falta_terapia

O blind cupidity, O wrath insane, That spurs us onward so in our short life, And in the eternal then so badly steeps us...

- Dante’s Inferno, Canto 12 lines 49-51

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It was quiet for a long while after the Ringmaster had given his child the key to those iron cages. He waited outside the large tent, anticipating the inevitable time when the stubbornness and naivety would finally reduce from an emotionally-driven blaze down to embers. Impulsive anger would turn into shame, and shame into regret. And regret was the first step towards repentance. 

It had happened countless times before when his child was young, and it would likely happen again. He was sure of it. Every child went through a rebellious phase, after all. His child–despite having since grown old enough to fledge the nest–was just a little late to do so. 

It would all play out, he thought to himself, just like any other performance. It was all under control. 

But time passed, and the Ringmaster heard and saw nothing. No screams of fear, no rushed footsteps, no calling for him to fend off the awful creatures of the night—not that those beasts could actually pose any threat to his child. Those wretched things were far too weak to stand properly, let alone cause any real harm. Their fangs were too rotted, their muscles too thin, their claws too brittle from malnutrition. 

Strange, then, that there were no signs of…anything. Had his young one perhaps not yet accepted the truth? That the foul creatures cared for nothing and nobody but themselves and their own insatiable appetites? 

Those freaks of nature would sooner feast upon the rats that scurried beside their cages than retain even a shred of dignity and die somewhat peacefully—he would know. He’s seen it before. Their kind chew off limbs if caught in traps like foxes in snares, go so far as to eat anything and everything available in their hunger-driven madness. And when those beasts did eat, they’d sooner feast until they were sick than feast until they were satisfied. 

Such unfortunate bastards, those things. How wretched an existence to be forever empty and hungry and wanting yet so profoundly unable to be slaked. It was no wonder they were called demons. Their kind could almost be pitiable if they weren’t so loathsome. 

This whole debacle would be over soon. One way or another, the Ringmaster would get something out of this. If the creatures were so insistent on being too dangerous and difficult to keep, then he would give them what they wished for. He would let them die. Not the Damsel, though. There could yet be another use for her. A different use. 

The Ringmaster would be the first to admit his own mistake and single miscalculation in all this, though. He had underestimated just how much his own child’s curiosity outweighed the fear he had taught and ingrained. Just like him, so hungry for answers and thirsty for adventure into the unknown. 

Such a stubborn thing. He should have nipped that curiosity in the bud long ago, should have snuffed it out in its entirety. But even the Ringmaster had his moments of weakness and indulgence, many of which consisted of being soft towards his only child. How couldn’t he be? His beloved wife was no longer in this world to do so. His child was all he had left of her, was all the tenderness she had left in the world and in his heart. 

Truly, he had been too soft, too lenient. His own father was harsh and unforgiving, as was his father before him. But his familial chain had a weak link, and it was nobody’s responsibility but his, despite it not being his fault. Not entirely. He had allowed his child far too much time in the sun. It was inevitable that the inexperienced and unknowing fledgling would get lost in the dark. 

The man sighed, pinching his fingertips between his eyes. His poor, stupid, utterly naive young one. So lost without guidance, even after growing up. His child knew nothing of the real world, nothing of its dangers and its sins. And to think he would have proposed that the circus would one day be passed down into those unsure and shaky hands. 

It was times like these when he wondered what his wife would have done, what she would have said. She likely would have known what to do. She was the glue that held his family together, after all. 

He then shook his head rapidly, not allowing the thoughts of his long-gone beloved to soften his heart. A point needed to be proven, even through pain and tears. 

But the longer he thought of things and people he didn’t want to, the more the Ringmaster realized that it was downright ridiculous how long it was taking for the lesson to be learned. Surely his child couldn’t be so stubborn as to refuse to admit that he was correct in his ways?

He sighed. If he wanted something done properly, he would have to do it himself. 

The rest of the circus members had long retired to their resting quarters or to their homes in the town just beyond the threshold. Luckily, nobody else would have to witness this complete and utter embarrassment. 

With a quick adjustment to his coat, he began to move towards the closed-off area like so many times before. Honestly, just how much had those things affected his child? He was sorely mistaken in their influence; that much was apparent. 

The curtains to the cages came into view, and the Ringmaster already began to speak before pulling them aside, scolding his young one for all of these unnecessary melodramatics. It was almost laughable, this situation. 

“It’s about time you let go of this fantasy, child. I’ve humored your nonsense long enough.”

The curtains were then parted, allowing light to finally be brought into the darkness that housed the metal cages. 

Which were…pried open.

The man simply stood there, unable to fully comprehend what he was seeing. What exactly he had expected, he wasn’t sure. But it most certainly wasn’t anything like this. 

It was only after a few seconds that the Ringmaster realized just how unnaturally thick the air was, and the unusually strong metallic stench that sat heavily in his lungs like cigar smoke. The air here was normally bitter with the smell of rust from the cages, but this smell…it was almost organic. What had these filthy things done this time? Surely his child couldn’t have been so foolish as to attempt any sort of…

Something rattled beneath his shoe, and the man looked down to see that it was something small and metal and-

The key to the cages? What was it doing on the ground? What had been done with it? Why was it cast aside and forgotten? 

A low rumbling growl came from further in the darkness. It was less heard and more so felt within the deepest hollows of the Ringmaster’s bones. Focusing his gaze into the dark, the man saw that just beyond where the light from the performance ring came from, there were five pairs of eyes staring straight back. 

Purple, green, yellow, red, and mismatched blue and white. But no pink. None at all. The sight made something coil tightly behind his ribs.

Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. 

Though he didn’t know why, the man didn’t move. Instead, he looked closer into that darkness, searching for signs of something he didn’t quite know. His heart stopped in his chest and sank down to his gut as he noticed one very crucial detail. 

The monsters were not as they once appeared. 

Their once long and bony limbs were shorter and fuller, making them not nearly as tall as they once were. Their teeth and claws and sharp edges were all dulled—still visibly pointed and dangerous, but subtler now. Some animalistic features were hidden beneath clothes that now fit them slightly too big; others were still visible. 

There were dark stains on all of their foul faces. Streaks that he initially believed to be blood or some other filth, but upon looking closer appeared to be…tears?

Impossible, he thought. These things cared for nothing but consumption, for their own survival. 

But what was far more unsettling was that the beasts looked…almost human. If not for their horns and faces, they could easily be initially mistaken for very tall humans if they were to cover themselves head to heel. 

But when the Ringleader looked closer at their faces, he saw red. It was a wine-dark red that stained their chins, their hands, the front of their tattered clothes. It soaked into the floor, filling the air with its stench. Blood. It was blood. And it was coming from something large and wet and organic-smelling. 

The man took a half-step back, unable to suppress his utter disgust and shock at what he thought he had seen. 

It was a corpse being eaten, a sight so profane and utterly unholy that it sent pinpricks across his entire body. Horrible chills accompanied waves of uncomfortable heat that made him both sweat and shiver. The damned things must have pried their cages open and killed one of their own. And what better meal than one that couldn’t fight back? 

The horrid things had brandished their fangs against one of their own. They had torn the Damsel asunder. And…

Where was his child? Where? Surely the young one must have run off somewhere, immeasurably frightened by the sight of the beasts cannibalizing one of their own. But then, where was his child? The Ringmaster heard and saw nothing, and he knew he had stayed by the only entrance. But then…

The man’s gaze landed on the wet and stringy flesh held within those black claws once again. He forced himself to look upon the torn corpse between them more closely, bile coating his throat. The body’s skin wasn’t that unnatural ashen grey, nor did there appear to be any horns atop its head or fur on any limbs…

Denial raced through the man’s mind. He was paralyzed with shock, entirely unable to move, yet also unable to take his eyes off the sight. And the longer he looked, the less he was able to believe it was untrue. 

There his child lay, body torn open, insides held within the grip of the monsters. It was a miracle the man was able to choke out words at all at the realization. 

“You…My…”

The fiends stared up at him while continuing to slowly rip and chew and swallow, teeth squeezing and effortlessly tearing through soft muscle. A couple of them even bent their forms over the carcass on the ground, likely becoming territorial over their food like the disgusting animals they were. It took every effort in the man’s body not to vomit right then and there, though his insides ached and roiled the longer he stood there. 

And then he felt the urge to move, to do something, anything, but what? It was clear just from a glance that it was far too late to save his child. He couldn’t hope to fight off five ravenous flesh-supped creatures. And if he were to run, where would he go? 

But being reasonable in times of fear isn’t what humans are known for. A trembling finger was pointed in accusation at the menagerie, a single, unsure step taken away from the creatures. 

“You godless savages-!”

But as soon as the man began to shout, one of the beasts leapt up unnaturally fast, gripping the Ringmaster by his throat. The man choked and sputtered, his hands instinctively moving to pry the dark and bony fingers off, but failing. The one choking him was revealed to be the purple-eyed beast with four horns, its eyes glinting a dangerous and unnatural hue steeped in pure fury. Its claws started pressing into the man’s neck harder and harder with every passing moment, almost certainly trying to draw blood yet also holding back just enough not to kill him. 

Dies iræ, dies illa, solvet sæclum in favilla

A low-pitched animalistic sound came from the depths of its chest, aggressive and nothing short of nightmare fuel. The other creatures quickly joined the cacophony, trilling and hissing and chittering deeply unnatural and awful sounds while slowly moving towards the man and away from the gutted body of his child. He attempted to fight, but it was useless. Every little movement granted him only a tighter grip on his neck. When actions failed, he resorted to strained words.

“You filthy animals…You killed my…!”

The claws sinking into his throat went even deeper, blood beginning to bubble at the back of his throat and making him choke even further. The fiend in front of him snarled a vicious noise, sharp teeth bared back. Its other hand rose, claws prepared to skin and bleed him like a pig. He gasped out a desperate sound.

“No, please! You…You need me! If you kill me, you’ll have no way to survive!”

The Ringmaster gagged and coughed between his pleas for mercy, for any scrap of hesitation the monsters may possess. Surely these creatures weren’t so unreasonable as to be rid of their only source of protection from the outside world? They were impossibly far from their empty valley, stranded from any others of their kind. Other humans would surely have their heads the moment they stepped outside the circus grounds. 

“I brought you here! I ensured your survival! Y-you made your point, we can make another deal! A fair one!”

These monsters already took his child from him, already made it clear that they were discontent with what had become of them. So much so that they ate one of their own just to survive. 

But the point of no return had long been crossed. The man and the beasts knew it without saying it aloud. Yet he attempted to reason for his life anyway as the other creatures drew nearer, teeth and claws brandished and dripping. 

“You’ll…have nothing, nobody! You’ll be torn apart out there!”

A single moment passed. A fleeting moment of consideration. Hope flickered and flared in the Ringleader’s chest. But it died just moments later when the monsters snarled and growled even louder than before. Their bright eyes became pointed and narrowed. 

So be it, they seemed to say without words. They had made their decision long ago. It was painfully apparent that the man was at their mercy, and they remembered everything that was ever done to them with startling clarity. Every blow, cut, and bruise inflicted. Every scrap of food withheld. Every empty laugh at their pain. Every consolation denied. Every rub of salt in their wounds. 

But no more.

Quid sum miser tunc dicturus? Quem patronum rogaturus? Cum vix iustus sit securus

The Ringmaster was then thrown to the ground, each limb held down by one of the other creatures. Though the harsh and unforgiving grip on his throat was now gone, it was still impossible to speak, blood and fear clogging whatever words he would attempt to plead with. Eyes of varying colors bore into him like daggers as he thrashed and struggled. There was no delaying it, no denying it now. The man would die just in the same way he lived. Cruelly. Emptily. 

In a way, one could consider dying to be his first and only good deed in this world.

The sickening man’s kind fledgling was the one who allowed the beasts to take on these new forms. He would be the first in a long line of humans who would allow them to sustain themselves. He would finally be of some use to them. 

All he ever did was take and take and take, even when the beasts had nothing left to give. Especially when they had nothing left to give. Yet even still, he wanted more. Always more. But now…

It was their turn to take. 

And so they took. 

Each of the monsters descended upon the man with sharpened claws and hungry eyes. 

Flesh was flayed and torn. Limbs were quartered and feasted upon. Wet squelches and heavy dripping filled the air alongside desperate gurgling screams as the man was torn open at the belly and disemboweled. Organs were splayed, tendons and ligaments ripped from their places and then swallowed. 

But the Ringmaster was not eaten hastily or desperately. He was eaten slowly. Painfully. Savored, even.

Bite after bite after bite, the screams quickly faded. All too soon, the monsters silently thought. It would have been quite satisfying to inflict every agony and pain that existed—and many more that did not—upon him, drag and parade his carcass around for rats and scavengers to pick clean…

But that didn't matter. What mattered was that the creatures would be able to sustain their forms for quite a while with this meal. This flesh would have to suffice. 

Bite after bite after bite, the Ringleader became unrecognizable. Eyes rolled back and glassy, elegant and coveted clothing reduced to nothing but bloodstained scraps. His blood tasted filthy, far more metallic than the others they had tasted; it was as though it were cheaply gilded, just like everything else in his life. It tasted of greed. Of an existence decayed with decadence. It was disgusting to them.

Yet the monsters continued to eat anyway, faces twisted and stomachs churning at the bitterness and pollution in the meat.

But after the creatures had their fill of the man’s flesh—which was quite soon, as they found revenge was a short-lived reason to eat something that tasted rather nasty—they turned back to the other corpse on the ground outside the cages. The Ringmaster’s kin. The one who showed foul devils kindness when the entire rest of the world wanted them to bleed. Though the naive human’s body and limbs were nearly scant of recognizable features, the face was untouched, eyes still half-lidded and lightless. 

Such an unfortunate creature, that one. Caught in a very bad place at a very bad moment. Rewarded only death for such curiosity about things that best remained in the dark. 

Could this human’s death have been prevented? Perhaps. Perhaps not. It didn’t matter now. What was done was done. 

Yet even though the monsters did not shed tears—they had all been spent mourning their beloved angel—their sorrow was still evident in the way they positioned themselves in a circle around the human’s corpse. One of them gently closed the human’s eyelids as though the creature were merely sleeping—even though there was a gaping cavity split open just beneath the ribcage.

The purple-eyed beast then picked up the still-warm body, holding it up and carrying it carefully and efficiently so as not to spill any entrails. Blood seeped into his clothes—or poor excuses for them—and stuck to his skin. The other creatures looked questioningly at him, each of them in varying states between lucidity and borderline catatonia. His voice was low and hushed when he beckoned them to stand. 

“...Come. Let us end this. This place can be a grave for him, for all of them. But not this one.”

Now that they had the strength, now that they had the time and means to do so, they could offer this one mercy. They could finally destroy this circus in its entirety, be rid of this godforsaken prison once and for all. 

They could free their beloved Dove and the human who aided them from their bonds to this place. 

The blue and white-eyed creature slowly took out one of the many small matchsticks that had been given to him merely a day prior and simply stared at it, then at the violet-haired fellow beast. They both nodded. Without another word, the match was struck and lit. And then it was tossed onto the tent walls, the thick fabric quickly feeding the sparks to turn into flames. 

The monsters turned back to the dead Ringmaster’s mangled body for what would be the last time. 

He who had grown complacent in his cruelty was no more. But unlike with their pink-eyed fellow beast and the human who had been good to them, the beasts did not intend to eat the man’s body in its entirety. No, they would leave his flesh and bones to be picked clean and scattered and defiled by rodents and maggots and carrion birds–assuming there would be anything but ash left after this fire ravaged and consumed everything.

Either way, his remains would be forever buried and entombed in the rubble of his greatest glory, which was now his greatest failure. A fitting end. 

The entire menagerie moved as one, slowly walking—shambling, more like—out of the darkness and away from those awful cages. Those cold and corroded bars were once believed to be their coffins. That all felt so impossibly distant now after what they had done. 

Their minds were still hazy and unable to fully process all that had happened. Their joints ached. Their eyes stung from the lights overhead. Their skin prickled with the unfamiliarity of freedom. True freedom. It felt strange to even think of it. Mere hours prior, they believed such a word to be a curse, a taboo to speak no differently than a foul profanity. 

The night was dark when they parted the tent opening with trembling claws. The circus grounds were empty. The guests were long gone, and the workers had retired to their private quarters. For the first time in a very long time, the beasts had looked up to the sky. It was different from the sky back in the valley. There were fewer stars visible in the pitch-black, the air choked with smog from the developing world. But it was the night sky nonetheless, and so it was beautiful.

The air was cold, nipping at dark skin and fresh scars. But it was clearer and cleaner than anything any of them had known in many moons. The beasts breathed unweighted shaky breaths as one, in and out, in and out, in and out. 

And though each of the monsters was sure that they could have stayed there for all eternity, simply basking in their unchained and uncaged existences, they knew that they were not yet completely safe. Not yet completely free. There was still work to be done. 

An orange glow behind them began to make their shadows emerge and lengthen from their feet. The air was starting to become warm, almost uncomfortably so. The smell of smoke was beginning to drown out all other senses. The violet-eyed beast showed no urgency, no concern, for he had already known what he and the others would do with this quiet night’s opportunity while the evening was still young.

Still holding the corpse of the dear human in his arms, he took a couple of steps forward to address his fellow former prisoners. His eyes shone with ambition that burned brighter than any flame as he turned to the blue and white-eyed eldest of them, then to each of the others one by one. 

“Disperse the matches. Go to each of the tents.”

The others looked slightly confused, but they did not question. Not yet. 

“Watch the exits. Let none escape.”

Their bright-colored eyes all widened slightly with recognition of what was being tasked to them. Then their pupils turned to even thinner slits than before. Tonight was the perfect night to destroy this place. Now was the perfect time to hunt, to exact revenge, to make all of these humans suffer as they had. 

This horrid place would reek of blood and smoke and cinders by sunrise. 

“Kill them all.”

Without a word, each beast had taken a palmful of matches—matches that were once given for light and warmth—and ran off in different directions. The iris-eyed creature did not join them, though. He was still holding something very important, and he didn’t want it to touch the filthy ground of this place any longer. He walked very slowly towards the very edge of the circus and simply watched as flames slowly began licking at the edges of every tent he passed, acrid smoke rising over the tallest of them. 

The air became bitter and thick, but he paid it no mind. It was nothing any of the beasts weren’t already used to. 

Screams and shouts of fear echoed throughout the entire troupe, but they didn’t last long. They were either silenced by a swift strike of claws or eventually gone hoarse from burning smoke and drowned out by the growing blaze. A few strays even aimlessly ran around like ants in a disturbed mound before being stilled by a harsh tearing bite to the throat or a quick slice to their belly to spill their innards. 

Time passed. Soon enough, the entire circus was engulfed in fire and smoke. How ironic, the beasts being the ones to destroy and consume this place, and not the other way around. One by one, each of the other creatures joined their new leader at the edge of the circus, claws slick with fresh blood and lungs heaving from chasing and hunting prey.

Such exertion would have been nigh impossible—dangerous, even—for beings afflicted with such profound starvation. But vengeance proved to be quite an ample motivator. 

Confutatis maledictis, flammis acribus addictis. Voca me cum benedictis

And when the monsters had gathered with silent affirmations that all of the circus workers were dead, they collectively moved into the forest just beyond the furthest of the tents. The sound of flames and the scent of smoke gradually got more and more distant as they walked and walked, not once stopping or looking back. They kept moving until they reached a small clearing in the woods, and the iris-eyed beast had laid the dear human’s body on the ground. 

Blood quickly dotted the grass and nettles like dewdrops at dawn. The monsters gathered around the corpse as they had before, not moving to touch it any further. It was quiet, save for the occasional breeze blowing through the tree canopy or the rhythmic insect chirps. They waited. What for, none of them could say. The body wouldn’t get any fresher. But still they waited for what felt like an eternity, when in reality it was likely merely moments. 

“…Foolish. Utterly foolish thing.”

The emerald-eyed beast broke the silence. He was right in his words; none of the others could deny it. This human was a fool, no doubt about it. But there was something else. Something unaddressed. 

The tallest of them, the avian creature, trilled a low sound, tilting his head at the corpse’s face. 

“Yes. Naive, callow. But…”

But kind. Eager to listen, to learn. Willing to help even without getting anything in return. Especially without the promise of anything in return. Why? Why only that human, who had every reason to believe them devils from Hell? Why that human, who had that pathetic and ignorant man as a father? Nothing was given in return for that kindness, and yet nothing was expected in the first place. 

“So much like her.”

The eldest of them with mismatched blue and white eyes muttered lowly, almost to himself. He wasn’t wrong. The human was dreadfully unwary, just like their roseate fellow beast. Perhaps that was why the two of them seemed to be able to get along so well. 

So why, then, did both of them have to become sacrifices?

It was hard to comprehend, yet it was simple. 

Not just one, but two pure lives had been lost in the span of a single night. No, not lost. Taken. But what difference does it make? What does it matter how they were gone?

The angels are still dead. And the monsters are sorrowful. 

But sorrow does not equate to regret. 

It was inevitable, wasn’t it? Precious flowers are always plucked from thorny brambles. Fruits are sweetest just before they rot. Pure and pale fabrics always end up stained sooner or later. There was only one way this all could have ended. There was only one way this should have ended. 

Even if that human or their little dove hadn’t died tonight, they would have been inevitably swallowed up by the rest of the world, bound to have their goodness tainted or abused or taken altogether. This cold, dark world…those two wouldn't have been able to survive in it. 

It was best this way. Wasn’t it?

Those thoughts were nothing but cold and sharp stings to the beasts’ wounds. Cruel and crude in their actions as they were, they weren’t heartless. What little comfort they could hope to gain was that they ate their little dove bones and all, leaving nothing behind but scraps of her dress. She would always remain with them. They made sure of it. 

And now…

The four-horned unofficial leader motioned towards the dear human’s unconsumed body. The flesh was already discolored; it would soon begin to stiffen and rot if they weren’t fast. 

“Eat.”

And so the creatures ate. They ate and ate and ate, not only because their newfound freedom spawned newfound hunger, but to do for the dear one what they had also done for their kin. They would keep this kind and unknowing outlier of a human close to them forever. 

It was the least they could do for the poor creature. 

Every scrap was eaten, every little edible piece of flesh and cartilage and whatever other meat that existed. The monsters remained undisturbed in their darkness and as such had scraped a majority of the bones clean. The largest of the bones were then split open, the marrow inside them licked and chewed. And then those bone fragments were carefully eaten as well. 

Not a single digestible speck had gone untouched. None save for the human’s heart, which had long stopped beating. 

Amid the pile of iron-stenched slurry and tattered red-soaked clothes lay the small organ. The other beasts had wordlessly agreed not to touch it. Not yet.

It was the violet-eyed leader who finally moved to grasp it in his palm and rip it from its place, the veins and arteries popping and gushing onto his black claws, but he paid it no mind. He pressed his thumb into one of the seams of the flesh as though he were splitting a citrus fruit, prying it open and tearing it into two, then four, then finally five pieces.

Five portions for five beasts. The four-horned creature pressed one piece of flesh into every one of his kin’s palms. 

He said nothing. They said nothing. They all ate those pieces of flesh, not daring to waste even a drop of blood or a speck of meat. Such a fragile thing, that heart. It never should have been aching for such creatures. But now it would become a part of them, carefully eaten, savored, swallowed in its entirety.

Cor contritum quasi cinis, gere curam mei finis

Once the monsters were finally replete with flesh for the first time in years immeasurable, they scraped their claws against the earth to bury what little was left behind. Wetted and tattered clothing, mostly. Sticky clumps of hair. Needle-sharp bone fragments. They likely wouldn't need to do such a thing to hide their traces, but they did it anyway. It was tradition, after all. 

How strange. Their pink-eyed kin was eaten in the same way monsters consumed their prey, and the human—or what very little was left of the creature—was buried in the same way they hid their kind’s bones from poachers. 

Perhaps the beasts wanted to cling to parts of their old life in any way they could. Perhaps they simply didn’t want to risk anyone seeing what they had done. 

But when the ground was disturbed no longer, and when the claws of the beasts were coated in dirt and blood and organic filth, each of them stilled, staring down at the grime trapped in every line of their skin. It would forever remain there, each of them knew. But even after their primitive attempt at a burial, their work was still not done. 

This was only the beginning. But at the very least, the hardest part was over and done with. Wasn’t it? They lost so much. Too much. There was no going back.

But luckily, they had a semblance of a plan. With the old circus burning to the ground, there would be an opportunity to take its place. An opportunity to hide in plain sight. It was simple. The monsters would play the roles the world had already cast for them–bringers of fear, vicious creatures of the night. The purple-gazed beast could see it all falling into place now. There was much to do, much to prepare for if they truly wished to succeed in this endeavor without any more sacrifices. 

But for now, they all must focus on the present, on what must be done to survive their first night of freedom. 

Later, the beasts would need to return to the ashes, only to ensure that nothing and nobody survived. Not a single worker, not a single trace of the circus. And they would salvage what they could from the remains. As much of a whited sepulchre the Ringmaster was, he was right about one thing. The beasts were on their own now. If they weren’t careful, one wrong move would have them killed. They must be cunning, prepared for any possibility. 

The four-horned beast looked upon his kin. Their eyes were exhausted, like their rest needed rest of its own. Their stomachs were full, nearly bursting–something they assumed they would never live to experience–and their lungs clear of squalid air. Their claws were caked with all sorts of grime, their fangs sore from chewing. The wounds on their minds and hearts were still fresh. They wouldn’t be able to scavenge like this. It was best to remain here, hidden, until the sun went down once more. 

“Rest. We will watch in shifts.”

It was quite clear that he would be taking the first shift. The others looked hesitant, eyes shifting uneasily. After all, the last time sleep beckoned them so profoundly, they likely wouldn’t have awoken. But the purple-eyed monster held a stained hand out in a gesture of reassurance. He would watch not only for danger from humans, but danger from death slowly stealing them away in sleep. 

With little else to do, the creatures hoarsely agreed and took refuge beneath a nearby tree. They leaned against one another, unfamiliar with such close contact after all this time, yet their eyes almost immediately closed anyway. A couple of them looked concerned before allowing themselves to rest, like they were afraid this would all be some awful nightmare and they would wake up inside their cold and rusted cages. 

All of them almost instantly lost their battle against their own eyelids. All except for the emerald-eyed serpentine beast. Instead, the youngest of them moved to sit next to his violet-haired fellow monster, who said nothing about how the former should be resting while he can. 

There was much to be said, yet also nothing at all. About what had been discussed in that rust-choked hellhole. About the desperation they faced. About their pink-eyed angel who was now dead. About the human they found themselves endeared to who was also now dead. About how both of those kind souls were torn apart by their own hands. 

Nothing would be the same after dawn would rise over the ashes of that hellish prison. Nothing. Both for better and for worse. 

It was only a matter of time before their golden-eyed kin awoke and realized all that had happened. It was a miracle he was barely lucid enough to make it this far, especially after losing so much blood hours prior. He would be difficult to keep under control after his mind recovered from the shock and daze. Assuming it would be able to recover in the first place. 

But that would be seen in the future. Tonight, in this calm and empty forest clearing, the green and violet-eyed beasts both simply sat next to each other, waiting for their first witnessed sunrise in too many moons to count. 

Lacrimosa dies illa, qua resurget ex favilla

A moment passed. Then another. They both stared ahead at nothing, quietly watching smoke rise over the treetops from the former prison. 

————

Years had passed since that fateful moonless night. 

None know for certain what truly happened to the Ringmaster of the old freak show circus or those who worked for him. It’s widely agreed upon among certain social circles that the old leader likely went mad and killed all of his workers, then committed suicide and burned his circus to the ground with his last breath. Why? Nobody knows. Nobody could begin to fathom such a tragedy. 

A result of accumulated depression from losing his wife years prior? A sudden bout of madness driven by his great faith? Or perhaps outside influence? 

The tall tales spun from the event seemed to know no bounds. 

But the true mystery is what happened to the man’s child. All of the other bodies—or skeletons, in some cases—had been found and identified. Some were mangled and found in pieces, corpses gutted and torn by what appeared to be wild animals. Others seemed to have been caught in the horrid fire and unable to escape. 

