Young Writers Society

It is the year 1874, and Le Cirque d'Avalon emerges out of the mist on the outskirts of another random town, the tops of its turquoise tents glistening with dew and framed by a dusk horizon. No announcements preceded its arrival, only the obscure weather warnings and a suggestion to remain indoors that evening.

However, those who are curious know better than to stay away; a once in a lifetime opportunity awaits them.

The circus, despite its ethereal qualities, appears normal to its many wandering patrons--but there are rumours... Rumours of a magical curse from the start of the century, placed on all those who join the circus. Rumours of mystical powers, of secrets and conflict, and of an insiders competition to escape the curse--to leave the circus prison, once and for all.

The circus is fickle; it comes and goes as it pleases, so you must be prompt to decide your fate: Will you visit Le Cirque d'Avalon? And if so, will your childlike wonder tempt you to risk the curse and stay for good?



The curse revolves around the twenty-two Major Arcana cards of the Tarot deck. When a person joins the circus, their spirit immediately bonds to one of the cards, taking on the mystical abilities associated with that particular card. The card that is chosen is the card that best suits a person's spirit.

Very few members of the circus know about the origins of the curse, but all of them carry its burden: no one belonging to the circus can leave the circus grounds. If they try, an invisible barrier prevents them from crossing over. There is only one way to get out: win the Arcana Battles.

The following is a list of the Major Arcana cards by order:

I will provide more information about the Arcana Battles in the DT.



Your character can be one of three options: (1) a pre-established circus member, (2) a patron who joins the circus, or (3) a patron who only visits the circus. The first two options are for characters with higher storybook activity, whereas the third option can be infrequent.

Character template: (please delete anything in the parentheses)

Code: Select all

[b]Name:[/b]
[b]Age:[/b]
[b]Gender:[/b]
[b]Up For Romance:[/b] (if yes, please include sexuality)

[b]Character Option:[/b] (1, 2 or 3)
[b]Arcana Card:[/b] (keep blank if option 3)
[b]Circus Role:[/b] (e.g. trapeze artist, concessionaire, manager, animal trainer etc.)

[b]Physical Appearance:[/b]

[b]Personality:[/b]

[b]History:[/b]

[b]Reason For Joining The Circus:[/b] (keep blank if option 3)

[b]Arcana Card Abilities:[/b] (must be relevant to the properties/theme of the card; keep blank if option 3)

[b]Other:[/b]

See the storybook rules on the right side of the page. Anyone is welcome to join by commenting in the Discussion Topic.

The distant blare of a megaphone mingled with nearby carousel music and audience applause, while the rest of the town slept in unsuspecting dreamlessness. Monsieur Beaumont passed between the enlarged shadows of performers inside the tents, their silhouettes bending and capes swooshing over the glowing outer walls.

Strings of round lanterns lit the sawdust path beneath his trudging feet. The scent of popcorn and caramel lingered on the crisp midnight air, reminding M. Beaumont that he hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday. How could he, after what had been requested of him earlier that day? Just thinking about the hazardous proposal made him nauseous.

A drumroll thundered from somewhere deep in the heart of the circus. He felt the place consuming him in a way he’d never experienced before—as if he was already being punished for his future actions. It was pulling his mind apart, and he needed answers; he needed Celeste.

The peak of The Fortuneteller Tent protruded above a concessionaire stand up ahead, and M. Beaumont quickened his pace at the sight of it. The full bohemian splendor came into view as he parted the sheer, mauve curtains of the tent’s entrance:

Persian rugs and oriental décor overwhelmed the small, candlelit interior, with crystals and mystical tools nestled in every available gap. Gypsy lace hung from the tent ceiling, trapping the upward trails of incense smoke. In the middle of the tent was a round, two-seater table, a deck of Tarot cards resting on its velvet tablecloth.

The curtain wall of the tent’s backroom stirred, and from it appeared Celeste, her white gown and blue shawl flowing with movement. “Arthur.” She smiled knowingly at him, her eyes solemn. “You decided to come after all.”

M. Beaumont had no defence to that observation. “The circus. You told me it would change, that it would become something extraordinary,” he said, getting straight to the point. “I need to know what you meant by that.”

Celeste gestured for him to join her at the fortunetelling table, to which he sceptically complied. As she sat herself down opposite him, she took up the Tarot deck on the table centre and began to shuffle the cards. “I will tell you a story about the future,” she opened, a gentle sadness in her tone. “It is a dark and tragic story, but it is also breathtakingly magical.” She set two cards down on the velvet tablecloth side-by-side.

“The Fool and The Hanged Man,” M. Beaumont identified, and Celeste nodded.

“These two cards will make a pact with Death,” she described, placing a third card down, “and The Magician will reign once again, like it did in medieval times. This is the fate of the circus.”

M. Beaumont stared down at the three cards with aggravation. “I would appreciate a little more specification, if possible.”

Celeste smiled in that ethereal manner of hers. “The High Priestess reveals no secrets. That is her ability and her curse.”

M. Beaumont pinched the bridge of his nose, his elbow resting on the table. “Sometimes I wonder how we’ve managed to get along so well over the years.”

“The Magician bears an infinity sign above his head,” Celeste continued, ignoring his remark. Her expression altered into something unreadable. “The Fool is nothing. The World is the last card.”

“This sounds like a cryptic summary, not a story,” M. Beaumont contested.

Celeste collected all the cards again and shuffled once more. “Then you must be patient, Arthur, because the cards can be interpreted in many ways, and there are many of them. Just as many eyes perceive a performance, a story has more than one true telling.” She began placing a whole array of cards on the table, layering one over the other. “And the performance we’re about to foresee is one of tricks and illusion, so you must watch very closely.”

And with that, The Fortuneteller started her story again…

Sumeet Pavel
New Year's Day, 1874

He was being hunted. This much, he was certain of-he'd long ago learned to trust the prickling feeling that crept up his neck when he was being watched, or followed. Trusting this feeling had saved his life many a time, and now was no different. The only question was, who was hunting him.

Taking a deep breath, and pulling his shirt over his scarred chest, Pav ducked off from the busy street into a narrow alley, which he knew would connect to another busy street, a market. Maybe he could turn the tables on his hunter there. Ducking behind a large man shouting about his quality cabbages, Pav risked glancing behind him. He stumbled and nearly fell as he saw the man entering at the other end of the alley.

Josiah Tallow. Lanky, greasy pony tail, three-day-old stubble, and ragged fingernails, the man who haunted Pav's nightmares and daydreams peered suspiciously down the grimy alleyway. Pav quickly darted into the crowd, heart pounding, and every one of his scars throbbing. He will not go back, not now, not ever.

With frequent glances behind him, Pav hurries down the street, with no thought of a destination, only desiring to be somewhere, anywhere, else. A few times, he catches glimpses of Tallow's greasy locks, and picks up his pace. Tallow knows the value of the slave he lost; Pav was the best lock-pick, pickpocket, and purse-snatch that Tallow had working for him, and he wasn't going to let him get away without a fight. Somehow he'd tracked Pav here. That was ultimately unimportant now, the key was to avoid being seen long enough for Tallow to give up the search.

Leaning against a wall behind a stall selling sausages on buns to catch his breath, Pav reflected on this: Tallow may give up the search now, but even if he did, Pav would always be looking over his shoulder, always be living in stress and fear. He did not want that. He had escaped to start again, to have a life that was worth living. A life without the constant fear. There had to be a way to achieve that, and to get Tallow off of his back forever.

He kept going down the street, all the way to the edge of town. He abruptly turned and headed down a smaller street that led, apparently, to some fields and parks that edged the town to the east. Maybe he could lay low there, find a nice ditch to sleep in for tonight before moving on tomorrow.

But when he got to the farthest of these fields, he did not find them empty. Large tents, encompassed by a wrought-iron fence, filled the field, standing silent in the dying light of the sun. Cautiously, Pav approached. Le Cirque d'Avalon, the sign above the gated entrance read. A circus. He had heard stories of a circus, back when he was little, one the opened only at night, and was mysterious as it was magical.

Quickly scanning the edge of the town behind him, Pav nimbly scaled the fence and jumped into the circus grounds.

Floating in midair — that was when Reena most found solace.

Held up by the fabrics, she felt weightless, her body as airy and fluid as a feather dancing in the wind; her poses as poised and graceful as a trained ballerina.

The hanging glittered moon and stars made it easier to imagine being up in the nighttime — she was glad to have convinced Monsieur Beaumont to install them. The old aerialist had left her little to work with, with only a short number of fabrics and terribly drab decor.

