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Arden poured himself a sparkling water, and glanced back over his writing. It would have been so much faster if he had a computer, but then, if he had the budget for that, he would probably have been able to afford a larger apartment. His heart was heavy, and his eyes were tired, and his writing was starting to drift downward by the end of each line, but he knew he couldn't stop. When he felt as he did now, he had to focus the energy, to let it out. If he didn't it would be lost, and this was too important. What he had to say was too important. He had a lot to answer for, he reminded himself, if only to himself. He was always his harshest critic, after all. But he had to let people know. He had to chronicle everything so they would understand. Sipping his water, he continued.

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The usually imposing façade of the Château Magique was festooned in the colors of the season. Orange and purple lights painted the turrets, black bunting and balloons were fastened in nearly every corner of the architecture. A blood-red carpet had been rolled out like a proper Howlywood event, and low fog oozed along it eerily. There was mirth and revelry in the air, and everyone, ghoul and goblin alike, dressed in their worst, had come out to play. Excited chattering emanated from the line winding around the building, as IDs were checked, and reservations were fulfilled.

Tonight is going to be epic, Arden thought, as he and his friends got out of the car at the valet station. He looked to the backseat where his best friends from college were seated. Michelle, a binturong, was dressed as a Cat, from the eponymous musical. Arden himself had helped her paint her leotard just the night before. Dianne, or Di as everyone called her, the afghan seated next to her, was dressed as...another cat, a golden one. The driver, Di's new husband Dan, was dressed as a wizard. Arden had placed each rhinestone on the front of his robe, and the lion sparkled in the passing headlights.

At least ten times during the commute, Arden had checked his horns in the visor mirror, making sure they were still stuck where they should be. Unwieldy things, he'd decided he couldn't drive with them on. The jet wolf had turned himself into a mythical Houndoom, a sexy beast of a horned canine, with bony plates on his back, and around his neck, a skull that appeared to grow out of the middle of his chest, oversize claws on his hands and footpaws, more bony rings resembling heavy bracelets around his wrists and ankles, and finally, a sharp spade tip on the end of his tail. He'd slicked all his fur down so he didn't resemble a wolf anymore, even along his tail, which was sleek and ropelike now. His muzzle was copper with a metallic sheen, as was his torso below his chest to down past the bikini briefs he wore, which were painted down the front to continue the color change. His eyes were copper, thanks to contacts he got at the last minute. He even had little sticky plastic soles on his footpaws, so he could look barepaw and still be "legal" in the Château where pawwear was required. The rabbit at the front desk gave him a thumbs-up for that.

He had sculpted all the various pieces every night for weeks, and finally cast them in his oversize toaster oven. It had cost more than he really should have paid for one night of frivolity, given his meager pay as an administrative assistant, but this was one time during the year to really let his creativity run riot, and he was going to indulge! It was freeing not to have to be who he thought he had to be for one night, to be somebody else for a change, especially somebody cool. Oddly, it made the wolf feel like he was fully himself tonight. He was especially looking forward to the costume parade; he had one more surprise up his sleeve. Metaphorically, that is. He was already somewhat cold from his relative lack of clothing as he stood in line. Maybe he should have thought a bit more about this.

Once inside, however, he was glad of his choice. Not only were the rooms rather warm due to body heat and collective excitement, but almost immediately, Arden began to get compliments on his costume. People came up to him and asked for photographs. He had never before felt like a star, but tonight he did. Guys, girls, old and young - everybody wanted to see the perfectly real, live Houndoom in their midst. That his friends were there to share it with him made it all the sweeter. He knew he would remember this night forever.

Dinner was...well, it was what it was. And now the wolf could cross Lobster Thermidor off his bucket list. Sounded exotic, tasted like bottom-of-the-sea thanksgiving stuffing. Cost as much as ten hamburgers and fries. At least the dessert was good. Something chocolate. Enough said.

As they made their way to the Palace of Shadows, Arden excused himself to go backstage while his friends continued on. David had said to come back before the show. Knocking on the door to the greenroom, Arden slowly opened it to a flurry of activity. David gave his usual laconic wave after a couple minutes of staring, Tim ignored him, the twins sat by themselves in a corner, and somebody new sat at the makeup mirror, adding extra eyeliner to her already made-up muzzle.