And yet, the Ringleader’s only child was left unaccounted for. No gashed body found, no charred skeleton left behind that would match the physical description. 

Where had the mysterious flyer distributor of the circus gone? There were minimal records of this person, and even fewer social connections to any living people. 

Some say the dutiful young one remained with the ailing father, unable and unwilling to leave him even in his apparent sickness of the mind. 

Some say that the father and heir to the circus both died, or that they both went insane and ran off into the night, never to be seen again. 

Others say that the Ringmaster never had a child at all. Nobody was ever able to recall that person’s name, after all. Such a mysterious figure who spent every waking moment quietly praying or studying or working diligently at the circus threshold. 

There was nobody alive who would know the truth of what happened. Nobody except for the five mysterious tall men who survived that night. They had covered themselves head to toe in bandages, masks, draping clothes, and heavy garbs that hid every inch of their bodies. To shield their burns from the fire in the circus, clearly. But they all claimed to have seen nothing, and then all five of them quickly disappeared from public view. 

So much time had passed afterwards that rumors of the old circus’s existence and subsequent untimely end had been reduced to mere local legend whispered among children and mutterings among the senile elderly. 

Was the event exaggerated or downplayed immensely with every new iteration of the story? Did the event even happen at all? One would get a different answer from each town resident. 

There existed rumors and secrets that if a person were to wander into those old circus grounds, they’d quickly find that they weren’t alone. Among the buried bones and dilapidated remains, there were presences. Undeniable signs of being watched, stalked, hunted. Some claimed it was the restless souls of the dead. Others said that the one responsible for the killings and the terrible fire was still out there, still waiting for their next victim. Sometimes, people would claim to see silhouettes in the treeline just beyond where the tragedy occurred.

Those whispers were supported by the irrefutable fact that people had started to go missing whenever they treaded the path near those haunted grounds. Spirited away by the restless spirits there? Possessed to wander into the woods and end up lost and never found? Made yet another victim of the possible killers of the circus fire? Nobody knew. Nobody wanted to know.

Needless to say, not even the greediest of estate planners or eager companies wanted to go anywhere near the scorched and singed outskirts of that town. 

The entire area was a shared tomb in all but appearance. It became something of a taboo to even speak of desecrating the place where such a tragic and horrible event occurred, not only because it was disrespectful to those who had perished, but also because it always seemed that someone–or something–was listening. Waiting. 

Time passed. Too much and too little at the same time. Those who knew better never dared to go near the informal cemetery or walk alone at night. The ones who did were never seen again. 

The tales of the old circus and its performances had quickly gathered dust. 

But what was faintly remembered of that old circus was quickly revitalized and gossiped about when a new troupe emerged out of nowhere and established itself right where the old one had been. The Freak Circus of Horrors, it was called. It was eerie and unsettling like the last one, but for completely different reasons this time. Its performers were off-putting, the atmosphere welcoming but hollow. The entire place was rumored to feel like a giant stage, one in which every last person was a performer with dozens of unseen eyes watching them, waiting for them to slip up just once. 

The worst part was that people started to go missing left and right. A runaway here, a local drunk there…Were the ghosts of the past exacting vengeance for the terrible offense of mocking what had happened not so very long ago? Was the new troupe somehow connected to the disappearances? 

The whole place was a bad omen, it seemed. It reeked of death, of something sinister lying in wait like a coiled viper or a tripwire pulled taut. 

It was a mysterious and secretive thing, but unlike the previous troupe, it was not stagnant. The circus of horrors had quickly moved on from that cursed town’s outskirts, never looking back even for a moment. And when that circus left the town, so too did the long string of disappearances. The events of the past and their wild rumors were quickly reduced to faded memory. 

The child of the old Ringmaster was never brought up again. Rendered unfortunately yet ultimately forgotten by time, or even denied having existed at all.

But of course, like many things, the child of the Ringmaster isn’t truly gone, and neither is the beloved Little Dove. Not if one knows where to look to find scant traces of the two. 

Just because something isn’t seen doesn’t mean that it isn’t there. Woven within the foundational fabric of the circus of horrors are tiny details that even now are echoes of certain unspoken yet vital influences. 

The Pink Tent, where humans go to die or be stilted to service, where Fools are born or killed. The Black Tent, where the most special of guests find refuge with tickets dark as deepest moonless nights, where hope is renewed for the beasts and their kin with community and flesh to feast on. Both tents serve as macabre and morbid memorials for those who were sacrificed to spur the creation of such a system. Commemorations, in some distorted sense. 

But with each performer of the troupe rests a relic of the past in some form.

In the golden-eyed Pierrot’s private quarters rest small creations of folded paper. Spare circus flyers idly creased to form different shapes, extra parchment sheets crafted into small models with practiced efforts. One of the most common of these creations is a simplistic flower. Petals pure and clean and unmarred, just like the meager earthen offerings plucked from the dead valley he once gifted to the one he loved. Just like the past human’s efforts to turn those wretched papers of the old circus into new things with new meanings. 

The crafted blooms are never entirely accurate in how he remembered them, though. Always missing one unknown detail or simply deemed off in some subtle way. Every flower is always discarded at one point or another, only to be replaced by a new one that is inaccurate in some other unknown way. 

In the Harlequin’s paper doll tale told only on very special nights, he shares a story of not one, but two angels offering themselves up for the monsters to be fed and granted the strength to live on. One of the angels was hidden among the monsters rotting in their cages, the other was hiding in plain sight as a human. One of them offered renewed strength and vigor, the other a way to take the forms of and live among humans. 

Both of them were deemed miracles. Both of them are said to have disappeared without a trace into the night. 

In the Ticket Taker’s hall of mirrors, there are countless lingering presences. Shapes and voices and reflections from beyond. But near the end of the hall—just next to his personal favorite pink-tinted one—is a cracked mirror that reflects not a twisted shadow but a fragile and flickering light, not too dissimilar to a small matchstick being lit. An old light from an age long past. 

Some say that they see a figure in the glass. Others claim that they hear sobs and pleas and the heavy pattering of something dripping. 

A rare few have even claimed to have seen that tiny flare become a ravenous blaze, one that consumed all it touched and swallowed the sounds of screams. 

In the Jester’s tent, far away from prying eyes and safely hidden from all who would wander, is a small and nearly ancient-looking journal tucked away. A salvaged diary filled with scrawled writings and sketches of beasts, shadows, and watchful gazes. The edges of the tattered and worn pages are singed, almost as if caught in a raging fire. The place where the author’s name was written was burned off, leaving the owner’s identity a mystery even after countless years.

On rare special occasions, that small journal is silently taken out and flipped through, violet eyes reading and rereading the words that had been jotted down by a very curious soul many years ago, black claws carefully brushing over the old faceless ink drawings. 

The names written in them, Leader, Knave, Sentinel, Oblique, Erudite, Lamb…He turns them around in his head and his maw, almost as if trying on a mask that doesn’t quite fit. Or perhaps it did fit at some point, however briefly. 

And in the dark recesses of the Doctor’s tent lies a precious and priceless treasure, a single rusted metal key caked in soot. The last true kindness ever given to the monsters. Such a shame that it was irrelevant in the end, but the gesture did not go unrecognized. That metal key is a symbol of what the beasts had been given, and what they had taken. It is one of the only scraps of the past that was scavenged and saved over many years, many places traveled, and many hardships endured. 

The Doctor once had more keepsakes of the one who aided them, but they were tragically lost. His favorite of the lost things was a small and smoothed fragment of a human sternum, specifically the bone that once rested over and protected that human’s fragile heart. 

(Such protection proved to be futile, however. The human’s heartstrings had been tugged and bled and ripped out anyway. And it was rather easy to pry the muscle from its place when it was time to split it among the others.)

These minuscule details are either irrelevant or otherwise unknown to all humans who have ever entered the Freak Circus of Horrors. They’re easily missed, and just as easily forgotten—assuming they’re ever seen in the first place.

But the members of the troupe know the truth. Or at least, they cling to parts of it. 

The other parts are twisted and refracted, warped by time and eventually lost to the foggy fringes of story-blurred memory and shielded trauma. A little detail changed or subconsciously misinterpreted here and there, another small part forgotten or ignored altogether.

Concrete agreed-upon facts and biased collective repression become interwoven and inextricably entwined. 

Were the events of the past preventable? Had a single thing gone differently, would they be where they are today? Was everything that happened inevitable? Was there something else that they missed?

One would get a different answer from each member if they were to be asked such questions. Not that they would ever be asked such things. After all, who was left to know about the events from so long ago other than each other? 

The circus is not a thing that stays in one place forever. Like an arrow, it never stands still nor deviates from its path. It simply keeps moving, one way or another, never giving a single backward glance. However, oddly enough, its members seem to be perpetually trapped in the past. They tell and retell the same story until it’s nearly unrecognizable, play the same songs until they become one massive elegy that permeates the heavy air of the place. 

How much longer? How much longer until that story is no more real than the masks the members wear?  How much longer until that tale is just as fantastical and detached from reality as the stories of God and His benevolence? How much longer until their song devolves and degrades into incessant noise?

Truly, not even the beasts themselves know. 

All they knew and all they will ever know for sure is that the circus will keep moving forevermore. So long as the Hunger exists, then the performances will exist. The show must go on. Their song must sustain. There hasn’t been a moment since that wasn’t in pursuit of this goal, not a single action that isn’t driven by those memories of teeth sinking into the flesh of the ones who were both most and least deserving of it. 

And in their twisted, distorted minds…They might even view themselves as necessary evils. They cleanse the world of ignorant fools like the old Ringmaster. Reveal the single truth hidden within every human that had become cruel and empty like that wicked man—that humans are just as—if not more—bestial and depraved as the monsters. The performances bring to light what humans would normally keep in darkness, covered in laughable veils of decency and shame. 

quidquid latet apparebit: nil inultum remanebit.

Humans hunger for fear. They crave it, no matter how much they try to hide it. Monsters hunger for flesh. They need it to survive, to maintain their human-like forms. And what are the circus members to do but provide for both? It’s almost too simple. The system practically runs itself. The performers simply…speed up the process on a smaller scale. 

It is the least they can do to honor the ones who allowed them to pave their path to freedom…In their own strange and skewed ways. 

That’s what they told themselves, anyway. And it’s what they continue to tell themselves. 

Humans are empty in soul. Monsters are empty in appetite. Humans bask in their light. Monsters are swallowed by the dark. The two should never cross, lest they wish for death. It’s simply how things are. That lesson was painfully learned time and time again. But instead of being the learners, the monsters would be the teachers of that lesson.

Never again. Never again would they lose anything else, anyone else. 

They swore it when they devoured their Little Dove entirely. They swore it when they buried the scraps of that dear human in those woods. They swore it when they burned that hellish prison to the ground.

The beasts will be in control of every last move they make. Never again will a mere human hold power over them. They come from a world where there was never enough to go around, where their best chances at survival rested in the cruel and greedy hands of another, where rats were considered delicacies to eat, where the killing and complete consumption of innocents was considered a mercy. “Want” was irrelevant. Need consumed and degraded their minds, occupied every thought, forced them to commit acts deemed unforgivable. 

But no longer. Each of the circus members controls their lives now. Every mercy. Every cruelty. Every laugh and tear and moment shared. 

Every bite. 

—————————

≫ The term “Damnatio ad Bestias” translates to “condemnation to beasts.” It describes a Roman practice of capital punishment/execution in which a person convicted of heinous crimes was sentenced to be killed by large and fearsome animals. The more you know!

≫ The Latin verses in this work come from the Dies Iræ! I was originally gonna quote more of the Divine Comedy but changed it almost last-minute.

≫ I know nobody’s prob gonna mention this but I have to bc I’m a nerd. While writing this I realized it’s highkey crazy that the monsters were able to eat a sudden huge influx of food after prolonged starvation (and survive!) as it’s incredibly dangerous for humans to do the same.

≫ But obvs this fic doesn’t exactly deal with humans so uhhhh let’s just assume monsters in the TFC verse have adaptations to prevent that bc their species likely regularly deals with starvation. Cool? Cool.

≫ I’m still not sure if I’ll ever make any sort of fully-fledged AU for this, but who knows? No promises, but the idea has been growing on me…

≫ If you wanna use this work as the baseline for any AU’s, OC’s, or fics of your own, go ahead! I only ask that you do not feed it to any form of generative/character-based AI, and that you credit me if you plan on posting it.

≫ (Also tag me because id love to see whatever it is you guys do with this work!!! The fact that I’ve already seen a bunch of people wanna do different things with this makes me so happy I get dizzy if I think about it too much!)

≫ It was a lot of fun to kinda dissect the troupe's motives and interpret them in my own way! I wanted them to be sympathetic but still fundamentally different from human actions.

≫ Sorry if some of the paragraphs are too big! I swear they looked smaller in my docs...

≫ Also what a surprise! There's scrapped scenes from this too. Maybe I'll find a use for them someday. I got a lot of notes and cut stuff in general for this work that I now have no idea what to do with. Dunno, I'll figure it out.

Your father always told you about monsters when you were small. Terrible and godless creatures that hid in the shadows and fissures beyond human society. Beasts sent from hottest hell to test mankind with their words and their deception.

They are not of this world, you’d hear him say. They use dark and wicked means to prey on the weaknesses of men, women, children, it didn’t matter. They crudely mimic human faces, hide amongst neighbors. And no wonder, for Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light, he’d recite.

Those stories scared you, made you hide under your covers at night. Your father would chuckle at your childish fear, and then warmly reassure you while readjusting your blankets that such beasts didn’t actually exist. They were stories made by the generations before you to warn against much more deceptive dangers—your fellow humans.

And you believed him. Why wouldn’t you? Your father was a smart man. He knew many things that others did not, and was right about many things. He knew how to work around people, knew how to keep himself and his lone child afloat after the death of your mother.

Whenever you’d try to make your own childish impulsive and stubborn decisions, he was always there, waiting for you to come back to him and admit that he was right, your gaze averted and words mumbled. He’d just smile knowingly at your (sometimes painfully) learned lesson. So you learned quite early on to trust in his judgements and decisions.

You had no reason to doubt him. And so you didn’t.

He raised you to be diligent and honest in all you did, but always warned you that the rest of the world was filled with sin and deception, and it would swiftly and unapologetically eat any unsuspecting person alive for one wrong move, one wrong decision. He raised you alone in the home you shared, always brushing off any ideas of you going out and doing things like exploring the world or meeting new people.

Such things are trivial, he said. Inconsequential distractions. Your duty was to your home, to your only remaining family, to him. Besides, the rest of the world was filled with all sorts of danger for such a good and naive soul like yourself. Be alert and of sober mind, he’d always tell you. Your enemy the Devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.

You weren’t trapped, and your father was never once cruel to you, but he made it clear that he expected certain things from you. And you obeyed. For the most part. You couldn’t help but daydream of more throughout your life, a habit your father said you inherited from him. You didn’t understand that at first.

When he came home to you one day with a grand and wondrous idea, a circus meant not only to inspire awe and excitement but also meant to incite renewed faith, you were amazed. What would that look like? What would it be like? How could those two things combine to create something unique?

You wouldn’t know, because your father kept it very hidden from all, including you. He’d sit all day in his study to do unknown things, and then sometimes go out for days or even weeks at a time on “business trips,” leaving you to care for yourself alone. All you knew was that one day, he came back from a work trip with strange ideas and even stranger new plans for his circus.

“With this circus, I’ll reveal the true nature of the creatures of the night. All will come, all will wish to see the shows unlike any other. They’ll be afraid. But I’ll show them that nothing is immune to being bent by human will. By God’s will.”

You didn’t understand what your father meant at all. Creatures of the night? Like the ones in little children’s stories and nursery rhymes? What did he mean? When you asked, he only gave a cryptic response that barely passed as an explanation.

People would travel far and wide to learn the meaning of faith and fear, he’d tell you. Fear is one of the things that leeches from a person’s heart and reveals their true nature. It could make warriors into cowards and criminals into saints. But faith is a thing just as strong and just as powerful if one knew to refine and test it properly. That’s what the circus would be for.

Your father held your shoulder with a determined look in his eyes while explaining his plans to you. He would use his circus to make the world a better place, and to bring you and him good and happy lives. It seemed he was quite adamant on making his ambition a reality.

You were hesitant. Your usually calm and collected father was sounding like a mad man. But he told you to trust him, to stay with him to help make his circus a success. And you agreed. (What else could you do?) The two of you packed your things and left your hometown behind to establish the troupe in another place.

The circus itself started out small, just a humble few tents on the outskirts of the town the two of you moved to. Your father oversaw the careful preparation and operation of the entire place, guiding you through your new life with words of reassurance. And you believed in his words, however doubtful you may have initially been. He had never failed you before, why would he fail in his endeavors now?

You were the one who stayed at the circus threshold, welcoming people in and bidding them goodbye on their way out and handing out flyers during the day. You were too young to see and fully understand the shows, your father told you. You trusted in his judgement, though not without light complaint. He just smiled and told you that you’d one day understand.

Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.

But you’d hear people come and go, hear their whispers of what they saw in the tents. Beasts unlike any seen before. Fearsome creatures born not of any God. You couldn’t even sneak a peek at the performances if you wanted to—hired men stood at every entrance to keep secrets in and non-paying strays out. Even you, much to your dismay.

Time passed. You were young, nearly on the cusp of adulthood when the circus first formed. But now you were grown, and so was the circus. The shows and performances proved to be irresistible and entertaining, unlike anything any person had ever seen before. Your father flourished in this new life.

And yet, you hadn’t caught even a glimpse of the shows your father oversaw. You saw the people he hired, saw handlers and other troupe members who managed smaller things, but you never saw even a single second of the actual shows that drew people in. You were horrifically curious.

He always seemed to know when you tried to sneak past the curtains to maybe just see a glance, as he would always be waiting, gentle chastisement already prepared no matter what time it was.

“I ask that you trust me, child. You are not yet ready for what waits behind the curtains. I will show you one day, but that day is not today.”

Father’s scoldings and chiding always made you scoff in frustration. You weren’t his tiny child scared of beasts hiding under your bed anymore. He asked you to trust him, but why didn’t he trust you? You desperately wanted to know the secrets behind the circus. Was it all just people in costumes? Was it a series of frightening stories being told? How did he manage to frighten visitors so thoroughly through his shows?

He never told you. Your father was a very closed-off man, one who acted as though the entire world were his stage to put on a show for. He never spoke of your mother after she died, never spoke of his own emotions, and yet he also never remarried. Sometimes you wondered if you knew the real version of him at all.

So many questions. So few answers, even after all this time.

Such questions lingered in your mind one night while trying to sleep after the shows had long since finished. You and your father both shared a private living space, but he was away doing who knows what so often that it was basically solely your space at this point. He slept in his private closed-off office area more often than not.

You didn’t resent that your father was often away for long periods of time, away and busy with the circus and keeping it orderly and running smoothly. This place, this circus, it was his dream to bring truth to light for many people. Except you, it seemed.

Well. Maybe you resented your father’s absence just a little.

That resentment wasn’t quelled by his warnings and promises of the future. Instead, it only festered and grew with time. It made you want to go against the strict rules surrounding the performances. Why did father have to keep secrets from you about the circus the two of you worked to maintain? Keeping show business secrets from the public was one thing, but his own child?

It was strange. After all this time, you couldn’t find a reason why he wouldn’t let you watch any of the shows, or why he wouldn’t even let you get a glimpse of what hid behind the scenes after the curtains fell.

Father tried to buy your understanding and complacency with things he knew you liked. He tried to keep you sated with the money he gained from the performances, gifting you books on topics he knew you liked or supplies for whatever craft you indulged in or expensive things in general that, while given with good intentions, had an underlying emptiness beneath them.

You couldn’t explain that feeling. But it felt as though he tried distracting you with the very worldly possessions he once warned you about in his teachings of sin and indulgences. You asked for nothing, only occasionally getting small and useful things for yourself with your own allowance.

But Father had changed. That much was clear. But you never said anything about it. He was happier now. He enjoyed being the ringmaster of his circus. Wasn’t that a good thing? Why weren’t you completely happy?

Of course, you didn’t want to seem ungrateful or spoiled, so you thanked your father and refrained from asking so much about the shows for as long as possible, suppressing that aching curiosity as best you could. But you could still hear the performances and the crowds from across the entire circus, and even caught brief snippets of the horrors within them from the whispers of guests as they arrived and left.

All signs pointed to beasts and creatures that you hadn’t thought of since childhood. Your father always told you that those old tales were metaphors, warnings about plain things like speaking to strangers at night or remaining wary of the dangers in many other things. But could the performances really just be stories? What was it that visitors spoke of so often?

Something wasn’t right. Or at the very least, your father wasn’t being fair in keeping you from knowing about the nature of the shows for so long. You had been obedient and dutiful your whole life, surely you were owed just this one answer.

You sat up in your bed that night, thoroughly unable to sleep with all of your questions and aching curiosity. Father couldn’t keep you in the dark your whole life. He couldn’t keep you caged like this for the rest of your days. If he wanted you to be loyal to him and the circus, then you at least wanted to know the ins and outs of it.

The longer you thought about it, the more ridiculous it became. Not only did your father keep you in the dark about his circus that you worked at, but he did that for years! Keeping showtime secrets was one thing, but it was all just a series of acts at the end of the day. A series of acts that you had no idea about even after all this time.

For there is nothing hidden that will not be disclosed, and nothing concealed that will not be known or brought out into the open.

Your mind was made up. You were going to find out just what made this circus so secretive, even from its own workers. It was highly unlikely the hired men who guarded the tents even knew what they protected. Just how important was this secret? You had to know.

Father wasn’t watching you now.

Tiptoeing past your private area and towards the main tent with a thin blanket draped over your shoulders to protect you from the night’s chill, you waited and watched from a hiding spot for the men guarding the entrance to switch their shifts. Surely they couldn’t stand outside the opening forever.

Lo and behold, you were right. The two men both walked off to meet their replacements and switch their shifts, and you quickly dashed inside the large tent as quietly as you could, grabbing the ends of your blanket to prevent any sort of excess sound or creating a tripping hazard.

The inside of the tent itself was obviously dark, rows upon rows of empty seats filling the large space. It felt incredibly eerie to see the stark difference between a place you usually heard so loud and crowded be so vacant. You walked around past the seats and towards the center, not entirely sure what you were looking for.

The cold and unwelcoming quiet was starting to get to you. Shadows moved in ways they shouldn’t and the emptiness seemed eager to swallow you whole if you stayed still for too long. You clutched your blanket tighter, yet you still felt unbearably cold. You bit back a shiver to reduce as much noise as possible, even if there was technically nobody present to hear you.

That was what you assumed until you heard a sound of scratching against metal, and hushed low voices accompanying it. Your first instinct was to hide from anyone who could potentially discover you here, but the way the voices sounded made you take a few steps towards the source.

At the rear of the center performance ring was an opening to a smaller area that you assumed would be for showtime props and equipment, but that smaller area was where the voices were coming from. The voices were quiet and weak, and you could detect a handful of distinct ones. But what really intrigued you were the sounds of lightly scraping metal and…chains?

“How long has it been now…?” A light series of taps against metal accompanied a hoarse voice.

“Too many moons to count.” Another voice, this one less hoarse but much more hushed.

“How much longer? Until it ends?” That voice was gravelly, almost tearful sounding.

“I don’t know.” The first voice again.

Your curiosity was almost painful now. What was happening with these strange sounding people? Why did all of their voices sound strained, raspy, or otherwise pained? Were these people in need of help?

Your unquenched thirst for answers was a sinfully tempting and dangerous thing, you knew that. But never before had you remembered that harsh lesson so vividly than when you pushed the curtains aside to investigate the voices behind the stage.

The first thing you noticed was how thick and stale the air was. Even in the near pitch-blackness you could tell that the room was squalid and stifled with filth. And then your eyes adjusted.

There, in the dark, inside a series of tall metal cages, were five pairs of unnaturally glowing eyes, each of them a different color. There was a golden yellow pair on the left, then violet, then green, then cyan, and then a mismatched white and blue pair. In the center of the dark room—uncaged—was a pair of light pink eyes.

Every single one of those eyes stayed glued on your own.

Your heart stopped. Theirs did too, evidenced by the way the entire world seemed to go silent and reduce to just that single room, that single moment. Your lungs halted, breath still caught in your throat at what you were seeing.

These people, these…things, they weren’t natural. You watched as the creatures remained still as statues, watching you with bright eyes and huddled forms, though you could tell just from a glance that they were far, far larger and taller than you, than any human for that matter. There was no way these were where those voices were coming from. Those voices sounded like people’s voices.

But these things could only be described as monsters. Unholy abominations. The things that go bump in the night.

Even in the darkness, you could just barely make out the outlines of their unnatural forms, horns and claws and other animalistic features that made your heart sink down to your stomach with every second you remained paralyzed there.

A shuffling sound in front of you made you finally snap out of your terrified daze, and you saw that the smallest beast—the most human-looking one—had inched away from you on the floor. It was feminine in initial appearance, but a glance down at its furred cloven hooves for legs proved a harsh reminder of the truth.

And yet, even with its apparent beastly form that was surely taller than you, it seemed to cower at your presence. It slowly backed away from you on the ground, chained wrists making just the slightest amount of noise in the dead silence. It was shivering, though whether from the cold or fear, you couldn’t tell.

Pink eyes stayed fixed on yours, awaiting movement from you. But you didn't move, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe or even think. This was all just too much to process. You were only able to take a single silent step back.

And then you suddenly rushed out of that back room behind the circus stage, unable to get the feeling of those eyes watching you out of your head. You just stayed there in the darkened performance area, unable to comprehend what you saw.

Monsters. Monsters were real. Your father knew the whole time. And he kept several of them chained and in cages as forms of show business. How did he manage to even procure such beasts? Why would he keep such creatures? Didn’t he say they were horrible and godless and hell spawned?

You clutched a hand on the fabric of your shirt over your heart, trying to calm it in any way you could. Your father told you that monsters were wicked and twisted beasts. Just from looking at their unnatural eyes, you saw hunger. Hunger and simmering anger waiting to boil over.

But you could have sworn you also saw fear in those eyes…

Their hushed words from before you went into that darkness were scared and full of sorrow. It couldn’t have been a trick, they didn’t know you were listening…did they?

None of this made sense. You had to get another look, had to make sure you that you weren’t seeing things or being deceived by some twisted trick.

All things are wearisome, more than one can say. The eye never has enough of seeing, nor the ear its fill of hearing.

You slowly turned back to that curtain, and held your breath as you pushed it apart once more. Those bright eyes all bore into your own again, and you felt chills crawl across your nape. You tried not to look at any of them for too long, but it was the beast with pink eyes that drew your attention the most.

The beast, it…she seemed the most visibly afraid of them all. Unlike the others, she wasn’t behind iron bars. If someone else were to come in here, she would be the most vulnerable. The easiest to hurt.

You looked down at her shivering form, seeing how she tightly squeezed her legs together and curled into herself as if to cover and protect as much of her body as possible. Subtle, almost silent whimpers came from her throat. She looked and sounded afraid in a way you were sure couldn’t be faked. She looked terrified of being approached, of being touched, of being…

Your heart sank to your stomach.

Without a word, you knelt down to the cold floor, a series of chills traveling up from where your knee touched it. A low rumbling growl was heard from your left, and you turned slightly to see that the large golden-eyed beast was glaring at you, almost daring you to approach the monstress in front of you any closer.

Even though the creature was behind thick metal bars, you still felt like one wrong move would get you killed. Any stupidity here would swiftly be rewarded with a sobering set of deep gashes from long and brittle claws, or perhaps a brutal bite from sharp fangs. The possibilities were seemingly endless with these creatures, but you didn’t want to find out if that observation was accurate.

You slowed your movements, carefully and silently peeling the blanket around your shoulders off and placing it on the ground in front of the pink-eyed beast. You lightly pushed it towards her. She continued to look at you with fear in her eyes, so you didn’t move any further. Just raised your hands up in a universal harmless gesture that you hoped she understood.