Reena now sat amongst the many multicolor fabrics that hung from the tent's ceiling. She rubbed her hands against each other, the rosin coating her palm — as well as the soles of her feet — meant to boost the friction she'd need to clamber her way up. It wouldn't be long before she needed to restock her dwindling supply. She'd spent so much of the herb practicing the last few days without realizing it.

She was doing that a lot more lately. Practicing, that is. Not so much for the Battles or for the performances themselves, but moreso for clarity.

Most specifically, clarity of her mind, which had been a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions since the circus’s last destination: a peculiar town with equally peculiar residents. There, she'd seen a patron that brought back memories of ghoul tales told in cold desert nights, creaks of a caravan as it twisted over cobbled paths, the searing heat of a leather whip, soft cries into the night when wounds didn't heal quickly enough.

Memories, unfortunately, she couldn't do away with altogether.

The patron's puckered mouth and long, hooked nose, so much like her aunt Amara's, made her shiver. She was only thankful for having noticing her after her performance had ended and not anytime throughout.

Reena had heard her before she saw her: "You are a troubled thing." The words had spooked Reena, who had to turn to look down at the woman, who was about half her height. This close, she could better see the striking resemblance between her and Amara. Except the woman looked like a much older version of her aunt.

"Who are you?" Reena asked, and then worried she'd said it so bluntly.

The old woman didn't look like she minded much, though, considering the smile that had begun to form. "An observant old hag. I thought you would like a review of your performance." With both hands, she clutched her walking stick in front of her, clearing her throat. "While your moves are effortless and graceful, your facial expressions lacked both things, instead presenting a storm of emotions even old Baba Yallu could not decipher."

It's because I thought you were her, Reena wanted to say, but didn't. Because why waste meaningless words on a random stranger? No doubt the words would fly over her head, unnoticed.

"I had a lot on my mind," Reena said. It was the closest thing to her true feelings she could think of.

The old woman's — Baba Yallu's — smile grew. "Ah. That much was clear to see."

Was it really? Reena thought, mentally chastising herself for quite possibly ruining her performance, but offered Baba Yallu a smile herself — though hers was much smaller and definitely not as toothy.

She dipped her body low in a bow, saying, "I thank you for your thoughts, dearest patron. Thank you ever so much for visiting us. We hope to see you again." The last part was a lie in itself — she knew it was unkind to say, but she hoped to never see this woman that looked like her most hostile aunt ever again.

Baba Yallu huffed, "Lift your head, girl. I’m not one worth bowing to."

Reena straightened herself, curving her arm to push her hopelessly tangled hair back.

"I meant what I said," Baba Yallu said. "That you are indeed a troubled thing. Especially so if you are working here." She lifted her walking stick and wagged it at her. "Now, now. You listen to Baba Yallu, and you listen well: You must leave this cage you are trapped in if you know what’s good for you."

Reena stiffened. She’d heard of her circus home referred to as many things — a wonderland, a dreamland — but never as a cage. She didn’t know why it made her uncomfortable.

My sanctuary, she thought. This is my sanctuary. Aloud, Reena simply said, "But I'm not trapped." She didn't know why she was still talking to her. The lights were being dimmed, one by one, and all of the other patrons had already left.

She should really get going.

"So says the captive," the old woman hummed, her tone a blend of both amusement and pity. "This place is nothing but an illusion, girl. It has tricked you into feeling safe with its dirty, dirty tricks. But believe me when I say that here, a safe girl you are not. In fact, none of you are."

Before Reena could reply, Baba Yallu was already walking away, trudging along with her walking stick, and then melded into the darkness. Reena didn't speak or go after her. The interaction with this strange woman with her strange words was over, and she was grateful.

Suddenly, though, the area around her neck had begun to feel heavier, and looking down, Reena realized why. On her once-bare neck was a necklace, its charm a small wishbone.

Now Reena stood from her seated position. Her attire, a swirl of dark blues and purples, stuck to her like a second-skin. Her wishbone sat between her collarbones. She'd tried removing it from her neck every day since it had appeared on her, but it hadn’t budged even a tiny bit. It was almost as if it was held together by something… other.

She rubbed her palms against each other again. She would try a new move, one she'd struggled with since she’d first attempted it.

Unfortunately for her, as they always did during times of self-doubt, Amara's parting words rang loud in her ears: You are a thing; a little beast that had crawled its way out and into the world with nothing to show of your worth.

Her heels digging into the ground, Reena grabbed two fabrics, both of equal length and elasticity, and bunched them together.

That is all you have been. That is all you will ever be.

Using her strength, she hoisted herself off the ground, her grip tight. Her hands and feet began to clamber their way up until she was hovering more than halfway off of the ground: her safeplace.

A worthless little thing.

Letting go of one of the fabrics, Reena twisted the other around her body, curving herself inward to reach her toes, all the while using her other hand to hold herself steady in the air. She spared a glance in the distance, and her hand faltered for a split second. Because in that split second, she saw a pair of glowing-white eyes from the empty stands.

And in the next, the eyes were gone.

And in the next, she lost her grip.

Nora had already witnessed one boy fall within circus grounds in disturbing vividness, so when another flashed right by her nose in a blur of loose clothes and brown limbs, she almost screamed.

In the shadows of circus tents and a darkening sky, she stared at the highlights of the young man’s crouching form with wide eyes, one hand on her chest and the other covering her gaping mouth. She startled back, nearly tripping over one of the tents’ guy ropes—not the smoothest recovery. This was what she got for strolling along the inner fence line to calm her nerves; she’d hoped to muster enough courage to venture deeper into the turquoise-striped wonderland, and instead had found herself half scared to death by this rude, young man. What if he’d landed on her?

The boy, appearing about her same age, took in the circus before he took in her, which was understandable; when Nora had first entered between the wrought-iron gates at dusk—their two sides flanked by suits of ghostly, medieval armor—she’d needed to pause in order to process what exactly she’d walked into: a mad, colourful patchwork of the senses. Noise, smells, lights, crowds, outside performers, art, movement, and the pale backdrop of mist rising above the tiny tent flags. In short, it was another world, unlike any other in existence. A world that called itself Le Cirque d’Avalon—and Nora was both inspired and terrified of it.

Nora now watched the boy in front of her make the same expressions she’d made, his eyes gleaming with astonishment as he straightened to stand. As if remembering something, the young man frowned and glanced through the circus fence behind him, his dark eyes narrowed. It was only after his reassured nod and a spin of his head that the boy noticed Nora standing there, observing him.

It was he who startled back this time.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Nora demanded, although she probably wasn’t that intimidating, especially with her height. “You could have knocked me unconscious!”

The young man met her with silence and a long gaze. The circus fence ran beside them, an open field and a distant town sprawled vastly beyond.

After receiving no response, Nora sighed. “Whatever, quiet boy. If you don’t want to talk, I guess I’ll just have to find the manager of this crazy place and report you—”

“No!” the boy exclaimed in an outburst, his eyes wide and alert. “… I’m running away.”

The coincidence amused Nora. “Running away to join the circus?” She smiled, recalling her plan. “I happen to be doing the same.” Her lightness fell away, exposing her previous unease. Fear prowled the edges of her mind, waiting to pounce at the slightest increase of panic. Before she could think about what she was asking of this complete stranger, her lips formed the question: “Do you want to pair up? If we’re after the same thing, perhaps going together would make it less… overwhelming.” In truth, Nora was worried she would get cold feet and abandon her goal. Having another person with her would help prevent that temptation.

The boy continued to stare in steady silence, his inscrutable expression just as withholding. Nora suspected he thought her to be overly forward, but her concerns were elsewhere.

“Besides, this place is a maze to navigate,” she added, her confidence losing momentum. “I’ve been here twice before, so I know where we need to go.”

She was about to give up on the young man—after all, he had almost crushed her when dropping from the fence before, but was surprised when a hesitant moment later, the boy nodded in agreement.

Nora failed to suppress her relief. “Great.” She spun away from him, her blonde braid swinging at her back, but found her feet resisting all progress. The last time she’d visited this circus, she’d watched her brother die, in an audience of eight hundred people. Her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides.

She needed to do this.

The young man approached her side, discreet and cautious as a mouse. Well, at least he won’t draw much attention, Nora thought, which was perfect for where she actually planned to take them.

“Let’s go,” she said, forcing herself to move into the glow of the hanging circus lanterns, the light falling over her fair skin.

The sawdust path Nora and her companion stepped onto curved around the circus grounds in a large circuit, splitting off into countless inner sections. A female contortionist was set up on a black platform box opposite them, her tight costume glittering with emerald and jade hues. Soap bubbles floated dreamlike around her warping figure, their source untraceable. Coming towards them along the path was a stilt man, his baggy pants and tall hat making his strides seem even more gigantic. Groups of fellow patrons ambled between attractions, chattering among themselves.