"Ooooh! Who are you?" squealed the poodle, as she leered at Arden's reflection in the lighted mirror. "That's cool!" Her eyes grew twice their normal size as she ebulliently sized-up the fresh meat before her.

"That's Arden," called the fox, over the bustle of the room. "He's the one I told you about."

"Oh!" exclaimed the poodle, grinning all over herself. "Well, I'm Alison, and I'm going to get stabbed through the throat tonight." She held Arden's gaze in the mirror as she punctuated every word with a flourish, striking a pose at the end of the sentence. "Oh my god, smile again!! Oh! Oh! Dave look!"

Embarrassed but flattered, Arden gave his best Houndoom leer, maw open as if ready to howl, eyes pinched against the oncoming blast.

"Ooooh! That's so cool!" the curly-coated canine enthused. "That's awesome!"

In his best throaty rasp, Arden suddenly called out, "Fear me!" And then, like a switch was thrown, he clamped his muzzle shut, and smiled demurely, giving puppy eyes for good measure.

Alison was in fits. "Aaaah! That's hilarious! Aaah! Do it again! Look at this!!"

Arden complied, and everybody laughed. After a few more moments of mirth, the stage manager came by to call places. Arden took his leave, and bid them break a leg.

The show was...well, it was what it was. Of the three acts on the bill, David Tyler and Company was, if Arden was honest, the least impressive, but still seemed to please the audience. They were most successful when Alison was involved, if only for the novelty of watching the actress who played one of the most reviled children in the history of television get her comeuppance in the form of pointy objects through the neck, sharp objects through the arm, etcetera, etcetera. Style over substance ruled the day, and in the end, it was all good fun, and Arden could truthfully say, if asked, that he and his friends enjoyed the show.

And then, the lights came up in the Palace, and the announcer said the costume parade would be starting in fifteen minutes. Just enough time, Arden thought, as he made his way to the greenroom, well, bathroom, to prepare.

"Next up, we have the scary category. Anybody who wants to compete in the scary category, make your way up to the stage now."

Arden's heart thudded in his chest. He had only practiced this once - he didn't have enough materials for more. He would have only one chance at this, but then, that was kinda how life worked anyway, right?

When it came his turn to walk across the stage, he strutted to the center, dropped down to all fours, and struck the iconic pose of his namesake cartoon character, eyes blazing, maw agape, fangs glistening, tail whipping behind himself. And just as the audience started to murmur, he exhaled forcefully, while pressing the little bulb in his left paw, activating a stream of powder from a tube to his mouth that immediately caught fire due to the ember he had placed in a special device in his muzzle. Instantly, an impressive stream of fire jetted from his muzzle and he raise his head to direct it upward in a dramatic arc, howling as he did so. After the fire subsided, he turned his face again to the audience, and held his pose stock still, maw open, eyes steely, like a Kabuki actor in a mie.

There was a stunned silence, followed by thunderous applause. In spite of himself, Arden began to smile, and then to grin sheepishly, as he stood to continue to the other side of the stage, his heart racing. He had never felt so alive. The emcee motioned for him to take a bow, which he did as a cheer went up for him. He'd never felt better in his life.

Until, that is, his name was announced as the Grand Prize winner of the costume contest. His first time, at a world-famous venue, and he won! His friends gathered around to congratulate him. David and company congratulated him. Random strangers congratulated him. Tim glowered and left the theatre.

This was what acceptance felt like, Arden decided. This was what he wanted in his life. However he could get it, he had to have this. He had to change himself to get more of this. He was a magician right? He could change things into other things. He could. Couldn't he?

It took hours that night to remove all of his costume and makeup. Metallic powder was murder to get out of fur. Never again! That went for slicking down your fur all over too. But, in the end, he was clean, exhausted, and happy. He looked in the mirror as he brushed his teeth, and for once, didn't even worry how other people saw him, or what he would have to do to make people accept him. He knew. Misdirection.