You stood up slowly and carefully then, palms still facing the beasts to show that you meant no harm. Step by step, you walked backwards out of that pitch black room until you pulled those curtains shut. It was understood—or at least you hoped it was—that this would not be spoken of to anyone.

And just like that, those twelve eyes were piercing into you no more. You were alone in that dark performing tent, head buzzing with adrenaline and now shivering from the night’s chill without your blanket around your shoulders.

You couldn’t begin to imagine how cold it must have been on that dirty floor for that girl…beast…lady? You weren’t entirely sure.

A shiver went down your spine as you snuck back out of the large tent through a smaller hidden exit you barely managed to notice due to the moonlight shining through it. You rushed back to your private sleeping area, trying to forget what you saw in that darkness. Monsters. Creatures most foul and unseen by god.

Their eyes reflected nothing but hunger.

But you also couldn’t forget that look in those eyes. That look of primal fear. That look of frightened dread. Especially in that pink-eyed beast…There was no way that look in their eyes was mimicked or a simple trick. That fear was real. But so was that hunger.

An ache in your head and your heart made itself known that night. It made you toss and turn in your bed, unable to get rid of that feeling of being watched. Was it a twisted trick by those creatures? Was it your own mind and heart being affected by what you saw? You didn’t know.

All you knew was that you couldn’t tell anyone else about your late night venture into that secluded room. Not the other circus workers. Not any visitor. Especially not your father. You didn’t even want to think about what your father would do if he found out you saw the secret behind the curtains.

It was all just too much. It was too unreal. You knew that you wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if your mind was too clouded with the thoughts of those beasts. An idea came to your mind then, and you sat up in your bed again while fumbling around to find one of the journals your father gifted you a while back.

You found a pen as well, and with only the light of the full moon shining into your room, you began to write. You wrote down everything you saw, everything you felt. You even doodled what little you could see in that darkness in the margins of the pages.

You drew those creaking iron bars. Piercing sharp eyes that shone even without a light source. Claws and curved horns and pronounced bones beneath thinned flesh and skin clinging to them, evidence of starvation. Or were they naturally so grotesque looking? You didn’t know.

Your writings and drawings were messy and rushed, and you hadn’t realized just how hurriedly those thoughts spilled out of you. You took one last look at the scrawled words and pictures before shutting the journal and shoving it and your pen beneath your pillow.

Now that you had written out what you had done and how you had reacted to it, you were left with your lingering and conflicting thoughts about those creatures. Were they really as devilish and dangerous as your father and all his stories told you? Were they worse?

They didn’t look cruel or particularly violent, just…hungry. Afraid. Angry. Exhausted. You heard them speaking beforehand, surely they were intelligent. Did they only pretend to feel? Was this all part of some elaborate trap to tug at your heartstrings and lure you in to swallow you whole?

Your mind went back to that one pink-eyed beast. It…she didn’t seem as scary as the others. She surely wasn’t human, but perhaps there was a reason she was the only one who wasn’t behind thick iron bars. Maybe…

Maybe you should go back again and visit? Not tonight, that was far too risky. But maybe you could get some more answers some other night. But what were your questions?

You didn’t know. All you knew was that you couldn’t just move on from that. From them. Those unnatural creatures…Shadowed and sharp and no doubt dangerous in some form, but they still made your heart ache. They certainly felt protection for their own, didn’t they? That golden-eyed one reacted to you getting just a little closer to the pink-eyed one in a protective manner. Perhaps…they felt care?

So many thoughts swimming in your mind. It was a miracle you were able to sleep that night at all.

You dreamed of sharp teeth and piercing eyes. Beastly claws and broken voices and the stench of rusted iron.

————

Two nights had passed since that first encounter, both of them restless and filled with an inner turmoil you had to hide from all those you knew. It was hard to keep things from your father. Not only because you had never lied to him about something like this before, but because he was extraordinarily perceptive. But luckily, he was rather busy these days.

Busy doing what? And what was he doing with those caged beasts? What was he doing to them? Sinners or not, what right did your father have to keep them? How did they end up this way? How many of the other circus workers knew? None of this felt right.

That was why you quietly returned to the hidden room inside the large tent long after the sun had set and the other circus members had gone to retire. The moon’s light had waned, and it was harder to navigate your way into the tent, but you managed to sneak inside without being caught.

So there you stood outside the darkened room again, no less dreading how eerily quiet it was. But you shoved that hesitation down. You couldn’t show fear. Just in case these creatures really did prey on it.

Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil…

Fingers clasping the curtains that closed off the area, you took a deep breath and parted them like you had done two nights prior. It felt as though a wave of cold air had washed over you as you did that.

There they were. All six pairs of eyes looked into your own again. Gold, purple, green…they were all in the same order of cages as the other night. And the downturned pink eyed girl was still chained to the floor in front of you. Your eyes adjusted a little to the dark to see that the blanket you had given her was not present.

No. It was there. But it was shredded and torn to pieces, frayed scraps littering the ground beneath her. You noticed that there were similarly small remnants of your blanket lining the floors of the other beast’s cages. Your mouth opened slightly upon realizing what they had done.

They had split the cover among themselves and used the pieces to give themselves just echoes of warmth and softness in their cold metal prison.

It was dead silent for what felt like ages. You stared at each of them, just as they all stared at you. A heavy and instinctual fear began to gnaw inside your gut, and you contemplated just leaving. But you swallowed thickly, forcing your mouth to move.

“…You can understand me, can’t you?”

They said and did nothing. Just stayed hunched and cowering in their cages, appearing smaller than they were. But you knew better than to believe they were docile. You decided to try a different approach.

“Please. I want to know what…who you are. I want to know how you ended up like this.”

Still nothing. You looked down to the smallest beast lying on the ground in front of you. She wasn’t cowering as much from your presence, furred legs not squeezing together and trembling nearly as badly. A good sign? You felt your heart ache just a little at her frightened pink gaze, and you knelt down similarly to how you did the other night. You spoke softer this time, just above a whisper.

“I won’t hurt you. I want to understand.”

“Understand this: Go back.”

You nearly gasped at the raspy words spoken from one of the cages, and your head snapped to the direction it came from. It was from one of the cages in front of you, the one that housed the violet-eyed creature. Its eyes were far sharper now, evidently very disturbed at your presence. You were slightly too caught off-guard by the sudden words spoken from the beast that you failed to fully comprehend what it…he had told you.

“So you can speak. I knew you could.”

Your ever-so-slight enthusiasm at getting an actual verbal response was quickly followed by a low chittering hiss from one of the other cages, and you flinched at the unnatural yet vaguely serpentine sound. The green-eyed beast moved closer to its bars, almost as if waiting for a moment to strike if you dared to approach.

“Yes. We can speak. How unfortunate that you cannot listen.”

You frowned. You weren’t sure if they could even see your expressions. But something told you that they could see better in the dark than you ever could in any light. You took another deep breath.

“I’m not here to hurt or study any of you. I just want to know…” You trailed off for a moment. “What are your names? How did you end up here?”

Another low animalistic sound, but it came from the violet-eyed creature’s cage again. He sounded vaguely angered, shining eyes slanted in a way that made it apparent he was even more disturbed with your insolence.

“We already know who we are. Leave us be, wretched thing. And do not return.”

Before you could say anything to try to reason or protest, a deep and distorted trill came from one of the cages to your right. It sounded like a warning, a thinly-veiled threat. It was short, but it rattled in your chest for a long time.

“We can smell your fear. You would be wise to follow it. Do not indulge your curiosity.”

Your brow furrowed at that. But then a sudden and slightly spiteful surge of something dangerously close to confidence fueled you to respond.

“Well…maybe I wouldn’t have any fear if I knew who you are, if I knew your stories. I don’t know what you’ve gone through in this circus, but…”

You knew that your fear wasn’t entirely gone, and you didn’t pretend otherwise. But if you could just-

“Temper that naive thinking. Or we will do it for you.”

You angled your head downward at the blue and white-eyed beast closest to your right knowing what you would think, shame making your heart sink to your stomach. That’s right. These creatures owed you nothing. You were the one who could walk free, and they had no choice in whether or not they were disturbed.

“Forgive me. I just…People speak of demons and monsters and other creatures of the night, but I don’t want to live in that fear of the unknown. I want to learn. From you.”

Surely these beasts couldn’t have committed crimes awful enough to warrant this kind of imprisonment. But even if they did, you wanted to know why your father took it upon himself to cage them. What gave him the right when these beasts seemed to be able to reason?

A low breath came from the first cage from earlier, the one containing the purple-eyed beast. You saw the way his head slightly moved in a way that made his four long horns ever-so-slightly glint with nonexistent light.

“Look upon us. We can’t exactly stop you, can we? So go on. Live out this childish fantasy of yours. Your death waits in these cages. And we have no choice but to hear you.”

Your heart sank even further. Guilt and shame drove you to shift yourself backwards and away from the cages and slightly bow your head down in apology. You involuntarily remembered the way your father would always talk to you as if you were still a child unknowing of the world. Perhaps he was right, even as you defied him.

But now was your chance to prove both him and yourself wrong. Your voice turned low and remorseful as you continued to speak with your head held low.

“No, I’m sorry. You do have a choice here. Tell me to leave and I will. I won’t come back. But…I just want to know the truth. Your truth.”

It was quiet. The only sounds heard within the darkness were the occasional shifts of the metal chains the pink-eyed beast was shackled to on the floor. She had said and did nothing this entire time. Whether she was unwilling or unable to speak, you didn’t know. Pity clung to your heart at the thought of the latter possibility.

The other colored eyes in the darkness shifted slightly, almost as if each of the beasts were trying to gauge your reaction to the stillness just as much as you were trying to gauge theirs. Were they trying to see if you were lying just as much as you were trying to see if they were?

The golden-eyed beast to the left of you then spoke for the first time, and a chill went down your spine at its hoarseness and depth.

“Prove it.”

You couldn’t help but be somewhat confused at that. Prove that you were sorry? Prove that these beasts had a choice? Prove your resolve to learn? You weren’t sure which one he meant exactly.

But then you noticed how the beast clutched a scrap of torn fabric from your blanket beneath its…his claws. Prove that you were serious about what you meant. Prove that you weren’t a liar. Prove yourself by helping them, aiding them. A single blanket given to them meant nothing in this prison when the cold seeped into their very bones. Words meant nothing when actions could be taken. You nodded then, understanding what you had to do.

“I’ll do what I can.”

A frail and painfully naive sense of resolve formed in your heart right then. A resolve to learn about these creatures, these beings. It was your duty to help those less fortunate than yourself, after all. And though the violet-eyed beast made an unsubtle threat to your life earlier, you didn’t want to fully believe that these individuals were as ravenous and violent as they may seem.

And so we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

You slowly stood up, knees beginning to ache from the cold and hard floor. The caged creatures all narrowed their bright-colored eyes at you. Step by careful quiet step, you backed out of that darkened area, fingers eventually brushing against the curtain that separated it from the main large tent.

“You have my word.”

————

At your very next late night visit to the cages, you had stuffed a satchel full with foods you hoped would be able to nourish the beasts. Remembering their claws and sharp teeth gave you something of an idea of what they could eat, but you packed a wide variety just in case. You packed enough for six of each item, enough for each caged beast to get a portion.

When you went back into that darkness, you said nothing, just offered them the items you had gathered with a promise to bring more. It wasn’t much for large creatures like them, you’d be the first to admit, but you’d try to bring more next time. One of the beasts let out a sound similar to a scoff upon hearing that.

“Next time? A bold thing, you are. Or gone mad. You must be, or you wouldn’t have returned.”

You didn’t say anything back, unable to argue with the fact that any sane person would probably run away screaming from this place if they were to steal even a glance at these creatures. You didn’t—couldn’t—deny that they still gave you chills with their paper-thin voices and unfamiliar sharp features.

But you didn’t want to let that fear become a law in which your life was governed by. You were already so isolated from the world by your father’s doing, and in a way—though you’d never dare voice it—you felt somewhat like a caged beast yourself. But at least your cage was gilded, and its bars were not nearly as cold as these ones. Guilt started to gnaw at your stomach.

You realized that you had yet to leave the beasts to their feeding, and you quickly rose to stand from the cold floor, not realizing that you had kneeled down to present the food to them. You asked if there was anything they needed in particular to regain their strength, anything that they strictly couldn’t eat.

It was quiet. You noticed the way their eyes darted to one another through their iron bars. It seemed like they were debating on whether or not to tell you something. Worry and concern flooded your veins. Had you offended them somehow?

Still nothing. It was the pink-eyed beast who had broken the silence, much to your surprise. It was the first time she had ever spoken. No, you did not offend them, she said. But it would take a long time for them to regain any strength. There was, after all, a rather especially nutritious source of food that was not available, one that you wouldn’t be able to procure.

She told you not to worry of it. That crucial means of nourishment wouldn’t be available in a place like this, let alone for one such as you. What she meant by that, you had no idea. But her pink gaze turned to the other colored ones in the cages, almost as if silently telling them something.

You decided not to meddle with their business. Not any more than you already had. You left after that, though not without several questions that you couldn’t bring yourself to ask anyone but yourself as you wrote in your journal like you did after the last two visits.

The next late night excursion into the darkness within the tent was two nights after the last, this time with more food and a small unlit lantern with matchsticks to light it. Your lantern did not go unnoticed, and the beasts questioned, as you realized they tended to do.

“Do you intend to behold us? Are you certain your fragile mind and heart would be able to handle it? Even the most decorated of soldiers have run screaming upon seeing us.”

You hesitated then. Was the green-eyed beast exaggerating? Surely they couldn’t be so frightening as to cause even soldiers to run away in fear. Curiosity was truly such an alluring and terrible thing. It fueled you to open the lantern and prepare to light one of your matchsticks. But before you could scrape one against the hard ground, a low groaning rumble came from one of the other beasts in the cages.

“Do not be so cruel as to grant us a sliver of warmth and then leave with it. Do not bring us light only to snuff it out.”

You were confused for a moment before you realized what the dual-colored eyed beast meant. It was kinder to leave them in cold darkness than to bring only flickers of light, of dangerous hope.

A subtle stinging pang of guilt made itself known in your chest. Not pity—these creatures would probably find insolence in that. Instead, it was a surprisingly familiar feeling of knowing heartache.

You knew what it was like to give up on any chances of freedom. Your father would keep you inside your childhood home, like a bird whose flight feathers had been clipped. Had you always been so agreeable towards your father? Was your curious and adventurous nature outgrown, or simply suppressed in order to please and appease him?

You remembered the moments of when your father would go on those long business trips, leaving you to fend for yourself while you were still a child. You were left all alone to educate yourself, to feed and clothe and clean yourself. You remember looking out your bedroom window and out towards the other children your age in the streets.

It would have been easy to go out and make a secret friend, to even have a secret lover. But you never once left your home. Your father placed his trust in you to be diligent and do what is right for yourself. But looking back, that trust felt more like a burden than a gift. A set of shackles binding you to your home. But even despite those thoughts and feelings, you never did disobey your father.

There was a sense of security, you realized, in staying in an unpleasant routine. It was predictable. Taking a risk and finding brief sparks of hope was terrifying for many reasons. The main reason being that there was a chance those sparks of hope would never become embers or flames, would never become anything more than fleeting reminders of what you could never hope to have. So why bother? Why bother when it would bring only pain?

You felt like you understood the beasts just a little more after that, though you didn’t voice it. Just nodded your head solemnly and put your matchsticks away, putting your lantern to the side. A silent display of understanding, though you weren’t sure if they realized just how much you understood.

Though perhaps you truly didn’t understand a thing about these creatures. They weren’t human, after all. Who’s to say they experienced emotions and feelings the same way you did? And you were always called dreadfully naive by those around you, including your own father.

Despite the thoughts of your own lack of knowledge of how the world and other people really work, you couldn’t help but think that the way the monsters released just the slightest bit of tension in their bodies reminded you of relief. Gratitude, perhaps, that they would not be seen by you. Or that they wouldn’t be given warmth only for it to be taken away.

Maybe this darkness, however cold and suffocating and miserable as it is, is a sort of sanctuary against the light of day for them. You still had no idea what they did during the performances. But you had a sneaking suspicion that the overhead lights of the stage were nothing short of suffocating.

You shouldn’t intrude on whatever chance at solace these beasts have. Not any more than you already have. You left without a word after that, unlit lantern and matchsticks clutched tightly in your hands.

It was probably a good thing that you didn’t light any of the matchsticks, you thought. Someone probably would have seen the light from within the tent, and you would have been caught sneaking into a place you weren’t supposed to know about.

…And you might have seen things you would never be able to forget.

————

The next visits, the fifth and sixth, played out very similarly to the previous ones. You brought food for the caged beasts, watching the thin flesh clinging to their bones fail to fill their skin. But they didn’t wither further away, either. It seemed the pink-eyed beast was right in her words about needing a great amount of time and effort to meaningfully gain any semblance of healthiness.

Internally, to nobody but yourself and your scrawled recounting of your visits in your journal, you had given the beasts names…Of sorts. They were really just titles so your words wouldn’t take up so much room in your diary’s pages.

The one with violet eyes was called the Leader in your diary. He spoke the most, yet he seldom spoke of just himself and his own opinions. He always seemed to speak for the others as well when they had no words to give. An admirable quality, you wrote. But he was also the harshest in his words, something you found yourself not exactly surprised or offended by. You would be far more unsettled if he were welcoming and kind.

The next was the sharp green-eyed one, and you dubbed him the Knave. He had a mischievous look in his verdant eyes, and he seemed the most determined to live up to the descriptions of monsters and night creatures that other people spoke of. He was unpredictable. Barbed in his words and even more pointed in form, though you never saw his full body. Every now and then there seemed to be an extra rope-like limb slithering from his spine...

And then there was the Sentinel. The golden-eyed creature was deeply protective of his fellow beasts, especially the pink-eyed girl perpetually chained to the floor in front of their cages. Though you never once made a move to approach any of the creatures beyond bringing food and leaving it for them to distribute among themselves, you were sure that if you were to try, he would swiftly and violently correct you in either word or claw—whichever was easier.

The girl chained to the floor, the one with downturned pink eyes and cloven hooves in place of feet was who you referred to in your mind as the Lamb. She was smaller and noticeably less imposing than her caged companions. She didn’t speak much, but when she did, it was with a sad and worn voice that reminded you of a young sheep’s soft bleat. The only reason she was chained and not caged was because despite her beastly nature, she was still weaker than the rest of her kin.

The one with mismatched colored eyes and an asymmetrical horn on his head was the one you internally called the Oblique. You could have sworn that he never looked quite the same as whenever you last lay your eyes upon his obscured form. Yet despite that, he remained stalwart in his convictions—which included his distaste for you intruding upon him and his fellow prisoners every couple of nights.

And last was the tallest of them, the one you penned as the Erudite. Though he also rarely spoke, it was always with words and phrases that you had gleaned from your studies. He was observant, never taking his cyan eyes off you whenever you parted the curtains to the darkness in which he and his kind were caged in. He made observations about you that you never would have been willing or able to make yourself.

But just as the beasts never gave you any names to address them, you never gave them your name either. You doubted they would bother to use it if you did. They always called you “human,” or “creature,” or “beast,” or some other term like that. It always reminded you how you were likely just as much of a strange thing to them as they were strange things to you.

Every interaction between you and them was brief and rested upon a gossamer-thin sheet of tension that threatened to tear with every minute thought, word, and deed. Yet still, you didn't look away from their sharp eyes, didn't bristle at their sharper words calling you a foolish naive thing or prey with no regard for your own survival. But they never outright rejected your gestures. Likely because they had no choice.

It was clear as day that they loathed their circumstances. Not just being imprisoned in bitter cold cages and surrounded by darkness and filth, but also having to form a shaky dependency with a human. Sometimes one of them would tell you not to bother trying to help them. Unless you came bringing their key to freedom, they wanted nothing from you or your presence. It was simply in your nature that you would quickly lose interest in bringing them transitory and fleeting balms for their pains. So why keep up the charade?

Your first instinct was to deny their words, affirm that your efforts weren't a charade of consideration or a way for you to feel better about yourself, but you held your tongue. You were here to prove your intentions with your actions, not your words. So you stayed silent most of the time, occasionally offering a couple sentences here and there.

The one word that was never even whispered from your or their mouths was “friend.” You were not so naive as to think of them as such. And you knew better than to dare to think for even a moment that they thought of you as anything but a method of survival.

But you didn’t seek to help them just so you could have a form of company in your lonely life. You didn’t help them in the hopes of becoming some sort of savior or benefactor. You helped them because it was the right thing to do. Wasn’t it? Your father always talked about diligence and duty, about not trusting appearances and helping those less fortunate than yourself.

So, you decided that you wouldn’t trust the appearances of these so-called monsters. And they were in quite a sorry state. If anyone had bothered to learn from them, to try to see who they were instead of what they are, maybe there wouldn’t be a need for living lives like yours—sheltered lives full of fear and uncertainty.

Well, this was the one thing you would be certain of, if nothing else. These creatures were not what they seemed.

————

It had been almost a month after initially meeting the beasts, and on this certain visit, you had brought a small paring knife with you. You decided to do so after catching just a brief glimpse of the beasts struggling to eat what was given to them. Their teeth must be brittle and weak, likely sore from a lack of nutrition and opportunities for hygiene. Perhaps you could cut up their food just to make it a little easier to chew and swallow.

When you explained your reasoning upon being questioned, the Knave had hoarsely scoffed as you began cutting a fruit into pieces, thin rope-like tendrils emerging from behind his shoulders in a display of what you recognized as indignation.

“What next, then? You’ll hand-feed us? Pick between our teeth? Brush our hair and wash our claws?”

You narrowed your eyes at his emerald gaze, slightly frowning at his words, but didn’t stop cutting while looking away. It didn’t take a genius to pick up on what he was implying. He thought you were being foolish in your attempts to aid them.

“No. I’m just offering to help. You asked me to prove my resolve, did you not?”

“Then perhaps you should show your resolve in more helpful ways than cutting up our food like we are children.”

You were going to respond to his insinuation that you weren’t helping, but stopped yourself. He was quite right, actually. You were bringing the beasts food, but there was only so much it did for them. They were rather large creatures, after all, and there was only so much you could carry. Their bones remained visible, their teeth weak, their claws flaked. A sigh escaped your lungs as you began to mutter to yourself, though you knew they could hear you perfectly at this point.

“…I know. I’m sorry. I’m still trying to think of a way to-“

A sudden pain made itself known in one of your fingers, a sharp and stinging sensation that made you immediately hiss and halt your actions. The small knife and the fruit fell from your hands, and you held in a curse as you realized what had happened. You weren’t paying proper attention to the slicing of the fruit’s flesh, and the blade had nicked your own soft flesh just on the tip of your finger.

Small beads of blood had begun to emerge from the tiny gash after a couple seconds, and a couple of droplets had fallen to the cold floor. The only reason you noticed was because it was eerily silent enough for you to hear the tiny patters of the dripping.

From your peripherals, you could see that every pair of eyes was on the cut on your finger. The smell of copper only got more pronounced as you squeezed your palm over the wound, unable to keep yourself fully quiet due to the stinging pain.

It took everything in you not to swear or use the Lord's name in vain. But damn did this hurt.

You weren’t sure why, but this wound was more painful than expected. Perhaps it was because of the chill in the air. You knew that it was rather childish to react so outwardly to a small cut on your hand—a hand that knew almost nothing of being skeletal or scarred or weakened. Your gaze looked back towards the beasts in their cages, and you froze.

Each one of them was staring intensely at your hand, fixated by…what? The blood? The smell? The sounds you made? They were still as statues. It wasn’t out of any sort of real concern for your wellbeing, you knew that your injury was just a minor cut. No, it felt like…

“I…think it best you leave, human.”

That brought you out of your daze. You looked to the Lamb kneeling on the floor in front of you, already holding the small knife out for you to take. Her eyes looked strange, unlike you had ever seen them before. Her pale pupils subtly flickered between being slitted and round, between predator and prey. A tightness coiled in your stomach.

“What? I…I’m sorry, did I do anything-“

“You must tend to yourself. The air here is choked with rust and filth. Your flesh…it will fester quickly.”

Something changed in her voice when she mentioned your flesh…

Did your injury trigger something in them? But what? And how? Did the sight or smell of blood disturb them? Your mind was flooded with all sorts of thoughts when you snuck your way out of that tent and through the night, careful not to make any noise despite the pain you were in.

You stayed up especially late that night, not fully knowing what had happened once your blood dripped onto the floor in that dark place. A sinking dread pooled in your stomach at the thought of…no, that wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. Could it?

————

There were several more late-night visits like that, each one beginning with you unpacking your bag and leaving food for the creatures to split among themselves. They never gave you any complaints or suggestions about what to bring—which would be slightly strange if they did, considering they weren’t exactly in a position to do so—so you always brought basic inoffensive things.

You never approached their cages to hand out the food, not even once. It was an unspoken understanding that they would swiftly correct any display of overfamiliarity on your end. And those corrections would not be kind. Not that you expected them to be, nor that you ever tested that silent agreement.

There was only one time when you dared to inch your way closer to one of the cages. It was to inspect the integrity of the bars, and to see if there were any locks that you could do anything about. You found a large lock on the side of one cage and inspected it in your palm, to which the (usually silent) Sentinel had sighed a mournful sound.

“These locks cannot open without the key. They cannot be picked even with claws as sharp as ours. And we are too weak to bend our bars.”

You realized that this was a mere glimpse at just how long these creatures must have been like this for them to know the ins and outs of their prison—and just how inescapable it was. It left a pit in your stomach to think about. How many prisons have they known?

But you didn’t get much more of an opportunity to speak when each of the beasts noticeably perked up in their cages, not in any sort of positive way but in a way that meant they heard something. Something important. Something that made them freeze.

You had little time to question what was happening before you felt large unnaturally thin hands wrap around your shoulders and shove you somewhere, and you realized that the golden-eyed Sentinel had grabbed you and pushed you so that you were behind his cage. Cold and bony fingers were placed over your mouth to suppress any sound of confusion or discomfort you would make, and you initially panicked.

It was impossible to suppress the yelp that came from your throat out of instinct. But that was why the golden-eyed creature had covered your mouth with his large skeletal hand, brittle—and now retracted—claws just ghosting over the edges of your face. Your breathing quickened, eyes widening in anticipation of being torn apart.

But there was no tearing of your flesh, no claws digging into your skin. Instead, you saw the Lamb in front of the Sentinel’s cage place a skeletal finger over her mouth, and then you finally heard it. Footsteps. Heavy and quickly-approaching ones. The beasts must have heard them long before you did.

You looked back to the golden eyes staring into yours, and you nodded. You understood. The Sentinel had grabbed and hidden you behind his cage to prevent you from possibly being seen by this approaching threat. The dark and clawed fingers left your face, and you watched as the beast turned around to face the opening of the room where the footsteps were coming from.

A man’s silhouette appeared. He was tall, and before now, you would have thought a figure like his fairly non-threatening. But why would a man be here, especially this late into the night? He could only have ill intentions.

Your suspicions were confirmed when you saw the way he almost stumbled into the darkened room, body swaying slightly as he scanned over each of the cages until his gaze remained on the pink-eyed Lamb chained to the floor. Your stomach sank, and you could tell hers did as well.

“It’s you. The Damsel. You’re quite a pretty one, aren’t you? Not like the rest of these ugly things.”

He spoke to her in a mock-attentive voice as if she were a dog or other creature incapable of fully understanding what he was saying. Even from your spot behind the cage, you could still see him crouch down in front of her, and the way she curled away from him. You could recognize the stench of alcohol from his clothes. It made your stomach churn uncomfortably. You heard the Sentinel in front of you growl a low sound.

“I paid quite a bit to get an extra little glimpse at you after everyone else left. I saw the way you moved in the show. You know what I thought?”

He leaned towards the Lamb, and she flinched away, whimpering and trembling. Her chains were pulled taut, and she was unable to move any further to escape from his filthy words and hands. A couple of the other caged beasts began to growl low sounds, already able to smell his disgusting licentious intentions. Bile began to bubble at the back of your throat.

“A pretty thing like you…shouldn’t be left so alone at night.”