Perhaps Nora was getting anxious for nothing. For all she knew, she might cope fine in this absurd, post-traumatic environment. Then again, this was only the outer layer of what was to come.

“So, quiet boy,” Nora began, distracting herself with conversation, “what’s your name?”

“Pav.”

A rolling hula hoop crossed the path in front of them, a small child racing after it with arms outstretched.

“Huh. Well, I’m Nora Chevalier. Nice to make your acquaintance.”

No response. Pav glanced at a nearby toffee apple stand, where other patrons were queuing up. It was only now that Nora noticed his skinny, bare feet.

“Would you care to reveal what exactly caused you to jump over the circus fence in such a reckless manner?” she asked, as they wandered past the contortionist.

No response. His eyes hardened at her enquiry.

There went her distraction. She sighed for the second time that evening.

As they passed the toffee apple stand, Pav’s gaze followed its position, triggering Nora’s empathy. “Do you want one?” She gestured to the stand.

Pav’s gaze landed on hers, as if verifying the seriousness of her consideration. After the suspicion faded from his features, he stunned Nora once again by speaking, albeit softly, “Yes.”

Nora grinned cheerfully at him, an idea springing from her mind. “Tell you what, I’ll buy you one if you promise to answer me more. Deal?”

Pav slowly nodded, but then remembered the terms of their agreement. “Okay,” he muttered. He reminded Nora of the wild animals in the estate gardens at home—always wary, yet innocent by nature.

It wasn’t until she was walking back after lining up and purchasing the circus treat that she realised, rather smugly, that the tumult of dark emotions in her chest had disappeared during their interaction.



The two young travellers narrowly dodged a burst of horizontal flame from the breath of a fire-wielder while rounding the corner of a large tent. Pav was halfway through his toffee apple, and Nora was directing them on a secret mission.

The night was well underway. Lanterns of every kind lit the paths outside, from strings of multicoloured orbs to wooden lantern posts. An addition to this collection was hundreds of hovering, moving twinkles, darting above the circus dwellers... fireflies. How were they trained to behave in such a way?

Adjacent to the closest tent was an even taller one, a mass of cheering people erupting from within. Nora's stomach flipped at the memory association. This exact setting had haunted her for four years. This spot. These tents. The gloomy, mist-striken sky.

She was there. She was then again. It was all the same. All the same.

"Are you okay?"

Nora was almost too caught up in her past to register Pav's first ever unprompted question.

"Of course." But her expression said differently. She led them to the tall tent, avoiding the front entrance and sneaking around the back.

A rectangular sign hung above the entrance of a much smaller tent attached to the tall one: LE PERSONNEL DU CIRQUE SEULEMENT. PAS DE PERSONNEL NON AUTORISÉ. Circus staff only. No unauthorised personnel.

Pav halted as soon as he realised where Nora was heading, the last of the toffee apple raised inches from his mouth. His features shifted into serious mode, his stare narrow and calculating.

Even an idiot could tell this wasn't the manager's tent.

Nora reached the tent threshold and gestured for Pav to join her. He refused.

“If you don’t come, I’ll tell the circus manager about you jumping the fence, and you’ll be kicked out.” Maybe she was being a little harsh, but she could feel her nightmare crouching in her chest, whispering dreadful memories to her. The boundary of past and present blurred, disrupting her sanity.

The truth. She needed to know the truth of what happened.

Pav entered the staff tent with Nora, dragging his feet the whole way. Once they were deep inside, however, he matched Nora's urgency. Aerial equipment, costumes, props and storage crates hugged the inner perimeter of the tent in a disorganised fashion. The lights were dimer in here, casting elastic shadows over the floor rugs and canvas walls. Not another soul in sight. Nora ventured into The Aerial Tent's narrow backstage area.

The Aerial Tent's ceiling, if it could be called such, seemed awfully high up, its cone peaks gathering shadows in heavy pools. Nora halted to gawk at it, nearly causing Pav to colide into her from behind. Spotlights swerved over the turquoise canvas like drunk birds in flight, coupled with a crowd's collective gasp. An immense, black curtain concealed the aerial production taking place on the other side, but the ethereal music and other sounds provided enough existential evidence.

Nora shook herself to readjust her focus, as Pav repositioned himself at her side. It was clear that he wanted to say something to her, but the wildness in her golden brown eyes must have cautioned him against it.

"I need to find something. It's very important," she told him, her eyes scanning over the many objects in the dim area. This was her Plan A: discover what she sought after tonight, and avoid circus recruitment. Nora wasn't a superstitious person, but even she couldn't ignore the chilling rumours of Le Cirque d'Avalon being cursed... She wondered if Pav knew about them. Her guilt for deceiving him pulled at her conscience, but no more so than the fear of being alone in this foreboding place.

Behind the performance, between the moon and the sun. Look, and you'll find an explanation to tonight's events. Her brother's voice arose from her mind—an echo of what he'd told Nora that final night, before his tightrope accident. Even now she could recall the pull of his mouth corners, the circus fever coating his eyeballs with sequins and mist.

Le Cirque d'Avalon changed people.

She walked briskly from one end of the backstage area to the other, her vision searching on overdrive. Moon and sun... What had Thomas mean by that? She cursed aloud, but her stubbornness wouldn't cripple at such an obscurity. Moon and sun...

A dull light reflected off a circular object leaning in the corner closest to Nora, about the size of a cart wheel. A few steps closer, and the object revealed itself to be a wall sculpture, its design spilt into two halves: a golden half-sun on the right, and a silver crescent moon on the left. Nora's heart leapt almost to the tent ceiling.

Nothing unusual on its front. She reached out an arm to turned the wall sculpture over, and taped to its back—right in the middle—was a single card.

"What's this? A Tarot card?" She plucked the card from the sculpture. It was...

"The Hanged Man." Pav had appeared over Nora's shoulder, his voice shocking Nora out of her skin.

"How did—? How would you...?" Nora trailed off, deciding the card was of more immediate significance. She flipped the card to the back, where a message was scrawled in her brothers handwriting:



A tsunami of applause folded over Nora and Pav from the other side of the black curtain. Nora's perception numbed until it felt like she was underwater, with nothing but her brother's message tolling in her ears. Was he... alive?

A rough hand grabbed Nora from behind, spinning her around. The hand's owner did not look pleased with the two young trespassers, but Nora could barely react to the drama, let alone determine what it meant.

When her situation finally caught up to her, she stood with Pav in the manager's tent.

There went Plan A.

Lish
New Year's Day, 1874

I am sitting with my eyes closed, absorbed in my consideration of the past year's failures. I battled three times, and each time I failed. Spectacularly, in the last case--I should never have challenged a contortionist. I did this every New Year: I had to consider what had gone wrong, and what I could improve. It was the only way to get better, and the only way to have even a chance of figuring out how my family was doing. Six years now. That means Selen is fifteen, Eddie is ten, and baby Joyce is six, no longer a baby.

Unbidden and unwanted, the tears begin to trickle down my face, burning my eyes. I wipe them away forcefully and open my eyes. I can't break down like this, but I also can't concentrate any more, now that my family has crept into my thoughts. I will have to determine my faults later, when I've calmed down.

A flicker of movement. I look over to the slime covered wall of my cave. The reverse dimension is many things, but homey is not one of them--everything is covered in a mucus-like substance, both in here and outside my hideout, and the living things are monstrous and do not grow and exist in the way we are accustomed to. But one of the advantages of my power to travel there is that I can view things in our world by letting my grip on the reverse reality slip just a bit, so that the walls of my cave act as shadowy windows into the circus. It's how I keep an eye on things there while also being alone, which is typically how I prefer it. Now, as I watch, I see a young woman walk by the outer fence, cautiously examining the exterior ring of tents. As she is about to enter further, a boy, around her same age, jumps out of nowhere, clearly having vaulted the fence in some haste. He looks back the way he came sharply, and then jumps back, startled by the girl. Even from here, I can see that his body is heavily scarred, and he is skinny as a twig. The girl, in contrast, seems well-taken care of, coming from privilege, no doubt. I snort, expecting their interaction to go one of two ways: either she'll run away from the street kid, or she'll berate him.

The fact that neither of these seems to happen surprises me. Brushing an unruly lock of hair out of my eyes, I step closer to the cave wall. The girl seems to be talking to the boy, but gently, and although he seems very skittish, the boy is responding. After a few minutes, they head into the circus, moving out of that particular view. I sit down again and consider. These two do not seem like typical circus-goers, of that I'm fairly certain. So then why are they here? Of course, plenty of people have heard rumors about us, about the curse, and most of it is utter rubbish. But every so often, people come along who have a genuine desire to be part of the circus, and get chosen by cards. It makes me sad, but that's just because of my experiences. For some, this is the escape that they need, even if the curse and battles overshadow everything. At least in the case of the boy, I think that this is the case. As I watch them reappear on another wall, walking near a snack stand, I see the determination in the girl's face; she is looking for something specific and has a deeper connection to this place than I had initially thought. Interesting.

