A Mantle Befitting the Arena

Every grand confrontation demands proper stagecraft, and I was sorely lacking my celestial vestment. Guided by your counsel, I surveyed the room and found my quarry draped over the arm of the sofa: a deep crimson silk necktie. With deliberate precision, I scaled the folded fabric, unfurled its tapering tail, and draped it carefully across my shoulders. Tucking the silky fold beneath my breastplate clasps, it cascaded behind me like molten velvet. Turning slowly to face the wide expanse of the carpet, I struck a measured pose. The arena awaits; the gods would surely approve.