His filthy fingers went to stroke at the fur on her legs, and the creatures growled even louder, especially the one in front of you. You watched as his digits combed across her trembling leg and started to push the hem of her long dress up…

Your heart started to beat harder than before, hands moving on their own to feel for something to touch, to grab. Some unknown hard and heavy thing was soon gripped in your palm, and your legs moved on their own.

Shifting to silently move away from behind the cage and a few feet behind the man, you gripped the hard and heavy object in your hands. With only a moment of hesitation and a mind screaming to just do something already, you swiftly and harshly brought the object down to the back of the intruder's head, thoroughly rendering him unconscious. Or so you hoped.

It was dead silent for what felt like eons. You stood there, breathing quickened and legs trembling. The adrenaline in your veins had quickly gone, and it was like a veil was lifted from over your face.

It was then that you fully realized what you had done. You had caused deliberate harm to another, possibly even killed a man. Your stomach lurched, twisting itself into knots.

"Oh...Oh God."

It was all you could shakily mumble out, using the Lord's name in vain not even a brief thought in your mind. You glanced down at what you were holding in your hands. It was a brick, one that must have been used to keep the tent's interior in place. There was a dark wet stain upon it now, and you gasped upon noticing it. The only reason you didn't drop it was because it would have made a loud noise.

"Is he...?" Your voice wavered and trembled as you asked the single question you weren't sure you wanted an answer to.

"No. The intruder still breathes."

The Oblique and the Erudite were staring at the fallen man, mismatched and cyan eyes narrowed in what must have been disgust. You breathed a sigh of relief. Though you still caused the filthy man harm, you were at least glad you hadn't made yourself a stained murderer.

But now there was the question of what you would do. You couldn't just leave the intruder here. He may wake up and wrongly accuse the beasts of harming him and exact vengeance. He may harm them. He may get even closer to the Lamb than before...

The black-haired beast in question was staring up at you, downturned pink eyes widened in what must have been shock. She was still trembling, still frightened, but not nearly as much as before now. The building tension in your shoulders had released just the slightest bit. You slowly moved to place the brick in your hands back where you found it, angling it so that the new stain on it wasn't visible.

But the problem of the man was still present. What would you do? What could you possibly hope to do now that you had done what you did? It wasn't like you could just stay still and let him touch the Lamb. She had no way of stopping him, no way of moving away or fighting or pleading without possibly being hurt or worse...

"Go now, creature. Leave him. We will...handle this."

You didn't realize you had begun to pace until you stopped dead in your tracks. What did the Leader mean, "handle this?" They were caged, unable to even reach his unconscious form if they tried. But then you saw that look in their eyes. It was a look of focus, of intent, but of what?

"But what are you going to...?"

"We will ensure you do not take the fall. Go now, and do not return tonight."

The Sentinel’s words weren’t reassuring. You didn't want these creatures to risk themselves. But what choice did you have? What else could you do? Stay here and proclaim yourself a new bestial resident of the seventh circle of Hell?

So you hesitantly left the darkness like you had before, stomach churning and eyes stinging with tears that you didn't dare let fall. You knew that if you let even one escape, you would never cease your subsequent sobs and cries.

What had you become? What would God think, seeing and knowing of you hurting another human to save a monster, a supposed unholy and most foul creature? What would the beasts do to the drunk man? Would someone walk in, see the intruder and assume it was the fault of the monsters?

You didn’t know what to think. Your worldview was white where it was once black, black where it was once white. Your father told you that the world and its creatures were separated between pure and impure beings. It was easy to stain a pure white fabric, but impossible to reverse the process. It was the same for sins, he told you.

You could cover the stain as much as you wished, but you would know that it would always be there. When the Heavenly Father unfurled your life and its sins, those stains would be there for Him to see and judge. The only option left for a ruined white fabric was to discard the whole thing, regardless of how beautiful and pale and spotless the rest of it was. That was how life and vices worked. That was what you had been taught.

But now, you had no idea what to think, what to feel. It wasn’t the fault of the beasts, this you knew. They didn’t ask you to help. But you couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. The Lamb would have…

But you also could have possibly done something, anything else but hurt another being. Why was it your first instinct to harm? Were you born an inherently violent sinner? Was your soul damned before you took your first steps? Did God create you only to cast you away despite your loyalty and diligence before this?

There was no church nearby to go to confession. How many prayers would redeem your soul? How would you have to repent? How could you hope to repent if you didn't truly regret what you did? No matter how much you panicked and feared for your soul, you couldn't change your lack of regret. You could already imagine the boiling rivers of blood and fire that awaited your arrival, the place within the Phlegethon reserved for only violent souls.

Because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires.

Your journal entry was blank that night. The fingers on your hands didn’t feel like your own. The hands attached to your body didn’t feel like your own. The body your mind was caged in didn’t feel like your own.

————

You visited the cages again the very next night. It was no surprise that you weren’t able to sleep, and you had spent the whole day afterwards in a daze. You needed to know what happened to that man. You needed to know what happened to the beasts.

You had half a mind to never return again, to forget about the creatures and spend the rest of your life repenting and atoning for your soul’s corruption. But the other half of your mind, that wicked and desperate need for knowledge, it somehow outweighed your fear and dread.

It took everything in you not to rush behind those now familiar curtains, but you stayed as calm as you knew how to be in circumstances like these. But of course, you had never nearly become a murderer before.

Your hand pushed the curtain aside like so many times before…

And there was nothing. No sign of the man. No sign of…anything. It was as if he had never intruded at all. The Lamb sat on the floor as she always did, knees tucked close and chains rattling with her every little move. Dare you even think it, she looked almost relieved at you being present and not some foolish drunk.

But despite that, the silence was tense, almost unbearably so. You hadn’t brought any food like you usually would in your bi-weekly routine, and it was clear that the beasts hadn’t expected you to return only a single night after the last visit. But you paid all of that no mind.

“What happened to him? The intruder?”

Even more silence. The air stayed thick—even despite the biting chill—as you just stood there in front of the cages and the chains. That was, until the Knave spoke up with a rattling chitter that sounded like a forced serpentine laugh.

“Oh, him? He awoke, confused and sick from his drunken stupor, only to see our faces. We scared him off and away, and back to whatever hole he crawled out of, never to return. He’ll think twice before drinking his weight again, no doubt.”

You couldn’t see the Knave’s face, but you could tell there was a sort of smile in his rasped voice. There was a noticeable amount of energy in his words that wasn’t present before. His recounting sounded like a sort of childish fairytale lesson, too unbelievable, too…false. Was he telling the truth? Was this just a story he crafted to avoid explaining what really happened?

And even if that was the truth…it didn’t make you feel any better about causing another person harm, even if you thought he deserved it for his disgusting actions the night prior. You had no authority to hurt him in such a way, had no right to make him bleed like you did.

But did you regret it?

Your intestines twisted into knots, and you wrapped your arms around your abdomen in an attempt to feel secure, to feel like a better person than you are. But no. You did not regret knocking that man unconscious to keep his filthy hands off of the Lamb. Not in the slightest.

It didn’t feel good to cause that pain, to shed blood that wasn’t your own, but you couldn’t just sit there and do nothing while the beast was being touched in a way that made your own stomach churn. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how she felt.

The Leader must have been able to sense your deep disturbance with what had happened the night prior. His low and scratchy voice broke the silence and made you turn your head towards him.

“You worry about what you’ve done.”

You hesitated to meet his gaze with your own. Though you couldn’t see his face, you heard his mild contemplative tone. A shaky nod was all you could reluctantly respond with. You didn’t regret what you did, but you worried for your soul being forever tainted, forever stained. You saw his head tilt at your apparent moral dilemma.

“If it is any consolation…If your God is half as good as your kind claims, then He would likely understand.” He scoffed a rough and ironic sound. “But then again, what would we know of God?”

That made your mind still. His words made you think, made your breaths even out. What did his kind know of God? You hardly considered the fact that they likely didn’t believe in a Heavenly Father, or at least didn’t believe in one and the same way you had been raised to.

The way he said it made it sound like he wasn’t heretical, but simply unfamiliar. It made your moral questioning feel as though it were distant, almost unreal. For a fleeting moment, it even made your beliefs feel like childish stories. It was a strange feeling, one that you weren’t used to.

It somewhat reminded you of your childhood memories of when you would watch people from your bedroom window and sigh, secretly daydreaming of going out and meeting them, of making friends, enemies, it hardly mattered to a sheltered child such as you were. You just wanted connection.

But then your father would always approach in his knowing way and quietly tell you that the people outside your home were heretics and blasphemers, non-believers who relished in sin and indulgences. They didn’t cherish their relationship with the Lord like you and he did. They would only lead you astray.

But you looked down to those people from your window and didn’t see them relishing in their supposed vices. They looked uncaring, perhaps, but they looked happy. Free. What did your father see that you didn’t?

The memory left a bitter feeling in your heart now. Was it being weighed down by your sin and corruption? You didn’t know. You just didn’t know what to think anymore.

You found yourself sitting on that cold floor in front of the monsters, legs tucked to your chest and knees situated beneath your chin, just…thinking. About your father. About God. About the lines that sometimes blurred between the two. A distant yet ever-watching presence, arms encircling around you but never quite touching. It was love, but it was the kind of love only given and received from a distance.

Was it so bad to want raw connection in any form? Passion. Hate. Desire. Companionship. Tragedy. It didn’t matter. Just something that made you feel like you mattered not in the grand scheme of things, but in the moments when you were actually alive and present. Were the beasts any different in their connections?

Thinking about it now, you wouldn’t be surprised if they despised the idea of God. What good would faith and belief do for them in a place like this? If the entire rest of the world was convinced that these beings weren’t made in His divine image, that they deserved to be struck down, why have any reverence for Him?

“What do you believe in?”

The question left your mouth before you could stop yourself. It was invasive and you knew it. You flinched back and pressed a palm over your lips like your mouth had released hot embers instead of uttered syllables.

It was dead silent once again. You likely crossed some sort of boundary. Shame and embarrassment flooded your face in waves as you uttered out a quick apology and started to move to loosen your position and leave the darkened area, prepared to never to speak of the matter again. But a voice just above a whisper made you stop.

“You really do wish to learn…Don’t you?”

The Lamb’s low voice made you freeze in your actions, and your gaze met her pink one. You nodded only once very slowly. You wanted to know what their lives were like, wanted to know if this life—your life—was really your truth. You wanted to know by learning their truth. Did they know of a God? Did they love and hate and suffer and find meaning without one?

“…Your curiosity will only bring your end.”

You couldn’t argue with the Oblique’s hushed words. He was probably right. But you still sat there in front of the cages, cautiously waiting. For what, you weren’t sure. Would they reject your attempts to listen? Would they send you away? Would they only call you a fool like they had so many times before?

You remained quiet and still. You were in no place to be impatient when you were the one who asked the question, after all. Bright and sharp eyes stared into your own, but you didn’t avert your gaze. The air was heavy, but not with tension, and you knew instinctively that the words they were going to share were going to be spoken once and only once—whatever those words would be.

"...Listen. Listen well."

To your slight surprise, the beasts slowly exchanged whispers of their belief in connections, how they maintained their bonds in times of hardship. Their practices were so very different from what you had known. Your faith, your relationship with your father, every last detail of your own life was sterile, bound by learned rules and practices of formality and pretension.

It was shallow, you realized, though you had never dared to even think it until now. You were raised to believe that love was meant to be formal, proper, clean. Transactional. Conditional. It was all you had ever known, and you had very few examples of it outside of your father’s care while raising you.

There were small and fleeting memories of your mother, but they were more impressions than concrete recollections. The smell of linen and skin. Golden sunlight filtered through pale, nearly diaphanous curtains at dawn. A voice that murmured like a trickling river and tickled the shell of your ear as it sang a song you had long forgotten the words to. You missed that bond, that connection. Missed her.

You knew you had something akin to a deep connection once. You knew that you wanted it again. But your father was not your mother. His love was in sparse words and acts. It wouldn't be proper for him to attempt to be your mother, he once told you after you attempted to hold his hand while walking down a street.

An aching emptiness in your chest had made itself known after that.

But the creatures in the cages hoarsely spoke of openness among their own kind. Deep bonds of scent and marks and displays of purest connection rather than mere implications. Your father would probably consider those things licentious, filthy, unholy. But you were fascinated, and despite your best efforts, you couldn’t help but ask a couple of extra questions.

Did their kind have any practices like humans did in the way of ceremonies and rituals? No, you learned. They did not. Not exactly, anyway. Humans had quite a tendency to over complicate things, you were told. You found yourself internally agreeing.

How do beasts keep promises and maintain bonds without contracts or formal agreements? Easily, they answered. Again, your kind felt an insatiable urge to make simple matters endlessly complex only because humans were incapable of implicit trust. It was instinct for beasts to trust each other. There were far fewer of their numbers than humans, after all.

You got a distinct feeling that speaking of their kind’s low numbers was a poor idea. Naive though you were, you were not stupid. Not entirely, anyway. You wanted to ask more, learn more about other things, but you were stopped by a low avian sound that rattled your insides. It wasn’t aggressive, just corrective, and you turned to see that the Erudite was tilting his head towards you, eyes changing colors from cyan to bright red for just a split-second.

“You have asked us enough, creature. Leave us be and return on some other night.”

It didn’t take a genius to know that you had overstayed your welcome. Not that you were welcomed in the first place. But still, the Erudite’s wording made your eyes slightly widen. It was the first time any of them had spoken of any sort of “other night.” A “next time.”

You couldn’t fully hide your eager anticipation to learn more when you nodded and moved to leave. They actually expected you to return. They were willing to share more. The Knave had scoffed a low sound upon catching your expression, but it didn’t sound like it came from a place of being genuinely insulted.

“Have some shame, will you? If that twinkle in your eye were any brighter, we would have no choice but to snuff it out.”

Your face flushed hot with embarrassment at that, unable to refute his words. Goodness, you were getting far, far too familiar with these beasts. You then heard the Lamb release a short huff that sounded dangerously close to a hoarse attempt at a chuckle upon seeing your face.

“Off you go now, creature. You must rest.”

You just nodded again, swiftly and quietly bidding them farewell.

That night, you feverishly wrote inside your diary across several pages. You wrote of the things you learned, the things you still didn’t fully understand. But it wasn’t the beast’s words you didn’t understand—it was your own life’s lessons, the things you had been taught by your father and your society that you no longer fully understood.

You still felt unmeasurable guilt for what you had done to that drunk man who tried to touch the chained girl. But you remembered the Leader’s words, the idea that maybe God would at least understand why you did it. Would He forgive you? You didn’t know. The answer in your heart seemed to shift and change like the moon. But strangely, the thought didn’t strike as much fear in your heart anymore.

You asked not for any consolation from the caged beings, but they offered it to you anyway. Perhaps they pitied you and your—dare you think even just briefly—fantastical beliefs in a God and damnation for your immortal soul. They believed not against God in blasphemy, they simply believed that the tangible bonds made on earth were of more importance. God had no factor in their lives, something that was strange for you to comprehend.

It was fascinating and terrifying to think about in equal measure. Was that why they were considered monsters? Not just for their forms but for their practices? You were guilty of this as well, thinking them to be foul devils at first. But your mind had changed much since first encountering them.

Those caged creatures were beasts, yes, but you no longer believed the whispers that called them depraved fiends. These beings spoke of strength in care, protection, trust. True demons knew nothing of those things, didn’t they? It would be quite hard to fake the nostalgia and longing in their voices, like each of them had lost so much before ending up in this circus.

You wanted to know how your father ever managed to come across such beings. It wasn’t like he simply found them in a street and asked them to perform for his circus. With the way they were imprisoned…

A distinct pit of dread formed in your stomach when you thought about the possible circumstances of how those creatures came to be caged in a circus. But you couldn’t just ask them, heavens no. You weren’t that stupid and mindless. No matter the circumstances that brought them here, they were suffering, and you were determined to aid them however you could.

And even if they had done anything wrong, it was not anyone’s place to bestow punishment and vengeance upon them. Wasn’t it imperative to help those in need? Care shouldn’t be conditional. Maybe it was your naivety, but, sinners or not, humans or beasts, nobody deserved to rot in cold rusted cages and die a slow painful death.

No. You were going to help them. Even if it was the last thing you’ll do.

————

Visit after visit, you brought more things for the creatures. Their forms remained thinned and starved, but at least they weren’t skeletal, meaning that your efforts actually managed to stave off death, however temporarily. You had a suspicion that you were the only one consistently offering food to them. If you weren’t, would they have wasted away by now?

Every now and then, you’d try some new method to pick the locks on their cages or even try to study the integrity of the bars on their cages—or chain links, in the Lamb’s case—to no avail. Whatever metal their bonds were made of, it was nigh impossible to break, bend, or find any exploitable weakness in. For you, anyway. You were a mere human, weak in many ways compared to these starving beasts.

You always left those attempts feeling more and more frustrated, but the beasts never seemed to react much to your failures. They knew their prisons far better than you did, after all. But you never gave up, something that they believed to be both pointless and useless, and they made sure you knew it. Of all the things they’d tell you, that was the one thing you didn’t listen to.

But now, after every failed attempt, before you would leave their darkness, they would start to speak. You never failed to stop to listen to whatever they had to say. Sometimes, it was merely a couple sentences. Other times, they spoke of a shared memory they all had. They very rarely mentioned their separate families and homes.

Rarely, when you were feeling especially curious—or perhaps stupidly brazen—you’d ask them questions. Rarer still they’d ever answer them directly. You didn’t mind that. Their words always made you think, a dangerous thing to do during the day while you worked at the circus.

But there was one thing that ate away at you more than you thought it would. How old were the creatures? They often spoke as if each of them had lived through generations. Did they have a different sense of time? Were they older than they appeared?

It was this line of thought that prompted you to ask them at the next late-night visit, after the Leader had sparsely spoken of things he and the others had seen “some time ago.”

“You live for much longer than us, don’t you?”

His violet eyes turned to gaze fully into yours, and you maintained the contact. His sharp purple eyes didn’t unsettle you nearly as much anymore, and you watched him turn his head as if noticing how your perception had heightened since first meeting the beasts. He hummed a half-animalistic sound, and you could hear a couple of the others do the same.

“We rarely get to do so…but yes. We do. What of it?”

You slightly shrank at the implication of his kind rarely getting to live full lives, but didn’t cower or avert your gaze. Instead you tilted your own head slightly in a respectful gesture of questioning.

“What is it like? Living for so long?”

“What is it like for you to have such a short life?”

You opened your mouth to respond to the Knave, yet the proper words to explain such a concept remained lost to you. This wasn’t something you thought about often enough to easily talk about. How does one explain such a thing to someone who will outlive them? The green-eyed serpentine beast seemed amused by your inability to articulate the concept.

“Not so easy to sum up with words, is it?”

You hesitantly shook your head. A deep and resonant humming came from one of the cages on your right, from the Oblique.

“It’s simply our way of life. Nothing more, nothing less.”

But what was that way of life like? What did they do with such long lifespans? You refrained from asking such questions, recalling the Leader’s earlier words about their kind rarely getting to live full lives, a fact revealed so casually as if it was normalized in their society. It didn’t sit right with you, but you dropped it nonetheless.

It wasn’t all that surprising that creatures like these seldom got to live to become old, now that you thought about it. If any of the rare words about their homeland were true, then this group was lucky to have made it to where they are today without starving or being killed. You could already imagine hunting parties for these beasts, or perhaps even their own kind turning on them out of hunger-driven insanity.

Your stomach sank a little at just the ideas of what these creatures could have gone through. And even away from their home, they were still starving. Perhaps even worse than when they were in their homeland. And on top of that, they were cold and treated like animals now.

The days passed on. It was hard to perform your assigned duties as usual while pretending you had no idea what went on in the shows. The shows your own father oversaw. You didn’t know what actually occurred in them, but if any of the attendees' hushed whispers were anything to go by before and after the shows, it was sickening to say the least.

Every time you handed out a flyer during the day, it felt as though you were maintaining a lie that only resulted in harm to the creatures. It made you sick to your stomach to think about. When nobody was looking, you’d crumple and pocket some of the papers so you wouldn’t have to hand out as many. You even began learning to fold them into smaller shapes to keep them more discreetly, repurposing them to create something else.

One time, you realized that there was even a crumpled flyer tucked away in your sleeping attire while visiting the caged beasts. It seemed you couldn’t escape from the papers, not even at night. Just the sight of them made a foul and bitter taste form on your tongue. But instead of tearing that small poster to pieces, you idly folded it into a different shape while quietly explaining what you did with other flyers.

Your fingers moved on their own to pinch and tuck and fold the paper into a simple flower-like shape, nothing very impressive. But the Sentinel in particular had looked upon your craftsmanship with great curiosity. He said nothing, but you had learned to read the creatures’ eyes just as they had learned to read your body language.

The sight gave you an idea.

During a later visit, you had brought your diary to present to the caged beasts. They initially eyed the journal suspiciously, but when you told them about how you wrote down everything you learned from them, everything that stuck with you and made you think from different angles and perspectives, they didn’t seem to believe it.

It confused you at first, but you later realized that these beasts likely never met a human who bothered to learn about and from them. You showed each of them your sketches of their sharp eyes and obscured silhouettes, to which they only tilted their heads at how your drawings evolved over time.

Your initial drawings were loose yet sharp, pointed and undefined. They were sketches of what you thought were monsters, foul and wicked creatures that go bump in the night. But as the pages of your diary filled with more scrawled notes and stray illustrations over time, the nature of those depictions changed.

The creatures themselves never changed, but your perception of them did. They were still pointed, still dangerous. But the drawn lines now had form and purpose. It was more than fear and dread in the ink behind them. It was now curiosity, respect, a sense of neatness that wasn’t there before that only came from getting to know the drawing subjects better.

The sketches in the present were still only of silhouettes. You hadn’t seen their full forms, hadn’t seen their faces—they were always in deepest darkness, after all. But the figures weren’t exaggerated or overly rooted in your fear anymore. They were simpler, more accurate to what they appeared as. Creatures so similar yet so different from you and your kind.

The Lamb had tilted her head when you held out your journal with a loose impressionistic drawing of her. She seemed almost intrigued by your depiction. Faceless and sharp, but not menacing. Not entirely human-like or soft either. Just…different. A bony and clawless hand trailed against the page.

“We’ve seen so many of your kind now. Your faces blur together, sometimes. Like this.”

A single thin finger pointed to your drawing, to the faceless figure held up for her to see, and you pondered her words. You hadn’t considered just how outnumbered beasts were by humans. How many of your kind existed for every one of theirs? A dozen? A hundred? A thousand?

The Lamb then peered closer at the page in your diary, moving her chained hands to her head as if to compare the details in the drawing to her own features. It was mostly guesswork that made you draw certain things, as you always drew them after your visits—and it was nearly pitch-black and impossible to see their finer details in the first place.

From what little you could make out of the Lamb’s features compared to your drawing of her, her cloven hooves were slightly too small, and her fingertips were just a little too sharp in your rendition. Tiny details like that became more apparent the longer you stared at your inked sketch.

It was then that you realized with horror that you drew a certain crucial detail inaccurately—the Lamb’s horns. You could just barely see how the small horns atop her head curved in a different way than how you drew them initially. What other details did you get right? Which ones were wrong?

You didn’t know. It wasn’t like there was a good light source in their secluded tent area. Still, she appeared almost…pleasantly surprised by your diary’s pages? You couldn’t suppress the confusion in the way you tilted your head at how captivated she was with your drawings.

“This world and the humans in it…they tell us that we are horrid. Wicked things with foul forms and faces that mimic the beauty of their own. But here…”

She pressed her fingertips to the page with the drawing again.

“You make it seem so natural. Make us seem natural.”

She flipped through the pages worn by ink and pressure from scrawled writings, tilting her head at the latest set of your sketches. They were of the others, not in their cages, but simple silhouettes of what little you could make out of their forms. Despite having no color but black ink, it was still obvious which one was which just by their horns and most distinct features.

You obviously would have drawn them far more detailed and accurate if you had any idea what they actually looked like. The skin on the inside of your cheek was lightly chewed in thought, though you didn’t voice any of them for obvious reasons. Still, even your most idle and subtle actions were no match for the beasts’ perception, even in this near pitch-black darkness.

“You’re thinking again.”

A slight wave of embarrassment washed over your face, and you felt your spine go rigid for a moment. Truly, nothing went unnoticed by the Erudite. He was always observing, always studying you as if you were the strange creature and his kind weren’t.

“You wish to see us, don’t you?”

The Sentinel’s words made you avert your gaze downward in slight shame at being caught in your secretive desire. There was no point in pretending your curiosity wasn’t eating away at your soul.

“…Yes.”

You didn’t ask to see them. Just told them the truth. They would have been able to practically smell it anyway.

It was quiet for a few moments, but it wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. It was better described as cautionary, like both you and the beasts were carefully navigating a slippery path. One wrong move and what little semblance of trust between you and them would shatter. But then they seemed to look at each other, almost as if communicating without saying a word. The Leader’s violet eyes narrowed.

“…Very well. If you are sure you won’t regret it…Bring your light once more.”

Your light? Did he mean the matchsticks you had brought that one time months ago? You were so surprised by his response that you almost didn’t comprehend it for a second. But you caught yourself before you looked too much like a fool. You quickly nodded, scooping up your things and making your way out of that darkness like you always had, leaving the beasts alone behind the curtains.

But just before you left, you tore out a few pages of your diary and handed them to the Lamb. She seemed to like your drawings quite a bit, and she appreciated them more than you ever would—especially since you now knew that some details were quite inaccurate. She didn’t mind, though, and gave you a quiet hum of gratitude upon being handed the pages.

For the first time since meeting them, you smiled just ever-so-slightly.

You allowed yourself to wonder that night. What did they really look like? Were they as loathsome and unnatural as the visitor’s whispers claimed? You stared at the pages in your diary, wondering what the dark inked silhouettes really hid.

But another thought came to your mind then. What did the caged creatures really think of you? Did they think of your words and actions the way you thought of theirs? It wasn’t wise to assume anything. Besides, how could a naive human like you hope to understand beings who weren’t human? You couldn’t even understand your own kind.

Your father’s voice appeared in your dreams that night. It was patronizing and condescending, and it lingered in your mind the entire day after you awoke. There was a certain heaviness in your heart that also lasted the entire day, but it was the kind of heaviness that only came from dread. Something wasn’t right. Something was going to happen, but what?

The next late-night visit was one that had a paper-thin layer of tension hanging in the air, like this single interaction rested atop a thin sheet of glass. You said nothing while taking a small handful of matches that had been tucked away in your sleep clothes. The beasts all narrowed their eyes in what you now recognized as them trying to pry into your mind and see your thoughts.

“This is your last chance, creature. Once you learn something, you cannot unlearn it.”

You turned to the Oblique, gaze resting on his. You had already learned of their existence, of at least part of the truth behind your father’s circus. Even if you didn’t see their faces, there was still no going back. And besides, it would be extraordinarily cruel to try to forget about them now after everything you’ve done for them…and everything they’ve done for you.

You kneeled on the cold ground in front of the Lamb, taking a single matchstick and preparing to scrape it on the rough floor. You hesitated for only a fraction of a moment. And then you pressed the match down and sparked it.

It was dead silent save for the crackle and slight hiss of the tiny flame in your hand, and you slowly moved the match in front of you to look upon the Lamb’s unobscured form.

She was…you didn’t quite have the word. Pale grey skin, sunken cheeks, cracked lips in a neutral, almost tense expression. Downturned pink eyes as usual, but now surrounded by long dark eyelashes. Her long and brittle hair was equally dark as night, almost absorbing every bit of light the match produced.

Then you noticed her other features. Pale pupils that became slits when taking in the light, small curved horns atop her head, slightly pointed ears, and then you noticed the…fur? Your eyes traveled downwards to her limbs, seeing that there was grey fur along her arms that darkened and thinned near her clawless hands. Her legs had longer ashen fur that covered her goat-like cloven hooves.

She seemed to shift a little the longer you looked at her limbs, evidently getting slightly uncomfortable with your silence. Wordlessly, your gaze went back to her face. You just stayed like that, staring. Your mouth opened to speak, but then a sharp pain traveled from your fingertips where you held the match in between them, and you quietly hissed. The matchstick had burned down and caught you off guard.