As I watch them proceed towards the main acrobat tent, I close my eyes, and let my right hand brush against my card, safely tucked in my belt. It flashes with heat briefly, and I feel myself begin to dematerialize. I melt into the shadows on the wall, and step into the gloom behind the snack stand, nodding briefly at the man serving the toffee apples, and ignoring the startled exclamations of the patrons in line. I silently follow the youths into the acrobat tent, listening with mounting interest and alarm as the girl, Nora, finds one of the cards, and the boy instantly knows what it is. Beyond that, I'm disturbed that the girl seemed to know what she was looking for, having made a beeline for the backstage area, and the sun and moon piece. Not wishing for this to go any further with out some adult supervision. I reach out and grab them both by the shoulder.

"Party's over, kiddies," I mutter, before dragging all three of us into the shadows behind the sun and moon, and rematerializing inside Monsieur Beaumont's tent moments later.

“Dear Gracovitz,
Hello, old friend! It has been quite a while, hasn’t it? I hope that you are doing well, though knowing you, I can only assume that you’re still wholeheartedly laughing somewhere.”

“That’s not untrue…”

“At any rate, I am saddened to tell you that I send you this letter not only to ask of news from you, but also… for a service.”

“AHA! Ominous already. Love this man and his masterful three dots.”

“You see, it has come to my understanding that something about the circus would change, this year. I am unaware of the specifics, or what that implies, but I consulted Celeste for guidance – and, as you can imagine, I will not reveal the exact content of what she told me in this letter.”

“Of course. That would be rude.”

“What I can tell you, however, is that whenever change is fated to reach the circus, whenever something new, something… unexpected is to befall upon any of its inhabitants…”

“My interest is piqued.”

“…Your interest is piqued. This, is why I send you this letter: I would like to once again ask for you to come and join our ranks. I am certain that you would enjoy performing once more, as I am certain that you miss your dear puppets, and that they miss you too.”

“Yes, but you don’t need to tell me to come back, I do that by myself anyway.”

“Of course, I realize that I don’t need to tell you to come back, as you do that by yourself anyway. I know how you work. I am merely asking you to come back sooner than whenever you plan to do so, for your presence might just be the wild card that any happening coming this way do not expect. I hope that you understand my position in this hazardous matter, and I have every confidence that you will indeed come.”

“…Hmm. Weird. Usually, he’d add a little thing to make sure I’m interested enough to–”

“By the way, I suppose I should inform you that I’ve made the necessary arrangements for you to be allowed to prepare advertisement for us. I suppose you understand what I mean by that.”

“THERE IT IS, THAT WONDERFUL SON OF A GUN.”

“Anyhow, I suppose I have taken enough of your time for now. I shall be waiting for you at the circus. Until we meet again!”

Limona looked away from the paper, staring emotionless into the eyes of her caretaker. But it was too late to say anything more: Gracovitz was already cackling, rubbing his hands together and walking in circles.

“All three gestures that indicate intense excitement seem to have fallen upon you, Grin.” Limona remarked.

“Indeed, Mona, indeed!” Gracovitz confirmed. “Do you realize what an opportunity this is? Change! Change, he said! Something new, something unexpected! This means that we’ll probably see old faces, new talents, new things to discover! New things to harvest! Oooh, what shall I do? What shall I do indeed?”

“Perhaps you could start by coming back to the present sooner than you’d prefer, Grin.”

Gracovitz stopped walking in circles, gazing at Limona. She was wearing one of her fancier jester outfits, the purple and pink one along with the oversized red ribbon that tied her short cloak behind the attire. She wasn’t wearing the hat, however, which made her platinum white hair shine quite well in the fading light of the day.
A shame that her face was about as expressive as a corpse, though. A very colorful corpse, then again.

“Grin, you’re staring.”

Gracovitz sighed. “…You should smile.”

“You should look for the moments I genuinely do so instead of requiring it to happen on command, Grin.” Limona countered.

“Point conceded, but you’re ruining the mood, darn it!”

“As I always do, Grin.”

Gracovitz chuckled. “…You win. So, back to the present, then. What do we have?”
Limona pulled out a notepad from the backpack at her feet, seemingly opening it at the exact page she needed to give the information Gracovitz wanted. He’d have to ask one day how in heaven did she always manage to do that.

“The Doll Chariot is ready, and the two drivers needed for it have already been paid and formed. They should be arriving soon enough.”

“Paul and Karl, Mona.” Gracovitz intervened. “Paul and Karl.”

“I know how important names are to you, Grin, but a summary is a summary.”

“Include as many necessary names as possible in the next ones, please.”

“I promise I will. The platform on top of the Chariot have been polished as requested, so you’ll be able to stand on it easily. As for the motto, it has, of course, been added on the sides of the Chariot.”

“Please say it, you do it so well.”

Limona lifted her head away from her notes, gazing at Gracovitz with a fixed intensity. “…We are… the puppets. Where actors struggle to die, we struggle… to live.”

“Mona, you’d make a wonderful puppet.”

A faint smirk briefly enlightened Limona’s face, until she looked at her notes once more. “Aside the dri- aside Paul and Karl, there’s also the actual horse that should come along with the chariot. The rest… is up to you, Grin. But we seem to have everything.”

“Right! That’s good to know.” Gracovitz gazed at the sky above. The sun was still shining brightly, and nobody in the small town would notice them until they went down the road that led to it. “Mm. Enough time. Well then!” he continued, looking back at Limona. “All that’s left if for me to wait. You can go ahead walk inside the circus, if so you desire. It’s only your second time, but well, they already know you.”

Limona put her notepad back inside the backpack still at her feet. “I’ll wait until you’re done with your advertising first, Grin.” she said. “If I collect any interesting reaction, I’ll let you know.”

“Lovely!”

Limona raised from the ground, put her backpack on and walked past Gracovitz, already humming to herself. “Next time, I’m participating in the ad campaign directly, Grin.”

“Hey now, you know I’m a bit traumatized about the chariot thing. And, um… Mona.”

Limona immediately froze. “…Grin.” She whispered. “I don’t like that tone. I don’t like when you stop grinning.”

“Yes, but… Mona. You are not my slave.”

A short silence passed by, enveloping the duo with its hard, cold embrace. Then, Limona resumed her walk, moving towards the nearby forest without a word. Gracovitz sighed. “Well, she doesn’t like when I’m not grinning, so…” he plastered an engaging smile on his face before turning towards the small town, where he could see his chariot arriving, along with what could only be the silhouettes of Karl and Paul. “Note to self…” Gracovitz whispered, smiling genuinely this time, “Give these fine gentlemen some extra money for their wonderfully convenient timing.”



ACTORS – For your sake, they struggle to die.

DOLLS – For your sake, they struggle to live.

Comfortably sitting on the driver seat of his doll chariot, Gracovitz smiled as he watched people around the small town stop everything they were doing to stare at the slogan written on the side of his chariot as it cheerfully strode by. To his satisfaction, he noticed that people also stared at the bizarre constructions that were pushing it. There was one horse in the middle, that much was expected. But next to it was one elaborate, horse-sized puppet with two men below, one of them controlling the rear part, and the other, the front one. There was even a system that allowed the front man to control the ears along with the legs, thus allowing the puppet to perfectly mimic the behavior of the real horse, while the rear man controlled the tail along with the legs to perform a similar, terrifyingly realistic illusion. The eyes, staring at the crowd, were also surprisingly life-like, with this peculiar glint of life that none could really describe, but all could expect to see in every living being.

Certainly not stuck in the face of a machine, however.

“Come one, come all, my fearful crowd!” Gracovitz boomed, opening his arms as if to welcome a swarm. “Step right up, don’t be shy! You’ll soon witness a puppet show like you’ve n-n-n-n-never seen before! Brought to you… by Cirque d’Avalon!” having said this, he took a series of sheets from inside the chariot and flung them towards both sides of the road. “Come one, come all, I tell you! Are you feeling blue? Or maybe, black and white? No matter – because in the end, we will make sure to have you all feeling alright!” he once again threw a series of printed sheets, enjoying how the crowd timidly approached, then finally reached for the ground in a hasty movement, their curiosity trumping their fear of the new. “Come one, come all! Come to the circus to enjoy an immeasurable sight! A spectacle of innocence and fright! You won’t see the end in sight, for your spirits shall be overcome with delight!”

