I ain't no artist but HEAR ME OUT.
Since Carme's Sun is still alive out there, I can imagine such a sad story.
I'll call Carme's Sun Jest.
In my mind, Jest used to like the spotlight. He was passionate about performing. He loved dressing up even though he primarily wore a ringmaster outfit. He wore bright, flashy colors, whether they were suits or even dresses. He did trapeze. He'd drive a motorcycle through a ring of fire, and he'd juggle anything he could get his hands on.
Life was good. Sure, Carme played more of a supporting role, but that was okay. Jeat didn't mind as long as they both had fun.
And then the fire happened.
Whether it was some kind of electrical mishap, maybe someone in the audience dropped a lit cigarette, or maybe Jest himself accidentally caused a flame to spark when doing a certain trick, the tent catches aflame.
And suddenly, chaos. People are running, grabbing their elders and children, running out. Jest's fellow performers make it out.
But Jest doesn't see Carme anywhere. He doesn't know what happened to him, where was he, was his brother still inside?!
Jest runs inside. He's running through the flames, not caring if his casings bubble and melt away. He's screaming, screaming, screaming for his brother, smoke filling his fans-
Someone drags him out. Maybe it was Dark Sun, maybe it was someone else.
Jest watches his life's work, his only home, burn to the ground, nothing but ashes. No idea if his only family was still inside.
He's taken to the Sun Sanctuary. They make him more functional, but he doesn't let them fix his casings. He doesn't want to forget.
They patch up his ringmaster outfit. He appreciates it, but his mind is still haunted by the one person he wants more than anything to be at his side.
Slowly, he learns how a lot of suns feared and even hated their moons. But when he learns that there was a small area for some suns' moons, he goes there, desperately searching for his other half.
Slowly, Jest loses hope. He doesn't wear bright colors anymore. He puts on gloomy, dark clothes, preserving his old outfit, but occasionally, he'd get nostalgic.
He never fixes his burned casings. He doesn't want to forget that day.
He doesn't perform anymore. Of course, as a result of the fire, he got some pain sensors messed up, so he has chronic pain. Not like he could perform anymore anyway, even if he'd wanted to.
He doesn't really socialize with the other suns. He doesn't like how badly some of them speak of their moons.
Not all moons were bad. They couldn't have been. His moon—his other half—wasn't.
Jest becomes a cook. He uses the art of food to forget, similar to how, unbeknownst to him, his brother runs a coffee shop.
And Jest just keeps going through the motions. He avoids anything circus related. He is depressed, he can't move on, and he misses home while simultaneously hating circuses all at the same time.
But he misses his brother. He always misses him.
Completely unaware that his brother was alive and well, rescued by a haven the same night the fire happened.