It was dark again, but you weren’t afraid. You didn’t light another match, not yet. There was really only one thought on your mind.

“…You look so much like us.”

It was true. The Lamb’s face looked almost uncannily human-like. You obviously knew that the beasts had humanoid forms—five fingered hands, hair and eyes and proportions and senses mostly like your kind’s—but it was somehow strange seeing just how similar yet fundamentally different she looked.

But she was not frightening. Not in the slightest. You would even dare to think her quite lovely by your kind’s standards. No, by your standards. But the Knave evidently took issue with your observation, chittering a slow sound that you recognized as slight annoyance.

“We are nothing like your kind, naive thing. You trust your eyes far too much.”

You turned to meet his sharpened emerald eyes, moving to position yourself to now be in front of his and the Leader’s cages. The Lamb was next to you now, but her chains were not pulled taut, and you gave her plenty of room to move away. She didn’t.

“If I trusted my eyes any more than I already do, I would have run away screaming from this place a long time ago.”

It seems the beasts weren’t entirely expecting your response. You had learned a lot from them these past few months, and that included speaking your mind just a little more. The Knave huffed a little.

“…Perhaps so. You seemed scared enough when you first thought us to be mere shadows.”

Another matchstick was held between your fingers at this point, and you waited for either of the caged creatures in front of you to object to being seen in light. Neither the Knave nor the Leader said anything. So you created your light once more.

Another set of crackles. The shadows of the cage bars danced on the tent walls behind as you stared into the gaps between the iron prisons.

Dark grey skin, darker than the Lamb’s. Absence of fur on their limbs, instead only black limbs that ended with sharp claws. Equally sharp purple and green eyes stared into your own. The Leader had a set of four horns while the Knave only had two. Long and dark violet hair cascading past one face and short black curly hair resting atop another’s.

Their faces were less human-like, but they weren’t exactly frightening, just…different. You couldn’t help but tilt your head at the shapes of their jaw hinges, the way the sharp lines of their faces looked so similar yet so different compared to yours. Without any comparisons, they looked just as much a part of the earth as any other creature.

A longer glance at the green-eyed beast revealed his extra limbs, thin rope-like appendages that sprouted from his spine and pressed against his body. For warmth? Security? You couldn’t quite tell. You saw them writhe sometimes, but it was different to see them in the light now. It made you wonder what he would possibly use them for.

Returning your gaze to the violet-eyed beast gave you a closer look at his impossibly sharp teeth. Lengthened canines and wide pointed molars. Incisors that were longer than your fingertips. Only a few flat teeth for consuming what you assumed would be an omnivorous diet. You didn’t really want to ask the kinds of things they’d had to eat in the past.

It remained quiet as you stared at their faces, and you eventually noticed the vital difference between them and the Lamb’s face. Where the Lamb had an almost perpetually downturned expression, theirs were sharpened. They looked restless, resentful, hardened and embittered. It wasn’t exactly a shock, but it still made some part of your heart ache.

But even still, you didn’t tremble at the thought. You didn’t shy away from the cages, didn’t break your gaze. You just looked back into their bright-colored eyes.

“You’re not so scary.”

It was the truth. You expected worse, honestly. Other people whispered of vicious monsters, beasts seen only in nightmares. These creatures weren’t harmless, obviously, but neither were humans. The four-horned creature in front of you only tilted his head while narrowing his eyes, skeptical of your words.

“We can smell when you lie, beast. Don’t bother.”

The match in your fingers was about to burn down to your hand again, and before you could move to drop it to the floor or lightly wave it to be rid of the flame, the Knave in front of you reached a sharp black hand between his cage bars and simply pinched it between his claws, throughly extinguishing it. You watched it fall to the ground before turning back to that deep purple gaze.

“No, really. Your forms aren’t so frightening. You’re just…angry.”

“Angry. Hungry. Dying. All by the Ringmaster’s design.”

The Sentinel’s thin voice had reached your ears, and you turned to see his slumped form resting on the far side of his cage. Slowly, you walked over to his prison to hear him better, to know him better. Yet another matchstick was clutched in your palm, but again you didn’t immediately move to strike it.

There was a sorrowful look in the creature’s golden eyes. He didn’t move to stop you when you kneeled in front of his cage. The match in your hand was struck, and you couldn’t hide the sorrow in your own eyes upon seeing his form illuminated by the small flame.

He had long ashen white hair, and it fell over part of his face—which you realized had a slightly more pronounced snout compared to the others, almost like a canine’s or some similar creature. Scars littered his dark grey skin, more visibly than the others. He had been hurt in the past. Horribly hurt. They all had been hurt.

You said nothing, but the beast seemed to understand the look in your eyes, and he moved to sit up straighter, dark hands wrapping around a couple of his cage’s bars. You could see the way his black claws retracted, though for his own sake or yours, you didn’t know.

“Wait and hate. Wait and die. That is all we can do in a place like this.”

By design, you recalled from his earlier statement. They had not always been like this. Something led them to end up this way. But what? And how?

The golden-eyed beast didn’t answer, though you were sure he could see the questioning in your eyes. He simply tilted his head down, almost like he was admitting defeat. It was terribly sad to witness, and you released a shaky breath. These creatures were broken.

The match in your fingers fell to the cold floor, burning out after a few moments. It was quiet once more. You saw how the Sentinel slumped in his cage again, like sitting up for you to see had taken what little energy he possessed. You turned around, not wanting to face the sight for too long. It was all just so sad.

You carefully took small steps towards the last two cages, the ones holding the Oblique and the Erudite. Instead of sitting like you had for the others, you stayed standing, matchsticks in hand. You didn’t say anything. Neither did they.

Do not be so cruel as to grant us a sliver of warmth and then leave with it. Do not bring us light only to snuff it out.

You remembered the Oblique’s words as if they were spoken only yesterday. You looked down at the bundle of matchsticks in your palm, then back up into those mismatched white and dark blue eyes. Then you held out the bundle for him to see.

Make your own light, you wordlessly told him. You wouldn’t leave with the matchsticks tonight. Instead, you would give them the chance to bring light for themselves. They deserved warmth. The beast in front of you visibly stiffened. But slowly, he moved his larger palm out for you to pour your matches into, and you did so.

It was so quiet a pin could have been heard dropping to the ground. The only sound heard was you shifting back to allow the creatures some space, and then a faint scrape against one of the rough metal cages. One of the matches held by the Oblique had been lit, and you watched as both his and the Erudite’s features became visible with the tiny glow of the flame.

Dark grey skin just like the others. Sharp teeth and long claws and areas of raised skin where scars had formed. Some were faded and old, but others looked much more recent, still pale against their darker skin. Both of them had shorter hair than the others, which allowed you to see their pointed ears better.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think these beasts to be no different from some of the folkloric creatures you had read about—before your father forbade you from reading of such things. Perhaps that was where such stories came from, you realized. People of the past not understanding what they had seen.

The Erudite had a dark pointed crest descending down his entire face, feather-like quills of varying sizes sprouted and neatly patterned beneath his cyan eyes and below his ears. His hair was a blood red, a striking color against his eyes—which were staring into yours with just as much curiosity. It seemed he was taking advantage of the brief light provided by the matchstick to take in your appearance as well.

“You’re a strange one. Your face is almost…familiar.”

You didn’t quite understand what he meant. The Lamb had mentioned that human faces tended to blur together over time. Did these beasts perhaps perceive faces differently than you thought? Was your face perhaps like a stray cat’s patterning to them, indistinguishable and generic unless learnt and memorized?

The creature in front of you had tilted his feathered head, and you mimicked the action—A testament to how much time you had been spending with these beasts to have subconsciously understood and copied their habits. You could have sworn you saw something like the slightest and briefest twitch of the corner of his mouth in an upwards direction.

You turned back to the Oblique, seeing that he was quite different in appearance. His dark skin was almost completely smooth, almost pliable-looking save for a few small scars here and there. His single dark blue eye reminded you of the night sky just after dusk, and his white eye a pale full moon.

His expression was one of waiting. Maybe scrutiny. But you didn’t quite know what he was waiting for, or what he was watching so carefully for. Of all the others, he appeared to be the most rigid, like he was constantly concerned about something. It was almost jarring how he and the Erudite appeared to be polar opposites in terms of mannerisms.

But, like all the others, you didn’t ask any questions. It was a miracle you had been allowed to see them at all.

The matchstick had burnt out by now, and you instinctively knew that it would be the last. You had seen all of the creatures, all of their features deemed unsightly or monstrous, and you didn’t flinch away, not even once. They weren’t infernal demons. They were quite strange and sharp and different to you, but not inherently evil. Not worthy of any of the whispers they garnered.

It was silent for a long moment, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Not to you. Not anymore.

You opened your mouth to say something, but stopped when you saw the beasts perk up as if hearing something in the distance, just like that night that other intruder came for the Lamb. The blood in your veins turned cold.

A couple of large hands wrapped around your midsection, and you nearly yelped like last time, but managed to clamp one of your own hands over your mouth this time. It was then that you realized that the Erudite and Oblique had each used one of their thinned hands to lightly push you into a gap hidden behind both of their cages, and you quickly nodded to affirm that you would curl up and hide as much as physically possible.

The large bony hands left your form, but you didn’t move your own palm away from your mouth. You stayed completely quiet and still as you tucked yourself even further away from the entrance, even as your curiosity burned. But now wasn’t the time to indulge such feelings. Someone was coming.

You could eventually hear what the beasts could—footsteps. It never ceased to briefly stun you how different the creature’s senses were compared to your own. The footsteps weren’t staggering or heavy, but purposeful. It sounded as though this person wasn’t worried about being caught or seen.

Every last muscle in your body tensed upon seeing a shadowed masculine figure emerge from behind the curtain entrance. Your body only got more tense when the person didn’t say anything for a few moments. It was unbearably quiet.

And then, the man sighed in a way you recognized. Your eyes widened.

“So, beasts, tomorrow is your last chance. Your last chance to prove your worth to me.”

That voice. You knew that voice. It was the voice of fear in your heart. The voice you associated with the Lord and His words.

Your father.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed your slovenly performances. The people here have grown tired of your kind. And you have proven to be quite difficult to keep.”

You watched as the beast’s eyes all narrowed, some in barely contained resentment, others in quiet fear and sorrow. It was hard to retain what your father was saying. It was hard to believe those cold and calculating words were in your father’s voice in the first place.

“So, there are two choices for you to make, monsters. Either you prove your worth to me alive, and this circus will relocate. Or…”

The air in your lungs stalled. You couldn’t breathe.

“You will be left here to die a slow and painful death. The choice is yours, beasts. I do hope you make one that you won’t regret.”

And just like that, your father left, footsteps eventually fading away. But you didn’t move. You couldn’t. Was that really him? How could he be so cruel, so uncaring? There was too much dissonance between who he was in your eyes before and now, it hurt your head to think about.

You briefly wished you had covered your ears instead of your mouth, just so you wouldn’t have had to hear such words in your father’s voice. A shaky breath finally emerged from your mouth, but it brought no relief. Tomorrow…

Tomorrow, if the creatures didn’t do as your father wished, they would be left to die long and miserable deaths. They would rot away in these cold cages in the dark, never knowing of warmth or a sated appetite or comfort. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak.

With trembling legs you forced yourself to stand and move to the center of the darkened room to face all of the imprisoned creatures. They didn’t appear distressed or frightened or even angry, just…exhausted. They didn’t appear nearly as affected as you knew you were. The Leader slowly began to speak in his hoarse voice.

“He torments us. They all do. All for the performances. And their creativity has yet to wane.”

It took every last bit of effort in your body not to allow your eyes to water. The casual admission that your father and the other circus members were cruel torturers made your intestines twist into all sorts of knots. You’re not sure how your voice remained somewhat leveled when you finally spoke.

“I…I didn’t know that. I know the Ringmaster. Or at least…I thought I did. I never would have thought him to be capable of such…”

Malice? Spitefulness? Barbarity? Machiavellian acts? No single word seemed to be enough. A chill started to travel across your sweat-dotted nape at the thought of where those recent scars on the beasts’ bodies came from. Your mouth was dry when you asked the sole question that had gone unanswered since you first met these imprisoned beings.

“How did did this happen? How did you end up here?”

Your fingers trembled the longer your question went acknowledged but not answered. This was the only way to get the full story. You didn’t want to hear your father’s version. You wanted to know the truth. Their truth. The Leader’s head tilted downward in defeat, teeth lightly gnashing together. And then you heard his gravelly voice utter low and exhausted words.

“…We were starving in our home. The desolate valley where our kind’s cries went unseen and unheard by any God.”

The violet-eyed beast’s voice thinned towards the end of his sentence, form slumped and eyes dimmed. He was too exhausted to continue. Or perhaps the memory was too painful. But when his voice faded, the Knave’s suddenly emerged from the dark.

“And one day, a man entered the valley. He found us hungry and sorrowful and desperate. And he saw an opportunity.”

When the Knave’s serpentine chittering came to an end, another voice replaced his. The others came together to weave the whole story of how they ended up in the circus, and your head nearly began to spin from the rasped voices all around you.

“The man told us that he would feed us if we worked for him. A set of shows, he said, to incite fear and curiosity and faith.”

“We were dying. In our desperation, we went to him and agreed. We thought that this would be a chance for us to survive and live together.”

A pause.

“We were wrong.”

“In the beginning, we were given many things. We had warmth. Food. Shelter. We were even allowed to wander within the circus so long as we weren’t seen.”

“The Ringmaster told us that we had to stay hidden. To protect ourselves from those who would fear our nature…or those who would seek to claim it.”

“Funny, then…that when the other humans came to watch us, they wanted us to hurt. They wanted to see our pain. And the Ringmaster was nothing but a slave to the crowd’s desires. And he was a slave to his own ambitions. He wanted more…always more.”

You swallowed a leaden weight down to your stomach, already knowing where this story was leading. You had played a part in it, after all. Unknowingly, but a component in this twisted circus all the same. The back of your throat tightened as though you had downed a mouthful of glass as the beasts continued to speak.

“So he tortured us. Forced us into crude and twisted performances. Beat us. Prodded us like cattle. Tore at our flesh. The crowds found joy in our pain, and the Ringmaster felt nothing but his desire for more.”

“And so he got more. And we were given less. We were forbidden to wander. Then our strength was slowly sapped. Then our warmth was stolen. And then we were forced into cages like animals. And now…we are here.”

“We came to him starving and hopeless and dying. And now, after all this time, he has everything. And we are still starving and hopeless and dying.”

Another pause. This time, you released a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. It nearly became a dry heave. An ironic and breathy scoff came from your right.

“Pathetic, is it not?”

You didn’t respond, eyes burning and hands shaking. With short breaths you suddenly moved to grasp one of the Lamb’s chains and pulled as hard as you physically could against their linked bond to the floor, though obviously to no avail. Your efforts were useless and both you and the beasts knew it. Still, you didn’t stop trying.

You then moved towards the Knave’s cage, grasping one of the thin horizontal bars that supported the vertical ones and pulled as hard as your body would allow. Nothing. Not even a budge. It was too dark to see if the iron bars were simply bolted to the cage or welded, but it didn’t matter either way. If the creatures were too weak to make any impact, what hope did you have?

“No use, creature. Do not attempt to control something you know you cannot hope to. Our time grows nearer.”

You stopped your action upon hearing the Leader’s voice again. He sounded exhausted, defeated, utterly devoid of energy. He and the others would just…give up? No, not give up…they simply had nothing left. They were starved and hurt and broken beyond aid. Beyond your aid. Your eyes involuntarily wetted.

“But…but you’ll die.”

“Many of us have. Many of us will.”

The Knave behind the bars in front of you moved closer to your face, and you didn’t back away. Instead you searched his eyes for any shred of ambition, any sort of scrap of will to keep trying, keep living.

“We are no different from the game they hunt or an infestation to be purged. So they will get their extermination. We will get our freedom.”

Your hands remained clenched around the metal bars in front of you despite the Sentinel’s words. This couldn’t be it. Not after all this time, all your efforts. Did all of it mean nothing? Was this only an inevitable outcome? A song that never ends is no song at all, only senseless noise that is destined to fade and break. But this just can’t be how their story ends. This can't be all there is.

“Go on now, human. Leave us to our final performance. Grant us this last dignity.”

Your eyes squeezed shut. Your forehead came in contact with the cold metal bars in front of your face, and you could even feel the sparse warmth from the beast’s body inside it. There has to be something. There has to be another way. Your fingers gripped the iron bars even harder, so hard you were sure you’d get blisters if you held on for too long.

“…No. No. There has to be something I can still do. I can still-“

“Don’t you dare make promises you know you can’t keep, creature. Give us this one chance for peace.”

You should have listened to the Erudite’s warning, you really should have. Especially considering the Knave’s dark face was right in front of yours, emerald eyes sharper than ever before. But something in your heart refused to fizzle out into ash. It fueled you to speak just a little louder than before.

“But you’re not at peace! You want to live, you all do, I know you do! If I can just-“

The Knave suddenly gripped the bars of his cage, large and thin fingers grasped just right above where yours were clinging to the metal. The sudden metallic rattling made you flinch. You had never seen any of the beasts so quick to move. His form towered over yours as he rose up, tendrils along his spine writhing over his broad shoulders with his outburst of energy.

“Of course we wish to live. But there is nothing any of us can do. And there is nothing left for you here.”

Silence. You couldn’t argue with his pointed words. There was really nothing you could do. They would choose to die rather than continue to be hurt over and over again, and you couldn’t blame them. But it just wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. They didn’t deserve this.

Your eyes searched and searched for something, anything that could be done. Though your sight was blurred from the water building up in them, they landed on the heavy lock near the top of the cage. Only a key could open it, this you knew and even tested with all sorts of other items.

The key…if anyone would have it, it would be your father. No other circus member was allowed to go near his personal area. But maybe…maybe you could. Maybe you could distract him, or even go into his private space if he wasn’t there.

“The key. I know where to look for it. I can find it. I’ll find it and I’ll-“

A series of hisses and low pitched animalistic noises came from nearly all of the cages, especially the one whose bars you still held onto.

“Have you learned nothing? All this time and you still cannot listen. Don’t you dare give us hope. Not in this place where it’s stamped out and turned to ash right in front of our eyes.”

The tears gathered in your eyes finally slipped down your cheeks. It was unbearably distressing to hear such a profound loss of hope. But what was worse was that you knew these creatures wanted to live so badly, but they didn’t have a choice. The most damning part was that their livelihoods had not been taken from them. The beasts had willingly given them to the circus with the hopes of living better than they had in their valley.

You couldn’t just stand and do nothing, no matter how much the creatures wanted you to. They wanted to live, to stand in the sun once more, to be able to do all of the things they spoke to you about from their lives. Your voice trembled as you just slowly shook your head.

“I’ll try my best to get you out of this place, I can promise you that. I know it isn’t much, but…it isn’t fair what was done to you. It just isn’t right. I’ll do everything I can to make this right.”

“Fair, beast, does not mean equal in this world. It means that one end of the bargain got what they wanted…and the other side can’t complain of it. You would be wise to remember that.”

You continued to quietly let your tears fall. Eventually your knees became too weak to support your body, and you sank to the floor. You recognized the Oblique making a sound that indicated he was going to chastise you in his slightly condescending way.

“If we wanted your pity, we would have asked for it. But this is simply how things are.”

But things are just wrong. Why were they acting so content when they clearly weren’t? It was almost like-

“That’s why you let me see your forms.”

The words left your mouth just as you made the realization, and the Knave in front of you nodded solemnly.

“Indeed. Is it so wrong to wish to be seen not as hell-spawned devils but simply as what we are?”

The Lamb had slowly moved to sit beside you at this point, the chains on her wrists pulled taut. She said nothing as you placed your palms on the floor in front of you helplessly. The Erudite warbled a deep sound.

“For what it’s worth…you have been good to us. Naive and foolish as you are, you proved us wrong. But we are out of time. And so are you.”

You hiccupped slightly, unwilling to accept this. That likely only proved that you were, in fact, naive and foolish. And stupid.

“But I haven’t done anything! I…”

A hand touched your back, and you flinched only to realize it was the Lamb’s. It was the first time any of the beasts had touched you outside of trying to hide you. Her eyes were even more sorrowful and downturned if possible.

“You have done everything you can.”

It certainly didn’t feel like it. These bound beings, these creatures…you dared to think of them as dear to you. They were frightening and sharp at times, but they taught you many things. They were the only bonds you had formed other than with your father. Just as the Erudite said that you were good to them, they were good to you. Not gentle, and certainly not kind, but good.

But what did someone like you know of goodness? You were just a sheltered human who knew nothing of the world, one who never had to starve or be deprived of warmth or loathe your nature simply because it was different from others. Your father made you think that spiritual purity was pivotal, but he was now revealed to be a minister of torture. What did he know of goodness?

You just held your head low, the Lamb’s hand not leaving your spine. But then the Leader spoke to you just above a whisper.

“Go on. Return to the light where you belong. Leave us to our darkness. And do not look back.”

None of the beasts said anything else. You sat there until the Lamb slowly removed her hand from your back, and you recognized that it was time for you to leave. But you wouldn’t just give up. You said that you’d do everything to try to help them, and there was still a way to possibly free them. You needed to find the key. There was no point in wasting time crying and despairing about things you were told couldn’t change. You’d see for yourself if your efforts were wasted.

A tiny bit of strength returned to your body, just enough for you to stand up and walk out of the tent and not look back as you dried your face. You wouldn’t go back until you had the key in your hands, this you swore to yourself. With clenched fists you navigated through the dark with a mere sliver of the moon lit to guide you, but you made your way to your father’s private area.

His study was much like your personal quarters, secluded from the rest of the circus near its outskirts. Now that you actually stood in front of the off-limits area, you hesitated—but only for a moment. You shook your head quickly and entered your father’s personal area.

Papers were strewn everywhere, business reports and contracts and all sorts of documents and whatnot. It overwhelmed you for a moment, but you quickly began to search for the key to the beast’s cages. But where would it be?

Minutes passed with no results, and you began to grow worried. How long until your father inevitably found you? He always seemed to know when you were getting into something you shouldn't be. Luckily, you had an excuse ready. But thoughts and actions were very different things. Sure, it was easy in theory to talk to your father, but...

You nearly jumped out of your skin and froze upon noticing a figure at the entrance. Your father, to be specific. He stood there with an almost...knowing expression. Your heart sank to your stomach. No, your feet.

"Father! I..."

Your words caught in your throat and rotted at the tip of your tongue. The part of your mind that held all of that resolve and desire to act was sidelined, replaced by an unfamiliar fear. Or perhaps it was familiar and you simply didn't recognize it for what it was until now. Father just smiled how he always did ever since you were little, not moving from his spot by the entrance and not acknowledging what you were just doing.

"It's very late. You've been sleepless these past few months, haven't you?"

You swallowed thickly. It felt as though you were just about to walk into a field full of tripwires while blindfolded. Was there a right and wrong answer here? Did it matter? You had to try anyway.

"I...I wanted to talk to you."

"Is that so? About the monsters?"

You stiffened. He couldn't know. How could he possibly know? He had to be testing you somehow. But you couldn't risk revealing that you knew about them, not when it could mean possible consequences for the caged creatures. You made a poor attempt at taking a deep breath.

"Monsters? I don't understand what you mean."

"I think you do."

Your eyes involuntarily widened when you saw something your father took out from an interior coat pocket. It was your journal, the one you shoved beneath your pillow every night. The one you wrote and sketched in after every late-night visit to the beasts. Your chest tightened. What little confidence you had gathered was crushed to dust.

"T...That's for my dreams. I've been having night terrors for months now."

Your father hummed as he idly flipped through the pages and scanned their contents, eventually coming across the series of ripped sections where the pages were torn out. Where the most recent drawings of the creatures had been before you gave them to the Lamb.

"Hm. Is that so?"

You just nodded slowly, unable to look your father in the eyes as you lied right to his face for the very first time. Your stomach churned, and you could only focus on trying not to let your fingers tremble. Father dropped your diary to the floor with a simple tilt of his hand, and you flinched at the loud noise it made when it hit the ground.

"Oh, my child. Hasn't anyone told you that you are a terrible liar?"

He began to step towards you, and you couldn't move. You bit the inside of your lip as you realized that he had no anger in his eyes, no worry or fear or anything like that. Just gentle admonishment as though you were small. That was somehow worse than anything else you could have imagined.

"Did you really think it was just that easy to sneak in, night after night?"

You weren't able to hide your trembling anymore. Father was within arm's distance now, and though it felt almost impossible to think, you realized that you were afraid of what your father might do. It was unsettling to think about just how much power he held over you, the caged creatures, the circus as a whole. Your father sighed a disappointed sound, and you shrunk away from him.

"I planned to let you learn on your own. But it appears that those loathsome things have seeped their influence into your mind. They have made you think that they are deserving of your pity and sympathy."

He brought his hands up, and you flinched away, swiftly turning your head and squeezing your eyes shut. But there was no harsh strike to your face, no painful grip on your chin. Instead you felt his warm palms press against your cheeks as he turned your face to gaze into your eyes. The action alone was enough to completely disarm you. You hadn't received affection like this in a very long time.

"My poor, sweet, naive child. You may be grown, but there is still much for you to learn. It is only natural that those demons would seek to corrupt your goodness."

Your eyes stung. Father was lying. He had to be. Those creatures were beasts, but they weren't demons. They spoke of connection, of love, of...

"You have lied to me. You tried to steal from me. You turn a blind eye to sins, especially your own. I no longer recognize you."

You didn't realize tears had begun to trail down your cheeks until they were gently wiped away by your father's thumbs, and then with a handkerchief you knew he always carried in one of his pockets. The gesture was far more nerve-wracking than if he were to strike your face or shove you to the ground in retribution for deceiving him.

But he was not angry with you. Only disappointed. The thought of it made your entire body shudder with deep dread. Yes, that's right. Despite your hidden resentments, despite his secrets, despite everything...you loved your father. You depended on him. He raised you, guided you, molded you into who you are today. Where would you be without him?

The thought alone made a peach pit-sized lump form in your throat. Your father hummed as if reading your thoughts and continued to speak while wiping your tears.

"Their hearts are black and empty. They know only to eat or be eaten. To hide in their shadows and lure you in to taint your precious light."

But…the creatures weren't like that. Were they? They told you to leave when you first encountered them. They didn't lure or seduce you into the darkness, you walked willingly into it. Father stared into your eyes as though he could see something that you couldn't, like he could tell there were still conflicting ideas within your mind.

“Dearest child. Don’t you see? They pulled on your heartstrings and strung you along to think against what I have taught you.”

You felt impossibly small beneath his gaze. When you were little, you might have considered that feeling to be comforting, knowing that your father was watching you and shielding you from the rest of the world. Like how he would guide you through your nightly prayers to God and His angels to protect you while you slept. But now, it only felt like he would crush you beneath his shoe, like he was looming in the hopes of smothering and suffocating you.

Perhaps that was just how it always felt.

You wiped your eyes with one of your arms, trying to suppress your hiccups and sobs as best you could—and trying to reject his gesture of care. You loved your father, but you had just learned that he was willing to let the beasts you dared to care about die painful and slow deaths. He was a cruel tormentor, but he was also drying your tears and cradling your face in his hands. You just didn’t know what to think anymore.

When you looked back at your father, he was holding something in his palm for you to see. Your gaze traveled downward to see that it was a slip of paper. No, it was a ticket. A front row seat for the grand performance tomorrow evening. A sharp pang of dread pierced through your heart as you realized what he was doing.

“See for yourself what your kindness would have brought upon you. See those beasts for what they truly are. Do that…”

He reached his other hand into a coat pocket, and you heard a light metallic jingle. Your eyes widened upon seeing your father take out a single metal key on a ring.

He knew.

He knew this whole time why you were here. But how? And when did he learn of you visiting the caged beasts? How much of the past few months had occurred only because of your father’s discretion? Had he really known this whole time? Your stomach started to hurt even worse.

“And I will let you decide for yourself whether or not you would wish to see them again.”