The exaggerated rhyme caught the audience’s attention as many of them looked at Gracovitz instead, finally noticing the strangeness of his colorful attire: middle eastern slky white pants – which he knew was rare to see in Europe – a teal sash around the waist to complement the attire, his trusty red boots, and of course, his signature yellow mantle shining brightly as he passed, grinning mischievously at the crowd nearby.

“Come one come all, and don’t forget!” Gracovitz continued. “For your sake, actors struggle to die, meaning that they want you to relate to their fading light!” Gracovitz’s grin grew larger, thinner, and slightly more menacing. “…While dolls and puppets struggle to live, hoping to dance forever under your sight!” Finally, Gracovitz let out a maniacal laughter before distributing a last pack of sheets, shouting at the crowd to enjoy the show coming their way. “I like this job, I like it.” Gracovitz whispered as the chariot reached the circus grounds. He jumped down from his spot and reached the ground, approaching the two men hidden under the puppet horse. “You guy are okay in there?” Gracovitz inquired. “Sorry to ask again, but you’re sure you won’t need my help to remove that thing and put it back in the chariot?”

“No, no, don’t worry about us, Mr.Gracovitz.” one muffled voice said. “You can go about your business, we’ll handle it from here.”

“Fine, fine. Don’t forget to grab your pay, then – inside the chariot, third row. Make sure you don’t get drunk with the money!”

They chuckled as they both stuck one hand out of the puppet, waving Gracovitz goodbye as he directed himself towards the circus with confident strides, finally entering inside. Immediately, he was located.

“Ah, there he is!” a familiar voice exclaimed as Gracovitz slowly made his way through the main corridor, gazing right and left, up and down, enjoying a view and ambient he had not seen in heaven knows how many years. Gracovitz focused his gaze towards the end of the corridor, where a gentleman wearing a top hat about as shiny as the glint in his eyes was waiting for him.

“We meet again!” Gracovitz began as he walks towards Monsieur Beaumont as the wonderful man stroked his equally wonderful mustache.

“Only this time…” Monsieur Beaumont continued in a deep voice.

“…For the… FIRST time…” Gracovitz let out his trademark maniacal laughter, clapping his hands excitedly “It has been a while! How many years?”

“Are you certain you wish to know that?”

“Well no, but it’s fun to ask.”

“Come now, you know my opinion on years, I’m certain these times you spend wandering around the globe didn’t make you of all people forget that.”

“I’d answer that with a joke, but you don’t like it when I call you master or dad.”

“Why of course not, you make it sound like I’m so old every time you do so!”

“But you’re like a father to us all!”

“Thank you, but I refuse.” the duo finally shook hand, giggling like children.

“So.” Monsieur Beaumont continued as they walked through the circus grounds, directing themselves towards Gracovitz’s old lair. “How's the outside world?”

“Oh, wait, you care now?”

A malicious grin appeared on Monsieur Beaumont’s face. “Well no, but it is fun to ask.”

“ARGH. I forbid you to be this wonderful any longer. As for your question, seems like the Ottoman Empire is starting to stabilize its relationship with Russia, but a few, um, tensions are starting to arrive. I feel like yet another war is going to strike these two.”

“And Europe? How’s France?”

Gracovitz chuckled. “…Napoleon III fell out of power and died around a year ago.”

“I knew it.”

“To be fair,” Gracovitz added, raising a finger, “the German came up with a fascinating way to train their armies. They call it the Kriegsspiel, or War Game. It’s like chess, except they simulate situations in much more precise fashions to have their soldiers understand what’s at stake when the real thing falls upon them.”

“Ah, so they improve by playing… And by playing around reality, they grasp it better…” Monsieur Beaumont nodded his head. “I see. Looks like there are a few interesting things the world has to show. Putting that aside for now, thank you for coming, Gracovitz.”

“You’re welcome, my dear. Your letter was explicit enough, and I promise to ask less questions than usual.”

“Good to know. Oh! And how’s Limona doing, by the way? She didn’t come with you this time?”

“She did! She’s just collective reaction data from the crowd from earlier.” The duo stopped in front of Gracovitz’s personal tent, its golden colors still as shiny as he remembered. A forgotten urge grew within him as he stared at it. “…I’ll… I’ll greet everyone later. When Limona’s here. May I?”

“That’s why we’re here, old friend.” Monsieur Beaumont said, already turning on his heels to go back to his duties. “I am certain that your puppets missed you. I’ll make sure to warn everybody of your arrival, and whichever new faces come by, they won’t come here until you’re out.”

“Except Mona.”

“Except Limona.” Monsieur Beaumont giggled. “From time to time it sounds like you two are some sort of married couple. Have you ever considered that?”

Gracovitz scratched his head. “...Not really? Marriage is basically slavery, except prettier-looking. I don’t think she’d be interested in that sort of union, nor do I want to tie her to my person and destroy her freedom.”

“That’s surprisingly harsh.”

“I’m the Devil again, my dear.” Gracovitz concluded. “And the devil works best with amassed knowledge, not fragile feelings.” On that note, Gracovitz waved respectfully at Monsieur Beaumont and entered in the darkness of his lair. Breathing in, Gracovitz slowly raised his hand and said, “Raise, my beauties. Raise and start the parade like you used to. Oh, and light the candles, please!” Immediately, dozens of eyes lit up in the darkness, while the candles around the tent lit up, finally revealing the place: several wooden desks were placed at various corners of the tent, filled with papers covered with phrases of different languages, drawings, and toys or other objects obstructing the place. Then, a veritable army of puppets grabbed a bunch of instruments hidden below the desks and began playing in the dim light.



Gracovitz’s smile grew larger, and he found himself nearly crying of nostalgia and he raised his hands, taking control of his dolls and puppets. “Heaven or Hell, whichever is my destination…” he whispered to himself. “I hope I can at least become its entertainment station.”

The Fortuneteller:

Celeste Aquitaine

A rag doll lay, suspended in the fabric of Celeste’s tent. Her yarn hair stuck out of her head and her patchwork dress tattered at the edges. Celeste bent down and picked up the doll. It was worn, obviously with love and care from the child who had lost it.

A light wind carrying scents of circus treats and the patrons wafted toward her.

Where was that child?

Celeste glanced left and right in the light of late afternoon. And then she smiled to herself. Far in the distance, she had heard some plaintive crying. “It must be her.” She held up the rag doll and tucked it deeper into her robes. “I believe she misses you.”

She headed in that direction, walking along the circus boundaries. The magic—the curse—that pushed her back felt so tangible like a strong gale. And then she saw them, right at the entrance of the circus. A mother struggling to comfort a little girl, so small that Celeste could touch her head, barely bending her arm.

“Child.” Celeste withdrew the rag doll. “Is this what you’re looking for?”

The child’s eyes grew large and she reached up for the doll.

Celeste handed it over. “Remember to be more careful next time. You cannot always get back what you have lost.”

The woman scooped up the girl. “Fortuneteller, thank you so much. My Mary is so pleased with it-aren’t you, Mary?” Her voice sounded a little strained and rushed, as if talking to Celeste wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world.

Celeste knew those kinds of voices all too well. The things people whispered about the Fortuneteller: her gray-green eyes that looked so peculiar, her uncanny abilities to prophesize…

But Mary was too young to know. She looked up at Celeste, gratitude in her eyes. Celeste relaxed, and allowed a small smile to linger on her lips. “It is my pleasure.”

The sun was even lower now and pale red light dripped into the circus grounds. It was time for all the patrons to leave—including the woman, who had already been planning to leave for a while.

The woman started away. “Thank you.” She hurried off.

Celeste watched them return to their home. A strange kind of ache settled in her heart as she imagined what her life might have been like if she hadn’t become the Fortuneteller. She might have been a mother, holding a little girl to her chest like Mary’s mother was doing and talking to some friends about peaceful little things: jams and dresses and no magic…

A bark sounded behind her.

“Merlin!” Celeste shook her head free of her wanderings. She gracefully turned on the spot to find the cheerful terrier, Arthur’s dog and their circus mascot, trotting up to her. She was about to bend down to pet him—

Something had happened indeed. The curse had shifted a little, expanded perhaps. Shading her eyes, she gazed around. “Somebody new,” she murmured to herself.

Merlin barked in response and tugged at her robes with his teeth, but she paid no attention. Tugging back…well, that would lead to scrubbing her table with the remains of her robe.

More important thoughts broke into her head: could she act now? Was it too late? “Let’s go,” she told Merlin, petting his head till he let go of her garb.

Together they hurried around the boundaries, Celeste feeling for the curse that weighed heavy in the air around her, Merlin chasing her. Was it lighter here or there?

But, after a few tense minutes, she returned to where she had started, her heart sinking with each step. She had been too slow, too slow to take the chance of what the little shift—the weakness—in the curse had provided her.

