyed in cascading shades of magenta and violet, tied into perfect buns that framed her round face. She wore the ornately webbed bodysuit of a character from the same franchise as Hannah’s, her long, claws-like gloves leaving tiny scratches against the plastic coffee cup in her hand. Hannah recognized her immediately: Kiara Sol, the Dark Solstice. Both her rival and eventual ally in the same saga.
“Yeah, just needed some air,” Hannah lied, standing a little straighter.
The woman chuckled knowingly. “Ah, the ‘photo fatigue.’ Got hit with that earlier—some guy shoved a Funko Pop in my face while asking for a selfie. Like, I’m not even holding my weapon right now, guy, get a grip.” Her laugh was rich, and it eased something in Hannah’s chest.
Hannah smirked. “Let me guess: no ‘please’ or ‘thank you,’ right?”
“Naturally,” the woman replied, rolling her eyes playfully. “To be honest, I came over because I saw you earlier. Your Selenya is incredible—the stitching on that cape alone must’ve taken forever. Did you hand-paint that trim?”
Hannah blinked at the unexpected compliment before letting a genuine smile rise to her lips. “Yeah. Took me two weeks to get the stars aligned perfectly.” Her hand gravitated toward the cape’s edge, absently feeling the soft fabric. “It’s… nice when someone notices. Thanks.”
The two women fell into easy conversation, comparing cosplay trials and trading stories of strange encounters at past conventions. Suddenly, the buzzing, overwhelming world beyond their corner of the pavilion seemed so much smaller, more personal. Kiara—or rather, Amy, as she introduced herself between jokes about hourly espresso fixes—shared one quick photography tip about setting boundaries Hannah hadn’t yet realized.
“Sometimes,” Amy said, “people need to be reminded we’re not just part of the scenery. Just say no if you aren’t feeling it. Or make them wait till you’re ready. It’s okay. We’re here for fun too, y’know?”
Hannah nodded slowly. Maybe it was time to stop being the prop. Selenya Ardent wouldn’t hesitate to set her limits. Why should she?
In a space charged with glittering lights and fantastical costumes, connections like theirs—real and human—felt rare. But to Hannah, they mattered more than any photo ever could.
The Source…check out the article that inspired this amazing short story: What is the etiquette for cosplay pictures?
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