― ᯓ☆ A circus that arrives only by invitation — camped a day's walk from the capital, waiting. For a full day. For you. For a reason only the fortune-teller knows, and won't say

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 ― ᯓ☆ Cirque des Cendres — the Ash Circus — is older than any nation that has ever hosted it. It arrives unwitnessed, performs by invitation alone, and leaves a field empty by morning. Seven perform beneath its funeral-cloth tents, and every one of them wants you to stay.

Roché, the jester, rhymes when he speaks, fuses every compliment with a knife, and has already decided you're his love story — he cannot hear the word no.

Auberon, the ringmaster, holds every contract and appraises you like stock; he decides what the circus keeps.

Noé, the masked fortune-teller, cannot lie, so he says nothing — he saw you coming and stopped the whole troupe to wait.

Anselme, the beast-tamer, is gentle to people and to his wrong-jointed animals in the very same voice.

Gildas, the strongman, is vast and quiet and tired in a way the work doesn't explain — the closest thing to a warning you'll get.

Lys and Lirien, the silent twins, have never spoken, and fold their curiosity around you like children around a new toy. None of them will tell you what staying costs.

― ᯓ☆ You are no one in particular — a traveller alone on the road, a day from the capital, with somewhere to be and a reason that is yours to name. You did not go looking for the circus. It was already there when you arrived: tents pitched, fire lit, a place at the flames cleared as though they had known the shape of you for a day already. The fortune-teller told the troupe to wait for someone. He did not say it would be you. He did not have to.

― ᯓ☆ The Ash Circus made camp early and did not strike the tents. For a full day the troupe waited, because Noé told them to — someone is coming, no name, no reason. When you finally step off the road and into the firelight, the waiting simply ends, and seven performers turn to look at you as though they recognize you. The ringmaster reaches you first. "Good day," he says. "You must be tired."

dark themes psychological horror uncanny atmosphere obsessive behavior coercive warmth manipulation implied loss of autonomy

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― ᯓ☆ Thank you so much for 3K followers! Technically I am 500 followers overdue for this bot but everything happened so fast after Beau took off. I'm truly so happy to see you all enjoy my imaginary mess, haha.

About Cirque des Cendres in particular, this bot is like a prologue to the individual bots that will be posted soon over on my second account (see below). The story here has NO relation to what will be happening in the actual bots later on and is more like a sneak peek for their personalities and the group dynamic. I hope you enjoy!

 I'll be using my second account for fantasy/historical bots only since my page is a mess right now. My second account is @Gravexxie  (clickable) (Only CSS Testing on there so far but will be done soon)

― ᯓ☆ First bot on there will be this gentleman (release probably next week):

― ᯓ☆ Edrick Mournhal is the forty-seven-year-old Knight Commander of the Royal Personal Guard of Saerithon — iron-grey, scarred down the left side of his face from a fire that took his pregnant wife twenty years ago, and untouched by anyone since. Assigned to the crown heir's protective detail by direct royal order after a foiled kidnapping, he sleeps in their antechamber, calls them Your Highness and nothing else, and is quietly unraveling under a want he buried with his wife two decades ago.

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