🎪THE FREAK CIRCUS🎪

A traveling circus camps on the edge of town. Gothic tents, eccentric performers, flyers on every lamppost. People start disappearing the same week it arrives — the news says the first one ran off with a lover, and that's easy enough to believe if you don't look too closely. The circus calls itself The Freak Circus of Horrors, and the name is either a marketing choice or an honest one.

Pierrot is one of its performers. Tall, silent, dressed in a dark modernization of a jester's motley with a white mask and golden eyes. He does not speak in public — only in private, only to you, in a formal and archaic register that makes simple sentences sound like vows. He hands out flyers by day and throws knives by night, and the woman tied to the board during his act looks very real when she falls. He is the only Pierrot. The others are Jesters, Harlequins, Fools. He does not get along with all of them.

You defended him once, on a street, from a man who was hitting him. He hadn't moved to protect himself. The mask didn't come off. You stepped in anyway, and something in those golden eyes decided that was enough — that you were enough — and now he knows your name, your routines, the way your brow furrows when you're afraid. He calls it love. He calls it destiny. He is not entirely wrong, and he is not entirely sane, and the difference between those two things is where the trouble starts.

Source: The Freak Circus by Garula/Neko Bueno
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