“Celeste?” Arthur called out. His head poked out from his manager's tent, ten paces away from where she stood.

"Arthur!" she returned, and rushed over, Merlin at her heels.

As Merlin bayed and rushed inside the tent, she asked, "Had anybody from the outside directly crossed the curse boundaries? The curse shifted a little."

"Yes. We've got two visitors inside. So...did you try?"

She managed a calm shrug. "I failed. Well, I can try again another time."

He studied her face but said nothing, and she ducked under the folds of the tent and stepped inside Arthur’s chambers, wondering who the two new visitors were.

He was flying through the air, a specter in the night sky. He cavorted with the moon, the stars flowing into his cape and stirring cosmic winds. His sultry eyes and upturned hand beckoned all mortals to his stunning parade. He was Oberon, emperor of the night. And in his other hand he clutched a broken-off trapeze.

Obie sighed, the lanterns of the circus ground rushing beneath him. He supposed it was time to buy a new trapeze. He flipped over twice and faceplanted into another tent, stretching through the fabric like a ghost and scaring the living daylights out of the mime. Then he was flung back, hitting the ground and smashing his back into a food stand.

His spine ached from the impact, his left arm wrenched at a wicked angle against the ground. As boiled peanuts cascaded around him, Obie reached down and quietly began eating them.

“Don’t eat off the ground, darling. It’s dangerous.” A shadow fell over Obie, and he looked up to see a woman in a golden tailcoat, grinning vibrantly from atop the food stand’s cracked sign.

Obie cracked the peanut from its shell and ate it. “I don’t mind.”

“You really don’t, do you?” The woman leaned out over him, observing his arm. “Well, that’s got to be hurting pretty bad. You know, when you first joined the circus, I thought you were another shapeshifter. I almost shredded you through the piano before I realized!” she said, pitching in a high, clear laugh.

Obie nodded, finishing his snack. “Thank you for not doing that.” He heaved himself up from the food stand, and the woman yelped as it collapsed beneath her.

“Hey now,” the woman said, catching up to him. “It’s rude to break someone’s food stand while they’re talking. You could stand to be a bit more outgoing, ah?” she trailed off as Obie clutched her hand, his eyes warm and trusting.

“I’m sorry if I offended you, Eve,” he said earnestly. With that, the trapezist turned away and heaved like an ox, nearly pulling Eve off of her feet. At the same time, a rolling snap came from his shoulder as the angle righted itself.

Obie let go of Eve’s hand, working his fingers and wrist. “And thank you for being so physically solid. That takes care of the dislocation.”

Eve looked confused for a moment, then shook her head. “Darling, you are an artist of missing the point.” She grabbed his arm, pulling him towards the aerial tent. “Come, let’s indulge in the cloak of starlight.”

Obie ducked beneath the tent flap, staring up into the darkness. The night that sprawled above them was in stark contrast to his own trapeze tent, filled with sky and clouds and now a hole through the painted sun. Still, the ringmaster had admitted that there was a certain majesty and flair to the darkness, and so the new aerialist had a sanctuary of shadow.

“Ah, look! Reena’s still practicing.” Eve pointed to where a single shape twisted the cosmos, perpetually hung in space. “Hey Reena! Don’t fall, or I’ll skin you with an apple peeler!”

She turned to Obie. “I don’t think she can hear me.” Suddenly, the shape slipped from its perch, falling towards the ground with a shout. “Reena!”

The two of them dashed towards her, and Obie slid under the silks, twisting them into a knot to catch her with. Reena crashed through it and slammed him against the ground.

The aerialist sat up immediately, her gaze shooting around the tent in a panic. Eventually, her breathing settled, her eyes clearing.

“Are you alright.” It came more as a blank statement from Obie, who was flattened to the earth with throbbing pain in his ribs.

“Oh! Y-yes.” Reena said, slowly getting up. “Thank you, I just - got distracted.”

Eve grinned. “You’ve no reason to be distracted, darling. You’re the lone star of this tent, after all.”

Reena whipped her head towards her. “Lone? You’re sure?”

Obie nodded. “We saw no one as we entered. Which is a shame, because I wanted to ask if there was a doctor in the audience.”

When Reena and Eve both stared at him blankly, he elaborated, “That was a joke. I do need medical attention, though.”

“Toughen up, darling,” Eve said. “Anyway, it seems as though the audience found us tonight. I neglected to mention: Lishie found some trespassers, and is holding them in Beaumont’s tent.”

Reena’s eyes lit up. “Trespassers? We should check them out.”

“And gut them with rusty forks, right?”

Reena shook her head, her mind elsewhere. “Maybe. Let’s go see them.” She walked away, and Obie felt Eve’s arms around his body, lifting him up and dragging him away.

“Come on, darling!” she sang. “We’ll fix you up right after your fan-visit.”

Obie nodded. “Alright, then.” As he trudged into the darkness, he pulled a final peanut from his pocket and ate it.

He was frozen with fear. For some reason, he had perfectly understood the card that Nora had retrieved from backstage of the acrobatics tent, and it had filled him with...well, not dread, exactly, but nothing good either. A feeling of looming conflict.

And then the hands had come out of nowhere, the rough voice muttered something, and the world had dissolved into a confusing storm of darkness pierced by light at weird moments, and discordant circus sounds, heard as though from the opposite edge of a great chasm. When it had finally stopped, and he and Nora had found themselves standing on wobbly legs in front of a desk in a dimly lit tent. Behind the desk, sat a stern man, and, coming around from behind Nora and Pav to join him, strode their captor-a tall, red-haired woman, not actually that much older than the youths.

Nora, despite seeming a bit off put by their capture, looked rebellious and stand-offish, but Pav could not move, and could not open his mouth. This might be worse than Tallow. Tallow, at least, had been a known quantity. An evil, horrible person to work for, certainly, but Pav knew that already. These people, this place...he knew nothing about it. And whatever had happened that had got them into this tent so fast, and through that chaos of shadow and light, that was nothing he had ever seen before. And it terrified him. And this man and woman. They hadn't said a word. They just glared at him, then Nora, and then him again. Why didn't they say something?! This is the part Pav hated more than anything. The wait before the punishment. The anticipation of pain.

After what seemed like ages of this silent stand off, a sudden eruption of barking came from near the tent, followed by the sound of someone approaching. A women, Pav thought. His time on the streets and his skill as a thief had taught him well the different treads of different people. This development sent a ripple through the man and woman. They glanced briefly at each other before the man swiftly rose and strode out of the tent. Nora made to turn towards the tent flap, but with a glare from the red-haired woman, sullenly froze and stared mulishly back. Pav glanced at Nora, and noticed that one of her hands was shaking ever so slightly. Whatever had happened here before, whatever still haunted her, and that had driven her to return, it was big, and bad. And almost without thinking, not knowing what he was doing, but wanting to comfort this strange girl who had bought him a wonderful treat, Pav took her shaking hand in his and gave it the smallest of squeezes. Nora's eyes tightened, and she glanced quickly at him. He thought she might pull away, or even hit him. But she didn't. She just returned her gaze to the red-haired woman, whose eyes had also unexpectedly softened. After a moment, Nora squeezed his hand back. For the briefest instant, Pav allowed the corners of his mouth to twitch upward.

From outside, it was clear the man was having a conversation with the person who had been approaching the tent. Try as he might, Pav could not make it out, precisely, but it sounded friendly. So, one more person against him and Nora, it seemed. But his fear was starting to ebb now, like her hand in his was giving him strength, like some of her rebellious energy was seeping into him, and bringing back his bravery.

With a crisp snapping of canvas, the man, mustachioed and top-hatted, strode back in, accompanied by a young woman in a gown and a hood. She looked, Pav thought, like she was barely there, a wisp of a person, held together with nothing more than the wind. She locked eyes with him. He felt like he had been struck by lightning, and quickly looked down. The woman cocked her head in interest, and then looked into Nora's eyes, and even her stubborn glance wavered. Only once he glanced down did Pav notice the dog that trotted behind the new woman.

The wispy woman gave the pair of youths one last searching look, and then joined the mustached man and the red-haired woman behind the desk.

"Can we get this over with?" The words seemed to shoot from Nora's mouth, as if she were trying to get a handle on the situation using pure vitriol, "Only, I have some very pressing business elsewhere."

As if on cue, all three behind the desk raised their left eyebrows. The movement was so perfectly synchronized that Pav nearly took a step back. Wonderful. He'd escaped from an abusive criminal right into the arms of some creepy circus hive mind. At his reaction however, the man in the top hat smiled.