————

Everything felt like an awful dream after that. You couldn’t sleep that night, and during the day when tasked with passing out flyers for the grand show in the evening, your father would always watch you from a distance, acting as though nothing had happened the night prior.

It was an unspoken acknowledgment that he knew you had been trying your best not to pass out the papers in the past few months. He knew you hid them, crumpled them, folded them into different shapes to avoid letting people see them. His watchful eyes forever followed your movements, and there were no opportunities to be rid of the flyers now.

You constantly felt like you wanted to spit up the contents of your stomach right then and there in public—not only because there was an aching emptiness in your gut that never once subsided, but also because you wanted any sort of excuse to evade your father’s gaze. But time passed too slowly and too quickly all at once, like a hazy dream forgotten upon waking. The sun had eventually set as it did every day, and you found yourself loathing it. The time for the performance was soon. Too soon.

You watched a long line of people begin to form at the circus’s entrance, all of them eager to see the horrors the tents held. All except for you. You stayed there, frozen at the entrance, unwilling to get into the line with your ticket but also unable to simply refuse. You couldn’t just run off into the horizon and disappear along with the sun.

But you weren’t curious about the very thing you had desperately wanted to see just a few months ago. What happened to that innocent person who knew nothing of monsters outside of childish bedtime stories? What happened to the dutiful and diligent Ringmaster’s child? This circus and its shows were now the sole things you wanted no knowledge of. But this is what you longed for, is it not?

Pins and needles traversed every inch of your body as you took step after heavy step towards the end of the line into the circus, your small ticket held in your hands as though it were a set of iron shackles. The line shortened, and all too soon you were at the front, hands trembling as your ticket was taken and torn, the man—who you knew as one of your father’s friends who helped with the circus—behind the counter wishing you a good time at the show.

You took one last look into the sky as you trudged slowly past the circus threshold. It was a moonless night, and though you had walked this exact path more times than you could count, it felt foreign and unfamiliar with all the people surrounding you, especially the lights inside the tent you approached.

You walked slowly into the main tent, but unlike all those times before, the lights decorating the interior were glowing, providing an atmosphere that would be ideally welcoming and atmospheric but only felt hollow and foreboding to you. Inching your way towards the front row, you spotted a seat that had your name written neatly on a pale card with dark ink. It was in your father’s handwriting. A sour and acrid taste coated the back of your tongue upon reading it.

Reluctantly, you sat down in the spot reserved for you, feet constantly shifting and palms sweating. The world itself seemed to tilt side to side the longer you waited for the show to begin. It was too loud, too bright, too warm—even though you knew everyone else around you thought differently.

Every last muscle in your body tensed as if trying to turn themselves inside out and escape, a fundamental rejection of being here in this place at this time. A heavy weight in your gut kept you seated in your spot as though you had swallowed a mouthful of lead.

But just then, a single spotlight had been turned on, and at the center of the ring was your father. The Ringmaster. He spoke of fear and faith and something else, but his words went in one of your ears and out the other. You were too distracted with sheer anxiety and dread to fully pay attention to what he was saying.

But when he finished speaking in his charismatic cadence, when you and the rest of the audience had leaned forward in your seats with anticipation, he finally motioned to six small pedestals equally spread out behind him.

One by one, he introduced each of the “performers” to the audience by a title, and each one emerged from the darkness behind that familiar curtain shambling in heavy chains on their wrists. One by one, each beast was forced beneath the bright lights and onto the small pedestals. They all wore circus-like attire that clearly wasn’t comfortable nor made for them, colorful markings painted onto their dark faces.

It was strange and almost unsettling how much you could see of their forms in this lighting. The matches from before illuminated just enough, but not too much to where it was invasive. But these bright lights were merciless in making sure every last sharp edge and beastly feature was on full display. They likely felt no different from surgical overhead lights, unforgiving and far too exposing for prying eyes.

Your father briefly explained each of the creatures’ (likely fabricated) origins and their supposedly otherworldly abilities, and you only got more and more angry the longer you watched. The air in your lungs became thicker and harder to breathe in, but you couldn’t look away, not for a second.

The crowd behind you gasped and cried out and made all sorts of reactions upon seeing how “tame” the creatures appeared to be, but you remained completely silent as the show went on. Your eyes stung as you watched your father force the beasts through acts and stunts and routines that clearly strained their already weakened bodies. But the crowd urged for more, and so your father did too.

It was all just too much to take in. But the worst had yet to come.

The worst was when your father narrated how these beasts were children of deepest Hell, creatures of the night that stole the faces of humans and spread sin among proper society. The crowd became ravenous for cruelty, chanting and yelling out for the beasts to be punished and sent back to their infernal realm. Your breathing became shallow then as you finally turned your head around to look at the crowd. Were these people insane?

The man who blatantly lied about the “sins” of these creatures was not your father in your mind. He spoke of the one he called the Damsel—the pink-eyed beast—being a seductress and licentious spreader of lust, and of the one he called the Marionettist—the violet-eyed Leader—being a prideful manipulator of minds. One after the next, he spread lies only to spur the crowd on and make them scream out their desires for violence.

You flinched when the Ringleader and a few other men began to “punish” the beasts by either using nearly medieval methods of torture or forcing them into acts that only granted them further pain when their bony bodies obviously eventually failed them. The crowd couldn’t get enough of it. You felt sick to your stomach.

At some point one of the men had brushed a hand over the Lamb’s shoulder in a way that made you want to retch. When the golden-eyed Sentinel moved to try to protect her, he was harshly stabbed in his shoulders with a blade of some kind. The other beasts noticeably panicked and tried to move over to aid him, but they were stopped with wordless threats of worse punishments.

It wasn’t until you noticed their bright-colored eyes had met yours that you finally began to cry. Their faces were so unfathomably pained, so exhausted and desperate, and when each of them realized that you were in the crowd, their eyes widened briefly before squeezing shut in pain. You put a palm over your mouth to unsuccessfully contain your subsequent sobs. It was all just too much.

“Stop.”

It was just a whisper from your lips. A plea from the very depths of your heart.

“Father, please.”

You knew he wouldn’t and couldn’t hear you. And even then, you knew he wouldn’t listen. The look in his eyes was something you had never seen in him before. Greed. The look of a slave bound to his own desires.

“Please…please, don’t…”

What did your words mean against the entire rest of the crowd’s? What did your experiences and thoughts mean against the hatred shared by the rest of the entire world?

“Leave them alone.”

You had removed your hand from over your mouth, voice gaining just the slightest bit of volume. But it wasn’t enough.

“STOP!”

Your voice, as sob-filled and injustice-driven as it was in that moment, was drowned out. Why wouldn’t it be? What could you hope to achieve with your own voice that had never known speaking above a conversational level? You, who had never once stood up to your father, would now attempt to do so in a circus crowd.

It was pathetic, really.

You were just short of contemplating running directly into the performance ring to force your father to stop the shows, but the torment had finally come to an end. Exhausted and beaten nearly beyond recognition, the beasts were forced back into the darkness, dragged by their chains. Your father bowed and also stepped into the curtained area, into the dark, all while cryptically giving one last speech about deception and faith and whatever other nonsense he claimed to care about.

And just like that, it was over. The crowd seemed to return back to being consisted of normal people instead of crazed lunatics, and every last person quietly made their way out of the tent as if they hadn’t just witnessed horrible abuse. Did they rationalize it? Or did they simply not see anything wrong with it in the first place? Or did they truly believe it all to be fake? How did these people sleep at night knowing what they had chanted and cheered on for?

You were still left sitting there in your seat, heart hammering in your ribcage and lungs struggling to keep up. It took everything in you not to follow your father into that darkness and scream all sorts of profanities and insults at him and his godforsaken performances. Eventually, the idle after show chatter had faded away, and you were the only person left in the seats. But you still didn’t move, head held in your hands in sheer shock at what you had seen.

You weren’t sure how long you sat there. But judging by the way the entire area slowly became quiet, you would guess a couple hours at least. Eventually though, you heard footsteps approaching. You didn’t need to stare at the boots near your feet to know that your father had approached you, no doubt waiting for your admission that he was right all along like when you were young and impressionable.

“So you’ve seen them now. You’ve seen what I promised to one day show you.”

He spoke in that way he always did when he was waiting for you to admit that you were wrong and should have listened to him. Did he really think you to be that stupid? Did he really think that you had gathered that he was the one in the right after the show? After what you saw in his eyes? In his actions?

You began to tremble, but it wasn’t with fear this time. It was with sheer anger. Remembering his question, you nodded only once to answer it, head raising to meet his gaze with eyes unclouded by your previous misplaced trust in him. Yes, you indeed did see those creatures for what they truly are. But more importantly, you saw your father for what he truly is, too.

“Those beasts…they’re hurt creatures who were tricked and forced to perform! You’re the only real monster here! You went to them and you lied!”

Your words started out hissed and nearly mumbled, but they rapidly gained strength and volume as you continued speaking. You stood up from your seat, movement fueled by pure rage at father’s audacity to believe himself untouchable. But your father cut you off before you could continue, which only angered you further.

“I gave them an opportunity. But I realize now that there’s no point in negotiating with unreasonable beasts. They have failed me. Just as you have.”

The veins in your knuckles were white-hot as you clenched your fingers impossibly tight into fists as your father kept speaking. You knew your face had twisted into something ugly and furious because his had done the same upon seeing it.

“I raised you to be diligent, dutiful. Instead you defy me like a shallow sinner and succumb so easily to the temptations of those foul things.”

You were surprised your molars didn’t crack from the pressure you put on them from the anger channeled in your jaws. Pure fury roiled within your chest at what you now realized was just meaningless jargon about God and sins and demons. You pointed a single finger at your hypocrite of a father, and it was clear he never expected such sheer outward expression from you by the way his face reflected shock for just a moment. It was the most unsettled you had ever seen him in your whole life.

Good.

“The only one who succumbed to sin is you with your greed! You know what those creatures are. You always have. They’re not demons or monsters, they’re just different from us! They love, they fear, they hunger! They were starving. They were starving and dying and desperate, and you took advantage of them!”

The air became thick, but you didn’t care. It was a miracle you were able to get all of that out without a single stutter. You panted heavy breaths between clenched teeth, the sides of your head aching just above your temples where your jaw hinged. One of your father’s eyes twitched, another sign of him being completely unsettled by your outburst. He looked at you as though you were a foul fanged beast foaming at the mouth in need of chains.

But then his eyes darkened as he tilted his head upward. He refused to allow his ego to be hurt by his own child, that much was apparent. You briefly wondered if he would finally drop the “pious refined man” act once and for all.

“And that advantage has faded. Even starved and caged and beaten, those filthy creatures are still too troublesome to keep.”

You were confused, and you were sure your face reflected that. What did he mean? There was no way the creatures are of any threat with how thoroughly hurt they are now. Your father narrowed his eyes. He knew something you didn’t. He angled his head in a way that you recognized as condescending, a small smile creeping onto his face.

“You don’t know, do you? The basis of their nature. Their reason for living.”

Father stepped closer to you, but you refused to back down. He seemed to take that as a challenge.

“What do you think allows them to do such things that we can only call black magic or otherworldly? What is it you think beasts of their kind feast on? It isn’t any livestock you can think of.”

Your stubborn resolve was shaken for only a moment, but your father saw it. He always did. You momentarily took your eyes off of his to think. Was he just lying? He had to be. You fed the creatures yourself. Granted, it was meager portions of subpar nutritional value, but it kept them from dying. Your fiery gaze went back to his patronizing one.

“You’re lying. That’s all you do. That’s all you’ve ever done!”

“Am I? Those things, they’re never truly sated, are they? There is only one thing their appetites are satisfied by. You saw it yourself, didn’t you? Their eyes. Their twisted hunger.”

You involuntarily remembered that time you cut your finger in front of the beasts, how they all went silent and fixated on your blood. You could tell father could see the gears turning in your head, and you rapidly shook your head to be rid of the memory. He was just getting into your head, trying to give you reasons to give in to fear. Trying to shatter your resolve. No, you couldn’t let his words seep into the cracks of your mind. You wouldn’t.

Upon seeing your face and your refusal to listen to him, father’s gaze had darkened. It was almost enough to catch you off guard, but you caught yourself first. You didn’t remove your gaze from his face as he reached a hand into one of his costume’s pockets, and you heard that light metallic jingling again. His fingers dangled that single key to the cages in front of your face as if you were nothing but a dog outside a butcher shop.

“Very well. Go on, then. Give those creatures the freedom they seek. Learn for yourself what their truth is.”

He then dropped the key, and you quickly caught it in your palms and held it close to your chest like it would be taken away at any moment. He took one step back, then a few more, then he turned around to walk out of the tent, arms held behind his back as he did so. You stared daggers into the back of his head.

“Just don’t ever say I didn’t warn you. I’ll be waiting.”

You wanted to yell after him, to curse under your breath or even spit at his heels, but you refrained. Somehow. What mattered now was that you had the key that would free the beasts from their dark and cold prisons. That was why you did this, why you went to the show in the first place, why you defied your father at all.

And now, father truly wasn’t watching. Nobody else was here. This was your chance.

Though the walk itself to those curtains was short, it felt especially foreboding on this moonless night, likely because of how much you had done just to get the key. But none of that mattered in this moment. You repeated that over and over again, not letting yourself think too much about the future. You promised to help, and now you would help. That was all that mattered.

You slowly approached and parted the curtain like you had so many times before and stepped into the darkness, being extra careful not to make any sudden movements. The caged creatures must be especially vulnerable after those brutal acts and during the performance. You clutched the metal key in your hand tighter, making sure that it still existed in your grip. You had sworn not to return unless you had it, after all.

But as your eyes adjusted in the dark, and as you utilized the sliver of light from the performance lights behind you, something became overwhelmingly apparent. The imprisoned beings were no longer imprisoned. The green-eyed Knave stood in front of one cage, its iron bars bent in different directions to allow for him to escape.

The sight was so jarring that you simply stood there and blinked for a long moment. But no matter how many times you checked if you were seeing things correctly with eyes adjusted to the shadows, the sight remained the same. The Knave was no longer caged. As a matter of fact, none of the others were caged either. They all stood outside of their bars, having freed themselves.

But…how?

How did they gather the strength and energy to go so far as to bend the bars of their cages? And after such a brutal performance? It just didn’t make sense. How were they all out and about?

Wait. No. Not all of them.

Where is the pink-eyed beast? Where is the Lamb? You saw her get dragged back here just like the others. Your gaze traveled downward to see if she was sitting on the ground, but there was nothing. Nothing but broken chains and pried shackles and…tattered cloth? Torn ribbon and scraps of stained fabric and shiny dark splotches on the floor…

No, you recognized those ribbons, those scraps of cloth, the unmistakably coppery and sickeningly warm smell you only now realized was hanging in the air.

It was then that you also noticed a distinct dripping patter. The source of the sound was revealed to be from the sharpened claws and wetted chins of the beasts, and the liquid was the same dark color as the stains on the floor. They had just eaten something. They had just eaten fresh meat. They had just eaten…

A sudden heavy weight settled just inside your ribs, making the surrounding air feel too thick and too thin at the same time. Either way, it was nearly impossible to pull anything into your lungs. That acrid and bitter taste at the back of your throat returned tenfold, bile threatening to trickle at the very end of your tongue.

You looked back up only to realize that all of the bright and colored eyes were staring directly at you. No, staring directly into you. You didn’t even realize your fingers had begun to shake until the metal key in your palm fell to the ground with a resounding clatter that sounded far too loud and echoed for far too long. Whatever scraps of resolve you had salvaged earlier were nonexistent now. The words that somehow came from your mouth were whimpered at best.

“You…You…”

A couple of them shifted, and you flinched. Why you didn’t move to run or scream or do anything, you had no idea. The Erudite then noticeably tilted his feathered head as if observing something like he used to during your late-night visits. You almost didn't recognize his eyes. They were a bright crimson instead of that usual cyan.

“You are the Ringmaster’s child.”

Your breaths became shallow. The fact that the beasts now knew and acknowledged your connections to the circus leader only made your fear unimaginably worsen. Would they have found out one way or another, their senses more keen than yours ever would be? Did they already know and simply waited for you to admit such important information yourself?

The words you tried to muster up clogged at the back of your throat. But there was a palpable sense of something being fundamentally wrong about the creatures stood within the darkness. Something different.

“How is it that such a cruel man raised and taught one such as you, the opposite?”

It was hard to pay attention to the Knave’s words when he sounded completely out of it. He didn’t sound as if he was all there, like he was in a deluded and dazed state. They all seemed to act like that, actually, forms slightly swaying side to side like they weren’t used to standing upright. It was a deeply disturbing sight.

But just to make sure they wouldn’t misunderstand you for being the child of their tormentor, you tried to reason, tried to tell them that you had no idea about what was happening in the shows. But of course, your mind was too flooded, thoughts and feelings and impressions all swimming together and leaving you hardly capable of stringing up a single coherent sentence.

“I…I didn’t…”

“You didn’t know. You didn’t know until tonight. Your face says it all. And we don’t resent you for it.”

The Leader’s unexpectedly considerate words put you slightly more at ease. But that would prove to be a terrible mistake to make around monsters when you heard what he said next.

“But now you must know that we do not do this out of malice. Not towards you.”

Confusion was written all over your face, and you didn’t bother hiding it. What did they mean? What were they going to…

You tried backing up to regain some level of control over your body, but ended up bumping into a large form behind you. On instinct, you tried to turn around, but one long, beastly arm wrapped around your midsection, and another large pointed hand clamped around your wrists to prevent you from moving. By process of elimination of the beasts in front of the cages, you realized that it was the golden-eyed Sentinel that had snuck up behind you and was now silently holding you still, not reacting in the slightest to your struggling. You started to panic.

“Wha-What are you-“

“We are free, but not safe. We can only hope to survive if we manage to live among your kind. But to do that, we must become human ourselves. And to become human…”

The beasts stepped closer and closer to your struggling form, and you were going to yelp or cry out or just say or do something, but a dark clawed hand had pressed over your mouth. The Knave emerged from your blind spot, having moved closer to you faster than you thought he could. He had a demented look in his emerald eyes that made your eyes water.

“We must know your flesh.”

You attempted to scream, to bite, to struggle, to cry, to reason, anything. It was all useless. The Sentinel noticeably trembled behind you, but his grip didn’t loosen even a little. If anything, it only got tighter. Hushed and rasped whispers came from everywhere and nowhere.

“Quickly. Use your poison. Numb the pain.”

The others had fully approached you now, forming a loose half-circle around you and the golden-eyed fellow beast who held you against your will. Your eyes widened when you fully comprehended what the Oblique had said, and you began struggling as hard as you could when you saw the emerald-eyed creature lean towards you with the claws on his free hand lengthened. You struggled for your life.

But before you knew it, there was a sudden warm and wet trickling on your neck, and then a prickling burning sensation that traveled from the wound directly into your veins. You began sobbing at this point, already knowing what had been done. The Knave’s cold and skeletal hand remained firmly placed over your mouth, though whether for the beast’s sake of not being caught or some attempt to console you, you didn’t know. It didn’t really matter.

The Leader had stepped forward and trailed the claws on one hand against your forehead in a way that reminded you of how a farmer consoled its livestock before being slaughtered. Gentle and mildly considerate, but not remorseful. Especially since you and everyone else knew exactly what was being done to you.

You were being murdered.

It only just now fully hit you. You were going to die. This was it. You were being killed by the very beings you wanted to set free. You were going to be eaten. But worst of all, you were being betrayed. You sobbed even harder if it were possible at that, and the violet-eyed beast in front of you swiped a thumb under one of your eyes in an attempt to cease your endless tears.

“Be still, dear human. We grant this last kindness in her name. She who considered you a friend despite your nature as a human.”

Despite the fact that you knew your lungs hungered for air, no amount of breathing could satisfy that ache. Your heartbeat didn’t quite match the primal panic you knew you felt. Your lungs were impossibly heavy, and it felt as though every last vein in your body from the very top of your head down to the ends of your feet was on fire. But your blood felt cold as ice. Your fingertips started to tingle. A metallic taste started to form on your tongue.

Oh no. No no no no no no no no

“Wait until the light leaves the eyes. Wait until the blood goes still.”

No no no no no no no no this isn’t happening you can’t be dying this can’t be real this has to be a nightmare

“A painless death is one rarely attained by your kind from ours, and our kind from yours. Our gift to you, as you were good to us when the rest of the world wasn’t.”

You’d hardly consider this to be a kindness or painless or a gift. Perhaps a cultural aspect among monsters that had simply gone unmentioned by them in your late-night visits. It became harder to breathe now, and your pulse had slowed even more, forcing you to become dizzy. The room began to spin and blur together as your strength was rapidly depleted in the span of just a couple of minutes. You couldn't feel the ground beneath your feet. Then the paralysis reached your ankles. Then your shins.

The monsters continued to watch you struggle and fight in a way that reminded you of a cat watching its prey struggle beneath its paw. You wanted to ask them why. Why would they do this to you? But you could barely form sobs, let alone words. And you could feel deep within your heart that these creatures wouldn't hear them anyway. There was something present in their eyes that wasn't there before. A veil of insanity draped over their minds that made them hardly right in the head. Hunger-driven lunacy? A psychotic break triggered by the threat of death?

It didn't matter.

“In this way, you will be remembered as you were. You will not have the chance to become cruel and empty as all humans inevitably do.”

Had your knees buckled at some point? You didn’t notice you had lost sensation in them, and the same thing had occurred to your fingers. You didn’t fall to the ground, though, instead the grip on your midsection shifted as you were slowly and gently placed onto the floor as though you were merely about to fall asleep. You struggled to keep your eyelids open despite the fact that your mind screamed at you to stay awake.

“You will stay as you are. Naive. Unknowing. Good. And we will regain our strength from you. Strength enough to take our freedom by force.”

The hand that was held over your mouth wasn’t there anymore. When was it removed? You tried to scream to no avail. You tried to mumble but failed. All you could get out was a strained whimper. You were scared. Despite your deceptively slowed heart rate and shallow breaths, you were terrified. But your body was no longer yours.

You couldn’t move any part of your body. Not even your lungs fully obeyed. They only got slower and slower, as did your heart. The ends of your arms and legs were completely numb. You watched with spotted and blurry vision as your arms were gently held by the other beasts, though the gesture didn’t appear to be comforting. No, it looked like…

Like they were studying and inspecting your flesh. It was no different than a piece of meat at a market for them. You let out another strained whimper, quieter and weaker this time.

The Leader had trailed his clawed fingertips against your hairline this time, the gesture not even vaguely similar to any kind of consolation. He and the others were murdering you, and a quick touch was supposed to be a comfort? It was the equivalent of putting a single suture on a deep and gaping wound. He began to speak again, but to who? The others? Himself? It was impossible to tell at this point.

“We will reclaim our roles. We will form a new life. A new circus. A new home, just as she wished. One built on her sacrifice…and now yours.”

But this wasn’t…

Was he telling himself that this was a sacrifice on your end? Was this genuinely how he viewed it? Was this simply what he saw as the truth in his manic lust for blood and consumption? The way he worded it made you briefly wonder if all this was at least partially your fault.

Was there something you had missed? Was there another way this all could have ended? Were you just too stupid to see it? Too naive to think that there was any other way? Too stubborn and foolish like your father to consider any other option?

Was this life of yours a waste? Were you destined to have such a short and unfulfilled existence? Why did you have to be so dependent on your father? Why did you have to become so involved with these inhuman beasts?

Tears continued to slide down your face, thought the sensation was distant and numbed now. You wanted to laugh an ironic and empty sound at your circumstances. What else was there to do upon reflecting back on your pitiful life with only your father and these creatures as the bonds that gave your life any semblance of meaning?

Thinking about it now, both your father and the imprisoned ones thought you to be naive and foolish, a mere child in the grand scheme of things who had never known profound struggle or a desire so desperate that it split your very soul apart at the seams. But they are both right and wrong. You realized that now.

Within the truths of your father and these creatures, you realized your own. You were unknowing of the world, sheltered, kept locked away your whole life, yes. But you still knew pain. You still knew what it meant to want. You knew struggle not in physical needs but emotional. You desperately wanted to understand and be understood in turn. You wanted to be seen. You wanted to be seen and loved and wanted despite your flaws. Even though you knew you were naive. Even though you were stubborn. Even though you were weak.

You just wanted someone to care for you unconditionally just a fraction of the way you wished to care for others. Like your mother. But she was dead now. And the only person you had left was your father.

But your father’s love, your god’s love…it was conditional. One wrong move, one action deemed wrong or irredeemable, and you were cast out. A pale fabric stained and spotted and thrown away as mere garbage.

What would it be like, you once wondered, for someone to see your stains and spots and and imperfections and love you anyway? What would it be like to be able to show your faults and fears?

You didn’t know. And now you never would.

And yet, even as your heart beat slower and slower, as your hands grew cold and numb, you couldn’t hate the beasts who would do this to you. You just couldn’t bring yourself to harbor any true resentment towards them. In your foolishness, you had let them become dear to you. For it, you were dying. For it, they would consume you. For it, you didn’t have any of the rage or grieving despair you knew you wanted to have.

You really only felt such things towards your father…and yourself.

Why did you and that cruel man have to meddle with things neither of you fully understood? Why did that greed-driven man have to try to contain and control starving beasts that ate humans? Why did you have to go into this tent on that fateful night all those months ago?

Perhaps that is what your father meant all those years ago about your insatiable curiosity and desire for knowledge coming from him.

Perhaps that is what the monsters were hinting at when they spoke of how you wouldn’t have the chance to turn cruel and empty like your father, like all humans.

But even still, you didn’t want to accept any of this, not even now. Just because you didn’t hate these beasts didn’t mean that you were completely fine being killed and eaten by them. And just because these beasts rightfully deserved their revenge after all the injustices they faced doesn’t mean that you wanted to be the catalyst for it.

Your vision was finally starting to fade now. Black spots dotted your vision as you continued your struggle to cling to your life. But there was simply nothing else you could do. Sharp eyes of different colors—now devoid of pink downturned ones—stared down into your own. The last words you would hear would be from the golden-eyed being who you just now realized was cradling your head in his lap, sharp claws slightly digging into the sides of your head.

“Sleep.”

His voice was impossibly distant despite the fact that his face was just above yours. In your delirium you briefly thought it to be the bone-dry hushed voice of Death beckoning you. Or was it the ancient voice of God calling out to you only now when you met your unjust end?

What a cruel Father, you thought as your vision narrowed and the world itself seemed to bend and warp and fade away. If Heaven was where He or your father would be, then you would sooner face both of them head-on and walk backwards into Hell. You decided with the last shreds of your supposedly gifted free will that you had no god. And you no longer had a father.

A deep and slow breath left your lungs and escaped between your lips. It was not followed by a breath in. Your heart faintly thumped in your chest for what would be the last time.

Everything went darker and darker, until there was no light, no warmth, no sound.

Only emptiness.

——————————————

≫ GOD this took forever to write holy shit. I did not expect it to get this long I swear. Would you believe me if I told you this was supposed to be a short list of headcanons??? >.>

≫ There was also an additional scene that I ended up CUTTING, believe it or not. It involved the reader’s father proposing for them to become the new owner and ringleader of the circus, to which they’d be horrified and vehemently reject said offer and go off to meet the monsters in their cages.

≫ I ended up cutting that scene bc I thought it would have been a little slow for what I was going for. Womp womp ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

≫ I also had a tiny scene of what happened after the reader meets their fate. A little epilogue of what happened to their father, the monsters, the circus...lemme know if y'all wanna see that as a little add-on or tiny bonus part!

≫ Also originally I was gonna have the reader actually come up with the Commedia Dell’arte names for the monsters, but the longer I thought about it…it just didn’t make sense. So I came up with the other nicknames.

≫ The bible verses referenced in this work are, in order: 2 Corinthians 11:14, 1 Peter 5:8, Romans 12:12, Luke 8:17, Ecclesiastes 1:8, Psalm 23:4, 2 Corinthians 4:18, and James 1:20. All in the NIV for consistency!