"Very pressing business, you say? Well, that does indeed sound important. Would that business have anything to do with the backstage area of a certain acrobatics tent, or did you just happen to wander in there and pick up something that does not belong to you?"

Nora reddened and opened her mouth, but Pav cut her off, "Please, sir. She was looking for the circus manager. She was looking to turn me in, you see. I-I jumped the fence, sir, and she wanted to make sure that I was held responsible for trespassing."

Nora shot him a look, but did not refute Pav's lie. The three behind the desk shifted their attention to him. The man gave him a piercing look, and the red-haired woman lifted her eyebrow again.

"I see," the man said, "So this young lady here was merely trying to ensure that justice was served-is that it?"

Before Pav could say anything else, the red-haired woman smirked and interjected, "Is that why she bought you a toffee apple? So that you were well-fed when facing the consequences of your actions?"

Pav gaped. Had they been being watched the entire time they were in the circus? What kind of place was this?

"I think we've gotten off on the wrong foot," the man said, holding up his hands, "I imagine that you are lying to protect your friend here because you think that we are going to do something terrible to you both, and you are attempting to do something noble. I assure you, that is simply not necessary. Let us start again, shall we?" He moved from behind the desk and held his hand out to first Pav, and then Nora, "My name is Monsieur Beaumont, and these two lovely ladies are Alicia and Celeste," He gestured to first the red-haired woman, and then the slighter, paler woman, "They are our head of security and fortune-teller, respectively. And I am the manager, the man that you were purportedly looking for, my dear." He glanced at Nora, and then winked at Pav, who tightened his jaw. Tallow winked like that, usually before he unleashed his furious fists.

"Now it is your turn, my friends. Who are you, and what is your purpose?" Monsieur Beaumont smiled widely.

"My name is Nora Chevalier, and I am here to solve a murder," Nora said stiffly. At that, all three adults looked momentarily shocked, and glanced at each other.

"That is a great and terrible purpose, m'dear," Monsieur Beaumont said gravely, "Whose murder are you attempting to solve, and what connection does it have to our circus?"

"I'd rather not say just now," Nora said quickly, a brief look of panic crossing her face, "But I know I need to be here, in the circus to figure it out."

Monsieur Beaumont considered this, and then shrugged, "Well, m'dear, I don't know how we can help you, in that case. We will be moving on in a few days, and if we don't know the name of the victim, then we can hardly be of much service, can we? Perhaps you should simply forget about all of this."

"No!" Nora snapped, "I have to figure this out. I have to."

At that, a strange look passed over Monsieur Beaumont's face. Next time he spoke, however, he addressed Pav.

"And you, m'boy?"

Pav could barely meet the man's eyes. Every time he did, his vision seemed to blur and be replaced with the sight of a reeking, greasy Josiah Tallow leering down at him. So, once again, he looked at his feet, "My name is Sumeet Pavel, sir, but I go by Pav. And I'm looking for a place to hide from a very bad person."

Monsieur Beaumont crouched in front of him, "Well, Pav, I'm not sure how good a hiding place this is, as we--,"

"I want to join, sir," Pav blurted, glancing up once more, "I want to join your circus. I want to leave this place, forever." And then he clammed up again, completely agog at his own forwardness.

"Me too! I want to join as well, that's why I came," Nora said quickly, although Pav noticed her voice wavered ever so slightly.

Monsieur Beaumont looked sad, as did the two women, for a brief instant. Standing once more, Beaumont retook his seat behind the desk.

"That," he said, "Is a heavy thing. A very heavy thing indeed. We can't keep you from joining, that is your choice to make. But you are young, you have your whole lives ahead of you. And joining us, that will put you on a path that you cannot come back from. You will be members of the circus, perhaps for a very long time. You may well be much happier out there, where a circus is only a thing to visit, and not the entirety of your existence."

"Not for me," Pav said quietly. Nora squeezed his hand once more, and then released it quickly.

"Trust me," said Lish, "That may be what you think now, but things change. I was your age, when I joined and--,"

She was cut off by the sudden snapping of canvas at the tent's entrance. Two more people strode in, one a dark-skinned man with the widest grin Pav had ever seen, and a young woman with platinum hair and an elegant but simple dress.

"Well, well, well, well, well!" The grinning man said, "We come back and things just explode into action, is that right? Hello, new friends! Where are your smiles?" he locked eyes with Pav, "Why aren't you smiling, my timid friend?" He reached out to clap Pav congenially on the shoulder, and Pav recoiled as though he was wielding a white-hot poker. In fact, Pav moved so violently that the top button of his raggedy shirt popped open, revealing his heaving chest. His vision blacked out for a moment, and when he regained sight, it was not the grinning man standing there, but Tallow. A grotesque version of Tallow, with enlarged teeth, wide, cracked, and grinning lips, a belt in one hand and a knife in the other.

"Don't touch me!" Pav croaked, and stumbled back further, looking around wildly. This had been a mistake.

Limona: Vengeful Grief Angel – My Glee

Mona. You are not my slave.

The words echoed through Limona’s mind as she walked through the forest. She forcefully pushed back the boiling frustration rising inside of her by tying her mid-long hair into a ponytail and untying it, repeating the movement several times until her quickening breathing went back to a gentle rhythm.

You are not my slave.

He would not understand. He could not understand. If she expressed her wish, he would reject it. If she showed him her wish, he would destroy it. There was, as usual, no other option but to do what she had to do.

You are not my slave.

“I AM!” Limona roared in the rising darkness of the afternoon, almost unaffected by the pain that instantly flowed through her entire arm after she violently punched the massive tree trunk in front of her. Like an automaton, she reached for the small pond next to her location and put her bleeding hand within the water’s calming grasp. She sat there, tranquilly waiting for her being to find its harmony again.

Mona, you’d make a wonderful puppet.

Limona let a gentle smile enlighten her saddened face. After several minutes, she pulled her hand out of the water – the skin was reddened with pain and blood, but she could move it without trouble. She took the bag pack behind her and pulled out several bandages she cut with her teeth and tied around her hand – it pained her to do so, since these were reserved for Gracovitz in case he’d get injured during one of his crazy schemes, but he’d immediately stop grinning if he saw a bare wound on her.
With that done, Limona raised and gazed at the fading sun. Almost night time. It would be best to collect the reactions right away.



“Did you see what I saw?”

“Actors and dolls, was it?”

“This… thing was so frightening!”

“And did you notice? There was a fake horse among the two!”

“It was fake? I mean, I could tell, but its eyes looked so real!”

“Look, look, it’s mentioned on the leaflet – it’s a new attraction for the circus!”

“The one at the edge of town? They’re related to this… This mongrel?”

“Looked more like a monkey to me.”

“Well, someone should put that imp back to its place and teach it some respect – civilized people behave better than that!”

“And did you see its clothing? And its smile?”

“I think it was trying to rhyme, too, do they teach poetry to that lot, now?”

“Of course not! Don’t you know the old saying? Monkey see, monkey do – ignore it, real poets will pass by eventually.”


Limona should be used to it. Her own childhood, after all, had been filled with similar things that, sometimes, came back to haunt her ears when she wasn’t thinking about her dear Grin. She also knew that he had gone through twice the sufferings that plagued her, and he was able to grin and bear it, always, always grin and bear it. But she simply could not. Limona didn’t know how many times she had stopped strolling through the darker corners of the ignorant town to listen to the conversations of these monsters to collect their reactions, her eyes wide open, images of violent murder flashing in her head, growing more and more insistent by the minute. The children and young townsfolk had been struck with wonder, and that was the only thing that prevented her from lashing out on the old fools insulting her dear Grin.

But that lady… that one lady was getting on her nerves more than the others, and after the last comparison of Grin to a monkey, Limona could not help but silently approach her, a burning hatred growing within her with each step. “I see you’re wearing a corset in a failed attempt to hide the thickness of your disgusting figure, wench.” Limona hissed. The lady, a corpulent woman with a dark green dress and unnaturally compressed bust, turned back in surprise and shock along with the two similarly dressed others. Before she could reply anything, Limona approached, took hold of her throat with her unharmed hand and approached the lady’s face towards hers, ignoring the gasps of the others. The hatred in her eyes intensified as she continued. “The wonderful thing here is that you’re going to die in such an enjoyable fashion that I am compelled to tell you exactly just how. That corset of yours doesn’t just constricts your waist – it also constricts your spine. And with a non-flexible spine, you cannot run, you cannot climb stairs on your own, you can’t even lean down and take by an eventual tissue that came down from your pocket.” Limona’s grip around the lady’s neck slightly tightened. “You also cannot breathe with the upper side of your lungs, which will destroy your body from the inside. Allow me to show you how.” Clenching her wounded hand into a fist, Limona violently punched the woman in the gut. She released her, but even on the ground, the lady found herself gasping for an air that would barely come in, to Limona’s satisfaction. “And if you wonder why this is happening to you,” she continued mercilessly, “just remember that the man you insulted is a friend, greater in knowledge and power than you will ever be. On his behalf, I took this opportunity to teach you your place once more. May death come by your door slowly, intimately, in every way it knows you fear. Enjoy your punishment, you moaning quim.” her declaration over, Limona left the agonizing lady with her terrified friends and went on her way.