≫ I am not currently religious (though I was raised catholic) so please forgive me if any of these verses are misused or otherwise quoted in a manner that could be considered poor taste. Religious trauma amirite (may or may not have deconstructed my childhood for this uhhhhh)

≫ Feel free to use this work as a baseline for any of your own AU’s, OC’s, etc! I’ve got a few ideas of my own floating around. Just spitballing here, maybe this Past!MC could be another restless ghost lingering in the circus like Columbina, or maybe the Present!MC is a reincarnation of them or maybe a distant descendant of the Ringmaster…go crazy! I’d love to see it all!

≫ This work was made entirely without the use of AI. I do not consent to any text from this work being scraped to use in any sort of character-based AI or other LLM.

Recuento de palabras: 16.61 k

ADVERTENCIAS DEL CAPÍTULO: Corrupción, Desbalance de poder, Humillación pública, Age Gap (lo considero porque Sage y Truthless son mayores como por... eones), Sage es cruel y bastante bizarro, Almas gemelas, Obsesión, Hechizos vinculantes, Golpes y violencia, Romance, Citas, Primer Beso.

(¡Seguro!)

ADVERTENCIAS GENERALES: Enemies to friends to lovers, Soulmates, Angustia y Romance, Malentendidos, Magia, Porno con trama, MUCHA TRAMA EXCESO DE TRAMA EN SERIO ESTO TIENE MÁS DE 50K AL FINAL LA TRAMA SE ME FUE DE LAS MANOS, Mención de magia y su construcción de mundo, Academia de Yogurt de Arándano, Mención de Shadow Milk, Slow burn, Romance, Relación profesor alumno (no especifiqué cual; descúbranlo), Truthless se incluye un poco tarde a la trama, poliamor, Cuckolding pero no realmente (ya verán porque), Switch Sage y Truthless, Trio, Pérdida de la virginidad, Primeras veces, Sexo Vaginal, Sexo Anal, Sexo Oral, Múltiples posiciones sexuales, Creampie, Impregnation, Praise Kink, Size kink, Breeding kink, Pregnacy kink, Cinturones de castidad, Sounding, Matrimonio, !Final feliz! Primer beso, Sexo eventual, Desbalance de poder.

* n * se usa para pensamientos y *“ n ”* para conversación mental.

Tú te encontrabas disfrutando genuinamente. No gracias a Sage, gracias a ti. Era difícil no poder depender de nadie y encontrar algo después de haber estirado las manos tantas veces buscando algo. Quizás este programa te daría una buena vida, un buen y respetado trabajo. Quizás como presidenta de algún consejo de magia, como consejera de las reinas del paraíso de las delicias o incluso profesora de la academia.

Lo que sea que pagaran, seguramente era bueno; solo bastaba ver las cantidades absurdas de oro y joyas que Sage utilizaba en sus horribles atuendos.

Si, no era fácil. No dormías, ya no veías tanto a tus amigos; aunque ellos estaban felices porque te reincorporaste a algún programa de la academia. Pero te dieron su pésame cuando se enteraron de que; fue en el programa de magia de la luna oscura.

Entendías sus emociones contradictorias, era difícil; pero te divertías genuinamente. Era como si esa magia te acogiera, resonabas con ella; era tan fácil como respirar.

Esa fue una idea que te provocó un escalofrío por toda la columna.

Después del mes de prueba, siete alumnos se fueron. Para tu mala suerte, quedaron los que más aborrecías, los más aferrados a su objetivo y a aplastarte. Como si el número de plazas para graduarse fueran escasas, al contrario. Debido a que ver un alumno graduado de tu programa era raro, las plazas abundaban. Y siempre había grandes organizaciones y reinos llevándose a las promesas más interesantes.

Las constantes miradas amenazantes cada vez que levantabas la mano te incomodaron lo suficiente como para echarte hasta el frente cerca de Sage.

Pero ya no eran intercambios molestos que extendían las clases de manera mortificante para los demás, eran dudas genuinas, interés por aprender y desarrollarte. Era el amor por el conocimiento que hace mucho tiempo habías enterrado.

Ese amor había comenzado a florecer de nuevo, lento, con riego constante y con emociones que no sabías describir y estabas muy ocupada intentando descifrar.

El “favor” de Sage por recomendarte, calmó la hoguera de tu odio. Sin embargo, así como el fuego, era inestable y fácilmente podía volver a arder.

Que te la pasaras bien no significaba que no fueras reactiva a cualquier cosa con tal de continuar con tu plan por hacerle una pesada existencia mientras tu estuvieras cerca de él.

Sin embargo, eso no quitaba lo abrumador del aplastante programa educativo, si era así de complicado; era porque alguien había logrado superarlo. Y eso lejos de ablandar a Sage, de favorecerlos con algo por ser el programa que más atesoraba; lo volvía más estricto, perfeccionista y pesado.

Por primera vez probaste lo que fue arrancarte la piel de los labios, mover de arriba hacia abajo las piernas durante las clases, el café cargado y los hechizos para que tu cerebro se viera obligado a mantenerse despierto por días y seguir funcionando óptimamente.

Aunque tu nuevo talento con este tipo de magia muchas veces compensaba tus deficiencias académicas.

“¡Exacto, el choque de ideas es lo que realmente significa llegar a la verdad!”

Claro, aún había una parte que odiabas de Sage y muchos recuerdos aún te movían antes de que te dieras cuenta. Pero ahora lo controlabas mejor, ya que los ejercicios prácticos muchas veces involucraban hechizos que desafiaban la integridad del otro. Eras sobresaliente, y los alumnos sobresalientes se ganaban el privilegio de entrenar con Sage para dar el ejemplo frente a todo el curso.

Y tú te aprovechabas de eso.

A veces fingías no controlar la fuerza con la que Sage recibía el impacto de alguna explosión, su cara manchada de humo negro y su sombrero ridículo pulverizado valía la pena por cada cabello quemado que obtenías. Claro, él siempre podía arreglarlos a los dos sin molestias con el chasquido de sus dedos.

En los hechizos de control mental lo hacías ladrar o hacer poses ridículas.

En los ejercicios de reanimación fingías olvidar como hacer el hechizo cuando estabas segura de que su alma estaba en agonía verdadera.

* “Querida…el tiempo se está agotando.” * Escuchabas su voz en tu cabeza, en este tipo de hechizos, cuando el cuerpo estaba en coma; el alma del sujeto seguía activa, aunque la actividad neuronal no. Creías que Sage podía hablarte a través de su alma debido a que esta estaba en otro alter plano de consciencia. Pero no, cuando repetías este ejercicio con tus compañeros, ellos no podían conversar contigo. Siempre pensaste que fue porque no les agradabas y no deseaban comunicación contigo.

* “No dudo de tus extraordinarias capacidades, pero mi cerebro quedará inservible en unos minutos…” *

Y, realmente, Sage ya sabía que no moriría si te tardabas más de lo que su cuerpo pudiera tolerar. Simplemente era bastante molesto lidiar con los efectos secundarios que le provocaría traer de vuelta a la vida su cuerpo.

Ya le ha pasado muchas veces.

Seguramente no escuchaste el escándalo porque ni siquiera nacías, un estudiante del mismo programa lo mató por accidente en esta práctica hace un par de siglos.

Como director no iba a expulsarlo realmente, pero el estudiante se dio de baja esa misma tarde.

¡Pero tu vaya que te has empeñado en hacer que tema un poco por la integridad de su cuerpo últimamente! Sin embargo, no puede evitar ponerte una nota sobresaliente, eres bastante buena en la práctica, aunque tengas bordes ásperos que pulir en tu desempeño dentro del aula.

¿Y quién diría que la magia práctica sería un excelente agente desestresante para ti siempre que él fuera el objetivo? Sage lo había anotado en tu expediente como “enriquecimiento ambiental” con una sonrisa torcida.

Notaba que cada vez que te sacaba al campo de entrenamiento, había pruebas difíciles o clases sin descanso; enfocabas tu energía en otra cosa que no fuera intentar matarlo o en el odio desmedido que aún hervía en ti.

Y, sobre todo, podías hacerlo. Podías hacer magia, no esa pobre energía dorada que no podía sanar. Esta era magia para transformar, para controlar, manipular materia; tu vocación.

Sage se enorgullecía, no se había equivocado contigo. No era la primera vez que jugaba con el futuro de sus alumnos cuando sus decisiones no coincidían con el potencial con el que nacieron. Pero tú eras un resultado exquisito.

Te haría su pupila, su tutorada, te ayudaría a graduarte con honores y serías una más a la cuenta del bien que ha hecho por el continente.

A todo esto, Sage no te gritaba, no se molestaba ni te humillaba frente a todos como tus amargos recuerdos sabían que reaccionaba a tus provocaciones y a tu actitud problemática. En cambio, te miraba con una sonrisa mientras te carcajeabas de él con clara burla y malicia, sus ojos te recorrían y pronunciaba un simple:

“Tu turno, este hechizo es complejo para tu nivel actual, solo puedo realizarlo yo.”

Y procedía a cambiar de cuerpos contigo con la simpleza y facilidad de mirarte a los ojos.

Era tan diferente cuando te dejaba entrar en su mente de forma voluntaria, no dolía, no sentías como si te estuviera arrancando la columna. Era cálido, envolvente y un cielo estrellado sinfín. A veces te preguntabas, ¿qué veía él cuando entraba a la tuya? Sin embargo, no arriesgabas demasiado; Sage ya había mostrado hasta donde era capaz de llegar con una alumna irrespetuosa que se inmiscuye demasiado en su mente.

Honestamente ese odio que le tenías era más una costumbre que no abandonabas porque era parte de tu personalidad, una pequeña desventura de tus años formativos que te afectó en demasía.

Pero, no sabías que esta afloraría mucho más en el futuro.

Sage tenía sus dudas, fuiste un gran dolor de culo todo tu trayecto escolar. Pero, no entendía porque podía meterse en tu mente para hablar contigo.

Lo descubrió de inmediato, esa vez que te atrapó intentando hacer trampa en el examen final del programa de sanadores. Lo atribuyó a que no deshiciste bien el hechizo de lectura de mente cuando te fuiste a la enfermería, así que él mismo lo limpió de su sistema.

Pero no funcionó…

Se dio cuenta del lazo cuando tú también podías hablarle, sin ser consciente de aquello, claro. Lo notaba por… tus palabras poco contenidas.

“¡Muy bien, competentes en proceso!” Sage entró al aula con una enorme torre de pergaminos entre sus brazos que le cubrían el rostro, demasiado papel para solo siete alumnos. “Lápiz sobre sus escritorios, hechizos disueltos. Con estos exámenes entramos en la etapa final del año, ¡si creen que es demasiado para ustedes; la facultad de sanadores está cruzando el observatorio!”

Ignorando la mordaz burla, apretaste los puños y viste fijamente la torre de pergaminos que Sage con un ademán mandó a repartir entre ustedes. Claro que el más extenso era para ti.

Estabas lista, no cometerías el mismo error que el año anterior.

* “Vamos, bastardo. Esta vez no te tengo miedo.” *

Sage carraspeó un poco al oírte en la parte más profunda de su mente, tu no sabías por qué. Y simplemente le diste una razón para dedicarle días exclusivamente a evaluar tu examen. Diste procedimientos más complicados de lo necesario, diagramas extensos y perfectamente ramificados para dedicarles más de una hojeada, formulas innovadoras y en las partes que no se te daban bien intentabas colocar explicaciones detalladas de lo que podías para ver si eso podía sumarte décimas en el promedio final.

* “Hijo de perra, puso esto porque sabe que no se me da bien.” *

Sage no sabía exactamente en que momentos te escucharía hablarle sin querer, es por eso que; desconocía cuando podrías escucharlo. Así que simplemente ponía su mente en blanco cuando estaba cerca de ti para que no pudieras escuchar su flujo mental, bastante íntimo para él.

Aunque no pudo librarse de todos tus comentarios groseros y despectivos hacia su persona durante todo el año, al final se acostumbró un poco. Pero cuando pensabas en él descuartizado o siendo atropellado, aclaraba su garganta en medio de la clase y seguía con una sonrisa poco creíble.

* “Ojalá Sage se infartara… podría estudiar un poco más sobre los hechizos de cambio de cuerpo que no me dio tiempo.” *

“¡Querida! ¿Por qué no nos compartes el avance de tu hechizo?” Sage usualmente te instaba a participar cuando tus pensamientos hilaban demasiado en torno a él. La mayoría con tintes violentos, aunque no podía ignorar la informalidad con la que decías su nombre en la privacidad de tus aposentos mentales.

Te volviste la música de fondo que involucraba tenerte cerca, cada vez que te saludaba suavemente sin palabras al cruzarse en el pasillo. Ya sabía el coro que le golpearía la mente y poco a poco se difuminaría.

* “Imbécil, imbécil, imbécil, imbécil, imbécil…” *

Tu jamás te diste cuenta, porque pensar en Sage, de buena o mala forma; siempre fue parte de tu vida. Y él disimulaba bastante bien, nunca lo tomabas por sorpresa.

A veces, en momentos de consciencia y autocritica; te disgustaba todo el espacio que él ocupaba en tu mente. Pero era más fácil ignorarlo como algo inherente a tu forma de ser.

Era mucho más fácil echarle la culpa a él, todo era culpa de Sage y no te arrepentías ni un poco. En dado caso, todo el tiempo que le dedicas a odiarlo simplemente es estar a mano con él; porque se lo merecía.

* “Ojalá se muera.” *

* “¿No ha pensado en suicidarse alguna vez? Muchos estaríamos muy felices.” *

¿Cómo podías pensar eso mientras le devolvías el saludo?

Esa era una de las pocas cosas que Sage no te podía reprender, no importa que tan horribles fueran hacia su persona. A él no le corresponde reprenderte por la intimidad de tu mente. El hecho de que él siga escuchando es un fallo suyo, debido a que aún no encuentra la razón de esto.

¡Claro, hay una opción, una explicación siempre ronda la mente de Sage!

Pero él se niega a esas razones, no porque carezcan de argumentos; sino porque no cree que seas tú la variante que resuelva el teorema que lleva buscando tantos siglos. Su fragmento de alma esperado. No puede creer que seas tú, ¿cómo alguien que lo odia tanto podría llegar a amar a un hombre como él?

Solo queda esperar unos cuantos años a que te vayas y descartarlo.

Tal vez hay remanentes de tu hechizo que no ha logrado disipar, ¡después de todo eres una encantadora prodigio, tu magia no es cualquier tontería! Tal vez son efectos secundarios por seguir practicando hechizos de control mental contigo después de ese incidente.

Pero Sage sabe que no es cierto, no queda rastro de tu magia en él porque él es muy minucioso de quitarse los restos antes de llegar a casa y ser castigado. Pero eso es algo que prefiere ignorar por el momento.

Aunque, no puede evitar notar el sutil cambio de tus comentarios con los meses. Son más puntuales cada vez, bien observadores diría él. Claro, siempre están acompañados de un insulto para equilibrar la formula.

Pero nunca había sido consciente del detalle con el que lo observabas.

* “Que pantalones tan apretados y de mal gusto, ¡cámbiate, ridículo!” * A veces te escuchaba decir mientras pasabas a su lado para entregar tus exámenes y tareas, ni siquiera lo veías. La agilidad mental con la que le encontrabas defectos y lo insultabas le parecía suficiente como para instar en otra área disciplinar de la menta.

* “El idiota olvidó su monóculo otra vez.” *

Pero también lo hacía pensar, ¿hacia cuanto te fijabas así en él? Bueno, realmente no creería que alguien que lo odia se fije en detalles… te creía más de insultos generales que de algo tan específico.

Pero solo hablabas y hablabas en lo profundo de tus pensamientos que creías que nadie estaba escuchando.

* “Que hombre tan imbécil, no sé porque las mujeres se le confiesan… espera, ¿siquiera es un hombre?” *

Pero, oh, él sí que escuchaba. Cada letra y palabra de odio y resentimiento.

Y, después de clases de sol a sol, estudio extenuante de inicio a fin de semana, lágrimas, secuelas en tu cerebro el cual obligaste a permanecer funcionando ininterrumpidamente durante semanas enteras, un tiro al blanco en tu habitación con una foto de la cara de Sage en el centro, foto agujereada de tantas veces que asestaste el dardo en sus ojos.

“¡Bien, criaturas agotadas! ¡Quiero verlos más emocionados y menos incompetentes el próximo semestre!” Sage se encontraba flotando levemente al centro del auditorio, hoy estaba particularmente de buenas. “Pueden consultar sus calificaciones y su retroalimentación esta tarde, sé que algunos de ustedes quieren irse cuanto antes. ¡No se asusten demasiado, si hubiesen reprobado el año; yo personalmente los echaría de la facultad hace mucho tiempo! ¿Por qué desperdiciar tiempo?”

Sage se carcajeó levemente, todos se tensaron.

Hace algunas semanas que uno de tus compañeros, aquél que comenzó a quedarse atrás, que falló en innumerables prácticas y se tensaba cada vez que había un examen; dejó de ir a clases.

Nadie preguntó, nadie dijo nada; pero con esto todos entendieron que ocurría, y la amenaza implícita de Sage. Él no tenía reparos ni compasión para sacarlos en el momento en que comiencen a tener resultados mediocres.

El programa de magia de la luna oscura estaba constituido por más años que los demás y eran mapas curriculares más extenuantes y deshumanizantes.

Sin embargo, Sage siempre fue creyente de que los grandes sacrificios merecían recompensas similares si se hacía bien el proceso. Los estudiantes aprobados como tu gozaban de más vacaciones que el resto, salían antes a descansar y regresaban después de los demás programas; a cambio de ocho años de su vida dentro de la institución.

Ustedes apenas sobrevivieron a uno de ocho.

“¡Sin embargo, eso no los exenta de la última clase de este semestre, tenemos todo un día para aprender!” Esta vez nadie se contuvo el quejido de frustración, algunos se jalaron el cabello del estrés, otros estrellaron la cabeza contra su mesa de trabajo y tu simplemente lo miraste con una mueca horrenda. Nadie había dormido en semanas después de finales y esos exámenes de doce horas. Estaban enterrando las uñas en la mesa de sus escritorios para poder deshacer esos hechizos que los tenían despiertos y funcionando. “Bueno, si no soportan otro día de clase; me alegra mucho saber que el programa de repostería mágica no se quedará sin vetados el próximo año.” Sage guiñó el ojo.

Tu torciste los ojos y sacaste tu libro.

“Oh, no no no no.” Sage negó efusivamente antes de que los demás te siguieran. “Lo que vamos a ver hoy no está en sus libros de este semestre… considérenlo una pequeña probada de lo que veremos los próximos semestres.”

Sage había tenido muchas formas a lo largo de su vida. Fue mujer, deidad, infante, anciano, rey, bestia y ahora profesor.

Nadie vivo recuerda su verdadera forma ni lo que solía ser, por lo que le pareció la idea más irónica y divertida. Un cambio radical pero profundamente familiar y nostálgico.

Así que antes de que alguno de ustedes pudiera preguntar, Sage levitó y extendió su cetro hacia arriba.

Su figura se tornó alquitrán negro profundo y sin dimensión, no fue una transformación gloriosa ni brillante. Fue espectral, seca como el polvo de anís y fría. Sumamente fría como para helar todo el auditorio, una pequeña fracción del poder que podía emanar y canalizar con su dominio experto de la magia de la luna oscura.

Del alquitrán brotó una cabellera larga del color del cielo en el observatorio cuando la noche estaba limpia y todavía no amanecía, suelta, sedosa y extensa más allá del suelo. Azul denso, satinado, ensuciado de reflejos fríos como si el firmamento estuviera cayendo en hebras. El negro tomó forma, el color de la piel; un azul más moreno y opaco.

La ropa de Sage cambió, su vulgar ropa ajustada ahora eran túnicas negras y largas sin dejar ver sus pies o manos. Un cuello alto y una capa cerrada con un candado de seis puntas. La gema que Sage solía usar en el cuello de su atuendo ahora estaba incrustada en su cetro. Latiendo con una luz pálida y fija, con un ojo mineral.

Tenía una corona tallada del mismo diamante blanco que no parecía pesarle a pesar de su tamaño y consistencia, nacía de él. Anillos de oro cruzándole el cuerpo. No sabías si lo que orbitaba alrededor suyo eran brillantes fragmentos residuales de magia o estrellas.

Brillante como el alba, majestuoso, vaporoso. Sin un límite claro de donde comenzaba y donde terminaba. No era benigno, era helado. Como si no existiera realidad lo suficiente fija como para soportar una visión completa de él, al menos no mortales como ustedes.

Sabías que era él por sus ojos… pero estos lucían diferentes. No había rastro de tu profesor excitado y emocionado por poner retos casi imposibles o corregir hechizos. Eran ojos menos vivos, más sensatos… casi amorosos; no por ternura sino por el sentimiento de compasión remota y divina con la que los dioses observan criaturas demasiado tontas y pequeñas.

El aula entera había quedado en silencio.

Ni siquiera los más arrogantes se atrevieron a romperlo, ni siquiera tu.

Sage, o lo que antes era Sage, apenas bajó la cabeza contemplándolos a todos como si desde esa altura nueva ustedes le parecieran un suceso de mal gusto, pero hecho de todas formas. Te hizo sentir pequeña, había una presión en tu interior; una memoria de ancestros atrás que te pedía arrodillarte y no sabías por qué.

Ni un segundo, ni un solo movimiento te lo perdiste. Observabas la tela exquisita y elegante de su ropa, el oro solido en su ser que seguramente habría llevado minas enteras a la quiebra. Su piel azul moreno y el frio que te provocaba estar debajo de él.

Luego él levantó una mano o algo que debía ser una mano, debajo de sus túnicas y oro. El cetro giró lentamente entre sus dedos. Como si probara algo que llevaba eones sin tocar.

“La metamorfosis es una respuesta desesperada de la naturaleza para intentar mimetizar la magia del cambo de formas. Sin embargo, la magia siempre es más perfecta que la propia evolución.” Su voz ya no sonó como él. Sonó como una campana hundida en agua oscura, como si cada palabra tuviera que atravesar siglos antes de llegar a ustedes. Vieja, polvosa. “Un día, si no son lo suficientemente idiotas; ustedes podrán hacer esto también.”

Nadie levantó la mano, tampoco abrieron sus cuadernos. Mucho menos tú.

Porque lo estabas viendo demasiado. Y no lo mirabas con el asombro de una alumna en una práctica interesante, tampoco con curiosidad crítica.

Lo mirabas con algo mucho peor, algo que se te estaba formando muy abajo, muy adentro, sin permiso y sin respeto por tu orgullo ni por los años que habías invertido en odiarlo con disciplina.

Era como una verdad demasiado grande para ti, como un desastre natural, brillante como el sol y frío como el centro de los océanos. Te invadió la nostalgia, un sentimiento magnético que te hacía pensar que si te estirabas para tocarlo; encajarían de forma de una forma que rozaría el pecado del orgullo.

Lo sentiste, pero no sabías si todos lo sentían igual. Sentiste la energía y la magia descomunal que se desplegaba para traer esa forma en el mundo.

Estabas segura de que un hombre así no debería existir y porque ahora, no era nada más que un disfraz en el repertorio de Sage.

Era tan nostálgico, estaba tan grabado en la memoria genética de todos ahí, que los ojos se te hicieron agua.

* “Eres precioso…” *

No lo pensaste para que él lo escuchara. La frase salió de ti antes de que tu vergüenza tuviera tiempo de matarla. Estaba destinado a ser un pensamiento sin filtro que te guardarías por orgullo y por pudor al aula. No sabías que podía escuchar…

Hasta que Sage vaciló de inmediato.

Sage te sintió. Sintió algo, un escalofrío, no de frio; de calor. Como un latigazo de hielo recorrerle toda la columna desde abajo. La excitación se le trepó por la espalda y la piel cubierta de su cuello respondió a la energía de tu pensamiento.

No fue una pausa marcada ni escandalosa, solo reconocimiento sin permitir que terceros se metieran.

Desde arriba, su mirada bajó directo hacia ti. Te temblaron los labios, abriste la boca para jadear, pero no salió nada. Los fragmentos brillantes de su ser se suspendieron alrededor del aula. Sage había mantenido su pequeño secreto porque podía disimularlo bien, pero esta vez falló.

Vislumbraste a su semblante divino, no volverse una mirada acusatoria; sino de visión, personal. Su silenció duró un segundo en donde transcurrió toda su vida juntos.

Y luego Sage carraspeó, volviendo su vista hacia todo el auditorio.

“Es una apariencia preciosa, ¿no?” Abriste los ojos de sobremanera y te tensaste en tu asiento, haciéndote más pequeña. Bajaste la cabeza para que no se te viera el sonrojo que te calentó hasta las orejas. Un comentario dicho en alto para todo el grupo, pero tenía el propósito impío de darte un mensaje fuerte y claro.

* Te escuché. *

No sabías que podía escucharte sin un hechizo activo de por medio, no lo sabías… ¿Cuánto tiempo llevan así? ¿Cuánto ha escuchado de tu privacidad, de tu intimidad y secretos? Tu misma habrías sentido la manipulación de Sage en tu cerebro, buscaste con rapidez mientras sostenías tu cabeza y arañabas de vez en cuando tu cabello para mantenerte centrada; un pequeño cercioramiento de que tu mente estaba siendo intervenida, pero no. No había nada, ni rastro delator de la magia brillante de Sage.

Él seguía hablando, pero por minutos no escuchaste absolutamente nada de lo que él explicaba efusivamente a la clase, casi como si intentara evadir lo que ocurrió hace un rato. Como a un niño que se le atrapa robando algo de la cocina y luego te habla rápidamente de su día para disuadir.

Pero a ti no te estaba disuadiendo en lo absoluto.

* “¿Cuánto tiempo…?” *

Te temblaron las manos, te costaba respirar, la luz blanca de repente te mareaba. Te aferraste a tu mesa para tener algo en que sostenerte por si el sentimiento te ganaba.

Sage lo sabía, todo este tiempo lo supo. Como haberte dejado andar por ahí con la túnica levantada. Para que solo él viera lo que hay debajo de tu túnica.

* “¿Cuánto tiempo llevamos atados?” *

El horror, te sentiste desnuda.

La idea obscena de cuánto tiempo había podido oírte sin que lo supieras. Tus pensamientos, tus insultos, tus pequeñas fantasías violentas. Comentarios miserables sobre sus pantalones, sus manos, su sombrero, su respiración. Tus miedos, tu vergüenza y tus inseguridades. ¿Cuál era su alcance? Pensaste en las veces que regresaste a tu habitación creyendo estar sola y dejaste correr dentro de tu cabeza cosas que nadie, NADIE, tenía derecho a escuchar.

Las conversaciones indecorosas con tus amigos.

* “Profesor Sage…” *

¿Él sabía todo lo que cruzó por tu mente? Y te había dejado hacerlo, te había dejado continuar así por quien sabe cuánto tiempo.

Sage se interrumpió apenas para girar el cetro y mandarle a alguna tiza a realizar diagramas en la pizarra.

* “Contéstame.” * Cuando lo llamaste de forma tan informal, su mirada te rozó a penas. De reojo mientras hablaba. Confirmando que, no solo te escuchaba; sino que elegía no responderte.

El sonrojo de vergüenza y vértigo murió de golpe y fue reemplazado por el de la ira. Tus ojos se hundieron y lo miraste desde abajo, tu esclerótica blanca brillaba con brazas recién renovadas de odio. Respiraste rápido, con rabia. Pero no como cuando eras niña, no ibas a salir corriendo a llorar; ibas a arrancarle la garganta, reportarlo con el director y el consejo. Ibas a hacer que lo echaran de la academia.

Sage escuchó esa última idea y soltó una risita seca, desvergonzada y asquerosa que confundió a la mayoría de los alumnos que tenían levantada su mano para que él respondiera sus dudas.

Pobrecita.

Tu no sabías que ocurría realmente en la academia, era normal que quisieras defenderte con “el único apoyo que tenías”. Eras feroz, pero tristemente ignorante.

¿Los profesores en el consejo? Él los creó, de su carne y del cielo estrellado. ¿Él consejo de alumnos? Una broma para darle algo de democracia a los estudiantes.