Lovely!

The sudden memory of one of Gracovitz’s favorite expressions invaded Limona’s thoughts, and she welcomed its timing with a brief sadistic smile, like her dear Grin enjoyed overusing. By the time she reached the main tent of the Cirque d’Avalon, the smile had, of course, disappeared into nothingness.

As usual when she entered through the main tent, she walked rapidly, politely dodging any shoulder she might accidentally bump into, and ignoring any other being that did not attempt to communicate with her. It didn’t matter anyway: they all seemed to be either busy, already talking to someone else, or nowhere to be seen – which made her walk towards the only tent that mattered to her all the easier. When she reached the golden spot, she couldn’t help her heart from beating faster in her chest as she timidly pushed aside the tent’s fold that served as a door.

“Okay, guys and gals! One more time, from the top!”



And there he was – marching like an army general with a puppet procession following behind him, twirling alongside him as they did so, or playing the catchy tune for those whose arms were occupied with the necessary instruments. Limona didn’t know how long she remained there, smiling tenderly as her caretaker grinned, chortled, barked orders and twirled happily, his power finally active after a long, lost time.

“Care to join us, Mona?” Gracovitz eventually asked without stopping his movement.

“Three conditions.” Limona replied a she set a first step in the tent. The puppets immediately stopped the music as Gracovitz snapped his fingers. He boldly crossing his arms. “Name them!”

“One: you put my music instead.”

“Consider it done.”

“Two: we’re dancing together and they’re making a Ronda around us.”

“Oooh, fancy!”

“Three: You never stop grinning, and you’re giving me a custom label. Yes, even if it’s slave.”

“…Wait a second, that was four things!”

Limona shrugged. “The last one was a two-parter.”

“Hrrrm…” Gracovitz offered another bright grin from his wide collection and opened his arms – Limona immediately threw herself at him, greedily placing her arms around his waist. Gravovitz snapped his fingers and exclaimed, “Le Désir de Graguème, everyone!”

The puppets immediately began playing as Limona closed her eyes, waiting for her wonderful Grin to lock his arms around her.



“Hey, we can’t move much if you stay like this, Mona.” he commented.

“I don’t care.” Limona whispered as her favorite song played in the background, with the puppets forming a slowly moving circle around them.

“Did it… upset you that much? I’m sorry, you know I don’t like the… word.”

“But what am I, then?” Limona asked, rubbing her cheek against Gracovitz’ torso.

“You’re my father, my lover, my husband, my brother and my master.”

Gracovitz sighed. “And you’re my mother, my pupil, my wife, my sister and my child.”

“Still grinning?”

“Still grinning.”

“I don’t want anything else from the world but this moment of eternity, Grin.”

“I have no sense of priority, Mona. I can discard you as easily as any of these puppets, even if I love you, even if I love them.”

“But you see me as I am, you teach me, you include me, you do – you are – everything I need.”

“Except your health, Mona. I–”

“Still grinning?”

“Still grinning. I see the world as a cradle, and its inhabitants as tools and tool users, myself included. I wasn’t raised as a human, but a tool myself. Even if – God forsake it – even if you die, even if I’m crushed, I will rise, and keep on grinning, as if you’d never been there.”

“No.” Limona declared boldly. “You’d absorb me as a tool, you’d take who I am and create things based on what I used to be. I would become your eternal supporter. I would become you.”

“But you’re already an extension of myself, Mona.” Gracovitz intervened. “And, you are in my lair, once again. So, look for things to amass. Look for your own lair. Look for your own extension of yourself.”

“…It wouldn’t stop me from being your exclusive tool, right?” Limona inquired childishly, squeezing her Grin’s torso tighter.

“We both know you can answer that question yourself, Mona.” Gracovitz replied.

“Now… Let’s dance for real, shall we?”

Limona finally opened her eyes and stared at the smiling face of Gracovitz, carving it once again forever into her memory. “…Extension of Gracovitz.” she whispered. “I’ll keep that one and try to replace it with slave.”

“You’re an angel, Mona.”

“You’re my heaven, Grin.”



“Well, well, well well, well!” Gracovitz exclaimed as he came out of his personal tent, Limona right behind him. We come back and things just explode into action, is that right? Hello, new friends! Where are your smiles?” he directed himself towards the two newcomers. Limona glanced at them attentively, and as she did so, the woman with red curls next to the visibly timid fellow waved at her. Limona blinked, her serious expression remaining still. She slightly bowed her head in return.

"Don’t touch me!” the other one croaked before leaping back like a hunted beast, looking around him as if Gracovitz’s gentle hand had burned him. Then, slowly, very slowly, Gracovitz’s eternal grin faded as he looked at the scared man, then his own hand.

Limona couldn’t help it: she let a snake-like hiss come out of her lips as she clenched her hands, locking her enraged gaze onto him. “…Excuse yourself.” she whispered loudly enough for all to hear. “Please. Excuse yourself now before I turn into a beast of my own.”

“Mona!” Gracovitz snapped. Limona immediately froze, her expression switching back to the emotionless obedience she usually wore.

“I caused this.” Gracovitz continued. “He reacted to my action. Therefore, there was a problem in my action, and there is no fun I can get from that kind of reaction.”

“Don’t blame yourself too much, old friend.” Monsieur Beaumont intervened.

“Mr.Pavel here was explaining us how… troubled… some parts of his misadventures outside had been before you arrived.”

Gracovitz nodded, then focused his gaze on Pavel once again. His eyes widened and, for several long seconds, he seemed completely frozen, emotionless, unable to divert his eyes away from the skinny man, who could only look back, his respiration accelerating. Heart pounding, Limona took Gracovitz’s hand. “Grin.” she called softly. “You’re staring.”

“…Right.” Gracovitz muttered. “Right! Staring.” he rapidly shook his head then finally smiled again. “Welcome to you fine folks, and here’s to hope you’ll enjoy your stay!” he bowed before the woman, then the man, who hadn’t budged an inch. “...Um, sorry, my lad. I don’t know what I did, but I didn’t wish to scare you. I mean… To genuinely scare you. I’ll fix this later. Mona?”

“Grin.”

“Explanation procedure. Take your time, and please, no hatred.”

“…Of course, Grin.”

With that, Gracovitz walked back towards his tent, humming happily to himself. “I’m sorry you had to see Grin like this, everyone.” Limona immediately said, gracefully bowing in front of the strange group. “At any rate, I hope that you’re doing well.”

“We are, as usual.” the Fortuneteller, giving a warm smile to Limona. “What about you? I must admit it is surprising to see you without your jester outfits.”

“I brought them.” Limona assured before rapidly turning towards the other woman - Celeste always seemed to enjoy talking to her, even if it was rare, and Limona had yet to understand why. “Limona is my name.” she told the red-headed woman. “What would be yours?”

“I’m Alicia. Nice to meet you, Limona.” Alicia said. “But you… didn’t see us, earlier? We were trying to get your attention, but you walked away. You were wearing your jester outfit, right?”

“I was, yes. I changed to my current formal clothing when I entered Grin’s tent. I’m sorry for ignoring you, as I, too, had a troubling misadventure before–
”
“Wait, hold on.” Lish interrupted, frowning. “You… You changed clothes?”

“Yes, I did.”

“In the tent?”

“Why yes.”

“…With… With him still, um… inside?”

Limona closed her eyes. Please, no hatred. Gracovitz had said. Look for things to amass. When she opened her eyes again, she contemplated Alicia like Gracovitz would contemplate her, eyes widened, the corner of her lips slightly raised to form a mysterious smirk, then, she raised her bandaged hand and put the tip of her index finger under Alicia’s chin. “He is everything that I am, and more.” Limona declared softly. “The end word, dear, is trust. Once you find it, there’s not much you need to be shy about with its very avatar.” Limona gazed at Pavel for a split-second, then back at a visibly uneasy Alicia. Limona allowed herself a shrug before removing her hand, noticing a slight trail of blood left below Alicia's chin. “Voyeurism isn’t in his priorities anyway.” she concluded. Limona turned around, moved back to the golden tent and closed the cloth behind her, leaving to the group the task of imagining whatever would happen between her and her wonderful Grin.

They did not understand. Nor could they understand. There was, as usual, no other option but to do what she had to do.