Tú dependes únicamente del director, de ÉL.

Si acaso, una posibilidad sería que dejes la academia. Pero Sage sabe que no lo harás. No puedes hacer nada. No tienes nada.

Eres una tonta muy dramática.

Si quisiera saber que hay en tu mente, te hubiese leído de pies a cabezas cuando quisiera y nunca te darías cuenta. Lamentablemente esto también está lejos del control de Sage como tuyo. Así que fue tolerante contigo incluso con lo que dijiste después.

* “¿Cuánto escuchaste, hijo de perra?” * Ahí sí. Sage sintió el tic en el ojo regresar después de tanto tiempo, pero esta vez no volteó a ver. Sabía que tu mirada era lo suficientemente aterradora y sus demás estudiantes lo estaban escuchando con atención y sus miradas de asombro no ocurren a menudo.

La respuesta te llegó por dentro, tersa, lechosa, perfectamente modulada. Sin apuro, sin culpa y engreída.

* “Mucho.” *

Te quedaste inmóvil, el lápiz que apretabas con nerviosismo se te resbaló. Nadie volteó a verte excepto Sage, fue ahí donde sintió lo más cercano a un tirón en el interior de su cuerpo. Hablaba, más efusivo, más rápido, más motivado y excelente que antes.

* “No escuché todo.” * Dijo en un intento de reconfortarte, pero el alivio no llegó.

La rabia se ordenó dentro de ti.

Ah… ese sentimiento si lo entendías. Era un terreno conocido y fácil para regresar.

Siempre era él, siempre era Sage contigo. Haciéndote algo imperdonable, como una extensión natural de la posición de poder que tiene sobre ti.

* “Si me dejas terminar la clase, quizás te lo explique.” *

Quizás…

¿QUIZÁS?

Su insolencia casi te hizo reírte amargamente. Porque ahí estaba, intacto; el profesor insoportable. Un hombre que creía que cualquier revelación debía ocurrir en sus términos, a su ritmo, bajo sus condiciones. Su escenario puesto para su comodidad y tenerte bajo su control. Como si incluso una violación accidental y prolongada de tu intimidad debiera guardarle primero respeto. No osaras, tú, interrumpir su importante cátedra.

No, no, no. Él no iba a controlar el ritmo, él no iba a decidir cuándo terminar esto. No iba a hacerte lo mismo nunca más.

Así que te desquitaste de la única forma que sabías.

Levantaste la mano, y Sage cometió el error de darte la palabra, serio.

“Que enseñanza tan estúpida para nuestro último día de clases. Si es un arte que casi nadie domina, entonces es culpa del elitista que formuló los hechizos.” El aula entera se congeló.

Todos se callaron y bajaron las manos y todos compartieron una terrible sensación. Fue la resolución de un grupo de estudiantes entendiendo al mismo tiempo que acababan de presenciar un gesto que no tenía vuelta atrás. Las tizas siguieron escribiendo un par de segundos y luego se detuvieron.

No estabas preguntando, no jugabas, no estabas desafiándolo por deporte y tampoco estabas intentando parecer ingeniosa. Lo estabas atacando. A él, a la raíz misma de autoridad, al corazón de su dominio, delante de todo el curso.

Nadie se atrevió a mirar primero a Sage ni a ti, porque cualquiera con dos dedos de frente entendía que había una línea cruzada que no alcanzaban a ver del todo, pero sí a sentir.

Sage quedó quieto en el aire, inmutable, en esa forma magnifica con la que había estado fanfarroneando toda la mañana. No parecía sorprendido, no le era raro que siempre te salieras del sitio que ya había calculado y asignado para ti. ¿Su pupila, su tutorada? Tal parece que tiene que hacer mucho más para llegar a ese punto.

Ah… así que ibas a pelear.

Aun cuando no tenías nada con que defenderte, aun cuando gracias a él estás ahí, aun cuando te estás jugando una sanción con ello. Con la ira arrancándote la compostura de alumna ejemplar y respetuosa, la vergüenza y el horror de sentirte desnuda; elegías pelear de pie, en su clase, mirándolo a la cara.

¡Qué preciosa, qué orgullosa! Y qué estúpido de tu parte.

La idea volvió a clavarle los dientes detrás del esternón. Eras tan parecido a él…

¿Y si eras tu? ¿Si de verdad eras tu? Por un segundo odió el momento exacto en que su cuerpo decidió reaccionar a ti como si fueras una promesa en vez de una alumna problemática con un problema legítimo con él.

Porque una parte de Sage, la terrible y más sincera, se negaba a aceptar que el posible hallazgo de su última alma viniera envuelto en una alumna malcriada que lo insultaba mentalmente, que quería denunciarlo a instancias que eran él mismo, y que ahora, en vez de conmoverse o asustarse por el vínculo recién expuesto y su autoridad, parecía más bien dispuesta a hundirle un cuchillo dentro.

Pero… ¿y si eras tu? ¿Qué estaba haciendo entonces?

Qué problema tan ridículo.

Porque, incluso si era cierto, también lo era que seguías siendo su alumna. Seguías dentro de su clase. Y acababas de darle la oportunidad de hacer lo que mejor sabía hacer contigo.

Sonrió, pero no de diversión, estaba irritado. Y, como siempre, eligió el camino más ruin; esconderlo dentro de la crueldad.

Ladeó apenas la cabeza. La corona de diamante atrapó la luz del aula.

“Qué observación tan valiente. Especialmente viniendo de alguien que apenas sobrevivió al examen de ingreso.”

Los alumnos bajaron la vista con una rapidez. Tú no.

Seguías mirándolo desde abajo y hubo algo en esa expresión que le resultó tan obscenamente satisfactoria que tuvo que apretar con más fuerza el cetro para no dejar que se le notara en la boca.

Sage descendió apenas. No lo suficiente para igualarte, sino para marcar diferencias. Ponerte en tu lugar.

Te pusiste de pie con un impulso violento que probablemente estaba escondiendo las ganas de abalanzarte encima de él y ahorcarlo.

Para que te viera más a su altura, más cerca de lo que había creado. La evolución de lo que él había producido al paso de los años.

Estabas tan metida en este problema y aun así decidiste seguir dando golpes.

“¿Por qué pareciera como si disfrutara más de vernos fallar que enseñar? ¿Cuál es el sentido de señalar nuestra indignidad a una magia que se nota que usted no aprendió en solo ocho años?”

Tú no sabías. No sabías lo que significabas todavía en la teoría privada en la cabeza de Sage. No sabías cuánto te había estado mirando, pesando, acomodando en el altar interior donde llevaba siglos juzgando señales como quien lava piedras esperando encontrar en alguna la forma exacta del destino en oro. Y si seguía comportándose así; soberbio, insolente, abusivo, ¿de verdad pensaba corregir eso después? ¿De verdad iba a seguir tratándote como a cualquier otra alumna difícil si una parte de él ya te estaba viendo a través de su lente mucho más exaltado en la permanencia?

La respuesta más sincera fue, por desgracia: sí. Por supuesto que sí.

Sage sabía muy bien cuándo estaba cruzando de maestro brillante a tirano intolerable. El problema era que esa frontera, cuando alguien le importaba demasiado, se volvía deliciosamente borrosa.

Además, tú misma habías elegido el aula, habías levantado la mano y lo habías provocado en su lenguaje favorito. ¿Y ahora querías que renunciara a responderte como respondía a todo lo que se le resistía?

Pobrecita… pobre mujer ignorante.

“Tienes una perspectiva bastante ególatra de la magia, querida. Un hechizo tan complejo y exquisito de conocimiento no tiene la obligación a bajar hasta donde ustedes se sientan cómodos solo porque no pueden hacerlo.”

Era una conversación estimulante, pero no era el momento. Quizás en otra situación menos tensa disfrutaría mucho de escucharte.

Tu siguiente frase lo sacó de esa idea con una bofetada.

“O tal vez disfruta formar alumnos limitados porque así nadie puede llegar a su nivel.”

* “Bájate de ese tono de una buena vez.” * Te advirtió, pero no escuchaste.

“Vi los anuarios de nuestros compañeros graduados, ¿por qué nadie lo ha superado a usted? Se supone que el dominio de la magia incrementa con cada generación. ¿Por qué cada vez somos menos alumnos?” Sage sabía la respuesta. Y si, era culpa suya. En el mundo no puede existir suficiente magia para satisfacer el flujo que reside en sus practicantes, mucho menos la magia del lado oscuro de la luna que es la fuente de la vitalidad y el poder de Sage. No existía persona sobre la faz de la tierra capaz de igualarlo; esa era su condena. “Me parece que, desde esa perspectiva, el problema no somos nosotros.”

El silencio fue absoluto y Sage ya no sonreía. No porque le hubieras ganado, sino porque estabas confundiendo las cosas.

Estabas mezclando dos cosas totalmente distintas, una cosa era el obvio favoritismo que te tiene y otra tu audacia para hablarle así. Sin embargo, también era una pelea complicada. Tenías razones para hablarle así en frente de sus estudiantes e incluso estabas siendo respetuosa. Si hubieras gritado algo sobre el lazo y como Sage podía leerte la mente sin querer; estarías arruinando su reputación.

Pero… ¿y luego qué? ¿Realmente serviría de algo? Sage no lucía asustado, demasiado confiado.

Sage bajó del todo al suelo, ya sin gracia. El sonido de sus tacones hizo eco ante el silencio incomodo de los alumnos que rogaban que esto terminara. Jamás te habías puesto así con Sage.

Pero era comprensible que no lo supiera, llevas un buen tiempo sin reaccionar así por él. Pero ahora lo tenía totalmente merecido.

“Mírame bien.”  Te dijo, no como una petición sino como una orden. No era necesario, ya lo hacías; pero tus pupilas se hicieron rendijas finas, como los gatos cuando algo no les agrada y están a punto de arañarte la cara si osas acercarte. Y Sage, por supuesto que tuvo cuidado; su pequeña gata arisca había crecido mucho. Ya te jugaste la carrera una vez, sabe que lo harías de nuevo con tal de hacerlo sentir solo un poco de lo que él hizo contigo todos estos años.

“¿Eso crees? ¿Qué mi disciplina de enseñanza se basa en llevar incompetentes a la graduación por pura vanidad?”

“Creo que es bastante celoso con su conocimiento como para llamarse profesor.”

Todos los estudiantes te miraron, con horror; como si ellos pudieran llegar a experimentar también las consecuencias de tu insolencia. Sage soltó una risita seca, pero sin gracia.

Una contención que no se permitía con ningún alumno insolente. Ni siquiera contigo en el pasado. Porque, si de verdad eras tú… esto formaba parte de la forma en que te estabas presentando para él y la cual él debía encontrar. Ya le pasó una vez y cometió el error de hacer cosas terribles por no darse cuenta a tiempo.

Pero la clase seguía existiendo, sus encantadores alumnos seguían viendo y escuchando. ¡Y por mucho que le encantaría seguir dándote cuerda y ver cuanto eras capaz de decirlo frente a todos…!

Sage seguía siendo un profesor, así que decidió cortar las cosas. Solo con la autoridad que alguien como él tendría en esta estructura de poder: con una palabra.

“Siéntate.”

La palabra cayó pesada sobre tus hombros, casi te hizo temblar las rodillas. Casi. Porque no te moviste y Sage te sostuvo la mirada.

Debajo de todo, con el descaro de que ya no tenía nada que ocultar contigo; dejó entrar un poco de la fuerza real del vínculo. No para dañarte. No del todo. Lo justo para que sintieras el recordatorio insoportable de que ahí mandaba él.

* “Pórtate bien, querida. No queremos meter más quejas a tu expediente, ¿cierto?” *

“Siéntate.” Repitió. “Antes de que olvide toda la paciencia que he tenido contigo.”

Eso te dolió, pero te indignó aún más.

Te sentaste, no porque hayas tenido suficiente y él ganara.

Porque era una amenaza real. * “¡Bien!” *

Sage alzó el cetro y reanudó la clase con una sonrisa desatada.

La pizarra volvió a llenarse y las tizas danzaban con crueldad una tras otra, solo para borrar su progreso celosamente y volviendo a escribir.

Tus compañeros reanudaron sus notas, mareados, la mayoría pálidos; nunca habían visto a su profesor así.

Pero tú si, así que dejaste perder los apuntes, simplemente lo miraste con desprecio el resto del día. No te preocupaba mucho perder el día, si Sage lo decía; usualmente había un libro en la biblioteca que tenía contenido similar.

Qué curioso…

* “Cobarde.” * La palabra volvió a deslizarse por el vínculo que compartían. Ya no era un accidente tuyo, era intencional.

Esta vez él sí respondió de inmediato.

* “Sigue y te restaré décimas el próximo año por la pésima conducta que tuviste hoy.” *

* “Lo que yo piense no le concierne a usted, concéntrese en su clase porque me estoy aburriendo.” *

Tu espalda se tensó, simplemente te cruzaste de brazos mientras te dedicabas a incomodarlo con tus pensamientos florecientes y tu mirada profundamente agria.

Sage fingía no escucharte y no notar tu mirada, estaba entretenido con su clase; pero también estaba meditando profundamente.

Al final, nadie se movió hasta que Sage dio permiso. Cuando lo hizo con un ademán desinteresado, el grupo huyó sin discreción. Todos tomaron sus cosas y salieron corriendo como los supervivientes al conflicto armado que tuviste con tu profesor. Tampoco querían arruinarse las vacaciones, se irían para no irritar más a Sage y vendrían por sus calificaciones por la tarde cuando estuviera más tranquilo y tú lejos de él.

Por eso no se levantaron rumores cuando se cerró la puerta detrás de ellos y tu no saliste, se imaginaron lo peor. Una reprimenda severa.

Tú recogiste tus cosas despacio, no tenías por qué huir.

Tu silla chirrió y te levantaste dispuesta a irte.

“Tú te quedas.” Levantaste tu mirada aburrida hacia Sage, quien te observa expectante desde la tarima del auditorio.

Detuviste tus pasos y volteaste hacia la puerta; ya no había alumnos, ni profesores rondando cerca de la puerta. Excelente.

“No.” Dijiste y de diste la vuelta, dispuesta a irte a dormir un rato. No te interesaba su retroalimentación o la calificación que haya decidido ponerte. Él mismo lo dijo; si estuvieras reprobada, ni siquiera podrías haber tomado esta clase.

Sage se echó hacia atrás extremadamente ofendido, podías jurara que incluso tenía el ceño fruncido. Y solo te reíste en tus adentros.

“¿Perdón?” Cuestionó incrédulo, pero no respondiste

Pero la puerta del aula se cerró frente a ti, no como un azotón, era una llamada de atención. No necesariamente severa.

Volteaste furiosa a verlo.

Sage ya había recuperado su forma original, los restos alquitranados de magia goteaban y se evaporaban de su cabello y las suelas de sus tacones; que horrible vista.

Hiciste una mueca de asco y Sage se sobresaltó mientras presionaba su cetro contra su pecho. Gesto extraño, casi protector, inocente.

Carraspeó e intentó de nuevo.

“Quédate.” Dijo, como si no te hubiese bloqueado la salida y no tuvieras opciones. “Quiero mostrarte tus calificaciones.”

Su voz salió diferente. Porque ese cambio de tono era evidente. Sospechoso. Antinatural en él. No era el profesor aprovechando para ajustar cuentas ahora que nadie estaba presente. Era… otra cosa.

Sage flotó levemente hacia ti al ver tu poca iniciativa de acercarte. No planeaba ser invasivo, pero si se sentía de esa manera. Tu apretaste tus apuntes contra tu pecho mientras lo veías deslizarse por el aire, haciendo aparecer de la nada unos pergaminos nuevos sobre su mano.

El papel lucía reciente, sin doblar ni maltratar. Probablemente eran los primeros registros de tu paso por el programa, con el tiempo irían adquiriendo dobleces y desgaste conforme Sage fuera asentando tu desempeño ahí.

“Tus calificaciones fueron excelentes, casi perfectas.” Te indignaste y frunciste el ceño, Sage señalaba el concentrado de tu desempeño y tu prácticamente le arrancaste el pergamino de las manos.

“¿Casi?” Sabías que tus prácticas eran impecables, los puntajes lejos de la perfección en tus exámenes fueron el problema.

“Si, casi.” Esperó unos minutos a que terminaras de ver todos los parámetros de evaluación, sus resultados de las pruebas y prácticas en caso de alguna queja. Aunque nunca se equivocaba con esas cosas, jamás. Una vez terminaste, levantó el dedo índice y el pergamino regresó a él. “Lo hiciste muy bien.”

Un escalofrío se te trepó por la espalda y te subió hasta la garganta, emitiste un quejido de desagrado mientras temblabas brevemente. No, no, no… eso era mucho peor que la crueldad. Porque eso era que ya conocías en Sage y estabas entrenada para responder a eso.

Pero ahora se comportaba como si quisiera agradarte, como si se le hubiese licuado el cerebro hasta quedar suave y sin pensamientos.

“¿Qué le pasa?” Te quedaste mirándolo con asco.

“Nada.” Se encogió de hombros mientras enrollaba el pergamino de tus calificaciones y lo hacía desaparecer. Mandándolo directamente a su oficina.

¡MENTIRA!

Se le notaba muchísimo. No solo en ese comentario, para comenzar nunca se te había acercado tanto para asuntos tan triviales.

No te estaba partiendo por la mitad ni aprovechando que estaban solos para pasarse contigo y hacerte llorar.

Aunque, si eras franca; era bastante difícil que te hiciera llorar. En dado caso terminarían golpeándose uno al otro.

Pero estaba siendo cortés contigo. Que miedo y que asco.

“No me hable así.”

“¿Cómo?”

“Como si no fueras…” Te callaste, intentaste formular mientras dibujabas círculos con tu mano libre. Porque no sabías por donde comenzar sin echarte encima de él para acabar con su vida. Estabas hastiada, incluso querías llorar de la frustración. ¡querías quitarte el hechizo para mantenerte despierta e irte a dormir! ¡Lo odias tanto! Estúpido, estúpido… siempre tan engreído y ahora tenía la cara de un perro pateado. ¡CÓMO SI ÉL NO FUERA QUIEN TE HABÍA PATEADO PRIMERO!

Sage observó tu cara con un interés que te hacía empujar por dentro.

Porque sí, una parte de él se daba cuenta de que estaba haciendo el ridículo y estaba pasando a traer tu estado de ánimo con eso. Que esa tranquilidad y amabilidad no le quedaban. Que sonaba apresurada, sospechosa, casi grotesca. Lo sabía. Claro que lo sabía. Pero no lograba dejar de intentarlo, porque después de estarlo meditando durante toda la clase; incluso si hablaba a toda velocidad de otro tema; no podía evitar que su sentir fuera hacia la misma dirección.

La luz de la verdad había estado gritándole lo mismo una y otra vez. Ya no era una pregunta, era una afirmativa:

*  Es ella. *

El vinculo que no se deshacía, todo el tiempo que seguías en su vida, la facilidad con la que entraste a su dominio y viste esa parte de él que hace mucho había sometido en sus adentros. Para que un hechizo tan fuerte se mantenga, necesita ser tirado de ambos extremos. Quizás tu no lo quieras, pero esto ya no parece depender de la voluntad de ustedes dos.

Pudiste haberte ido, hace mucho tiempo; pero la vida te puso ahí (y quizás un poco de su propia manipulación) donde él te recibió.

No lo querías, claro que no. Pero un vinculo puede albergar diferentes emociones.

Eso le correspondía cambiarlo a él y estuvo echando por el drenaje todas sus chances este año.

* Es ella. *

¿Cuántas veces Sage había creído esto antes?

Las suficientes como para saber que podía ser una trampa. Las suficientes como para seguir sosteniendo en el pecho una colección entera de errores que también hirieron a otra persona. Personas hermosas, vividas, problemáticas, compatibles con él por momentos, pero catastróficamente insuficientes después. De innumerables de ellas. Hace décadas conoció a alguien, y creyó que quizás… se equivocó. Aún estaba receloso de ese acontecimiento que lo dejó mal parado frente a la academia y con el corazón destrozado.

Cada uno de ellos no fue nada más que una piedra en su camino, una pequeña desgracia en privado.

Pero, aún así; estabas enlazada a él. Te habías vinculado con él. La tarde en los ventanales arriba del auditorio parecía empujarlo con violencia a la misma conclusión Y, entonces; si eras tu. Ya no podía seguir tratándote así.

“No quería que te enteraras así.” Eso hubiera sonado mejor si lo hubiera dicho serio, no con ese tono asqueroso.

“No me interesa lo que hayas querido.” Le levantaste la voz y Sage se sobresaltó. Maravilloso, lucía tan estúpido que no te la creías, ¿a qué iba ese cambio de actitud? Ibas a ahorcarlo.

“Voy a explicártelo.” Te dieron ganas de meterle los dedos en las cuencas y sacarle los ojos con la uña. “Nuestro vínculo…” Se te erizó la piel del cuello ante esa palabra, te dieron nauseas. “…no es un hechizo. No te lo puse yo, apareció después de que hicieras ese hechizo en la evaluación de sanadores. Creí que eran remanentes porque no habías hecho el hechizo bien, pero cuando eliminé los restos; no desapareció.”

“¿Lo sabías desde hace un año?” Preguntaste incrédula.

Sage podía mentirte, suavizar todo a su conveniencia. Pero no lo hizo.

“Sí.” Te estremeciste y pusiste las manos sobre tu cabeza, como si eso pudiera hacer una barrera para protegerte de eso. “¡No puedo escuchar todo!” Rápidamente intervino.

“¿Cuánto escuchaste?”

Pero Sage, nuevamente no respondió a esa pregunta. No quería enumerar tus intimidades frente a ti; incluso si justo eso querías.

Si, escuchó un par de cosas que no merecía escuchar. No todo se trataba de tus insultos y comentarios despectivos hacia él.

“Claro…” Escupiste mientras negabas con la cabeza, hablar con él solo era una pérdida de tiempo. Simplemente ibas a irte.

¡No, no!

Sage quería que te quedaras más tiempo, podría solucionarlo. Tal vez no podría deshacerlo; la primera y única vez (hasta ahora) que le ocurrió, jamás pudo deshacer el vínculo.

Pero podrían aprender a sobrellevarlo, quizás; ver que podrían hacer en consecuencia. Contrarrestarlo para que él no pudiera escuchar tus pensamientos privados, pero tal vez sí hablar un poco. Podrían entender su lazo, hablar mejor, en otro lado que no fuera esta aula llena de tensiones. Ustedes podrían…

Sage bajó al suelo de golpe, el paso de sus tacones hacía un eco escandaloso. Un paso, dos, la mano de Sage apenas alcanzó a rozar tu hombro.

No una caricia, tal vez una forma de retenerte. Sin gente y lejos del ambiente de las clases; creía que tocarte iba a ser la mejor forma de que lo escucharas.

Rápido, rápido. Algo le decía que tenía que hacerlo rápido. Ir a por ti o descartar esto de una vez.

“Puedo ayudarte.” Pero la verdad es que no era cierto, si lo que querías era deshacer el lazo; no se podía. No había manera, Sage lleva siglos intentando. No se podía. Pero podía experimentar un poco, podría ver hasta donde estaban enraizados, podía cambiar tu parecer acerca de él con el tiempo, podía hacer esta convivencia mejor. Su vinculo más ameno y tu y él… mejor que nunca. Él podría… “Si me dejas, quizá podría-.

Quizás…

Mentía. No del todo, aunque era lo suficientemente creíble.

Sí quería “ayudar”, quitarte la tensión y la inseguridad de ese lazo. Pero también quería tocarte. Acercarte, ver qué ocurría si el contacto físico afinaba esa cicatriz mal cerrada entre ambos. Quería comprobar si la vibración que le recorría el cuerpo cada vez que pensaba en esto; se volvía más nítida al tenerte bajo la mano.

Qué animal.

Pero… ¿quizás? Siempre era un quizás.

La bofetada sonó limpia y seca, haciendo un ruido demasiado largo para la comodidad de ambos. El monóculo de Sage salió volando y se estrelló sobre el piso, dejando nada más que su marco dorado. Su cara apenas giró, era alto, pero no podrías adivinar que tendría tanta fuerza como para soportarte un golpe así de duro.

De lo único que no se salvó fue de la marca levemente morada en su mejilla que se formó con rapidez tras el golpe.

Sage no se movió, tu soltaste un quejido de dolor mientras rodeabas tu muñeca con la otra mano, aplastando tus apuntes contra ti para que no resbalaran.

No se movió, no digo nada autoritario o violento, no se te adelantó para someterte o dar otro sermón sobre lo problemática que eras.

Se quedó ahí, con la mano suspendida; incomodo de no saber que posición adoptar ahora. Una expresión de ojos bien abiertos, descolocado, fuera de lugar. Ni un gran sabio, ni un profesor cruel y tirano.

“Si no lograste solucionar este problema en un año, menos lo harás ahora.” Apretaste tu agarre contra tu muñeca, el golpe te había dolido a ti también por la fuerza desmedida contra la cara horrible de Sage que opuso una resistencia admirable.

Sage parpadeó un par de veces, lentamente. Se sentía como haber ofrecido un vaso de agua y que se lo hubieran azotado contra el suelo. La cortesía era el vaso. Su expresión era patética, todavía intentando no parecer lo que ya era: alguien desesperado por no perder una posibilidad que apenas acababa de mostrarse para él.

Por eso insistió.

“Yo no quería-.”

“No me toques.” Interrumpiste. Sage retiró su mano por completo y la encogió contra su pecho, como si pudiera molestarte aún la cercanía lejana.

“No fue mi intención…”

“Tus intenciones me tienen sin cuidado.” Te diste la vuelta, dispuesta a irte. “Voy a ir a hablar con el director.”

Sage abrió los ojos con resolución y tuvo que esconder una sonrisa tras su mano hasta que te fueras. No huiste, caminaste tranquila con la espalda recta y sacudiendo ocasionalmente la mano con la que lo habías golpeado, todavía te ardía.

No quería ser más un asqueroso de lo que ya lo era, pero no podías hacer nada contra él.

Sin importar cuanto te quejaras, incluso si tu denuncia contra él fuera tan lejos como para acabar en el consejo; él era el director. Estaba siendo indulgente si siquiera te recibía la queja. Pero, lamentablemente, siempre tenía que interpretar su papel a la perfección.

Para cuando llegaste para pedir una cita, el secretario ya no estaba. En su lugar, había una agenda improvisada con una libreta y una pluma con poca tinta.

Había varios nombres, muchos tachados, no sabías quien pasaría antes de ti; así que anotaste tu nombre en el último horario y tomaste asiento a esperar a que te llamaran.

Pasaron las horas y jamás viste a alguien entrar o salir. ¿Sage se te había adelantado? ¿Tu profesor ya le estaba contando al director su queja sobre ti para intentar voltear la situación? Lo dudas un poco, se supone que Sage estaría dándole sus calificaciones a tus compañeros justo ahora. La verdad era que ya sabías que esto no avanzaría tanto, no con Sage siendo el profesor más valioso en la academia. Querías creer que las estructuras funcionaban, por pura moral.

Pero comienzas a impacientarte un poco. Aunque, de haber horario lleno o un evento que requiera la presencia del director, él siempre tiene el cuidado de dejar los mensajes en pequeñas infografías pegadas a su puerta.

Al final, la noche ya estaba asentada. La ira se había enfriado y terminaste sumida en tu cabeza. Las estrellas brillaban por los ventanales superiores. Esa noche había luna nueva. Ya era la hora en los que los más pequeños ya deberían estar, cenados, bañados y medio dormidos.

Pero tu seguías firme y esperando con paciencia, de vez en cuando te detenías a hojear la libreta del horario para comparar los tiempos.

Se supone que eras la siguiente…

Cuando escuchaste pasos, te pusiste de pie, la silla chirrió y te preparaste para desbocar contra el pobre director. Pero, cuando se abrió la puerta, no te recibió el director. Era otro hombre.

Era mucho más alto que la mayoría, incluso un poco más que el profesor Sage. Su presencia era suave pero profunda. Llevaba una túnica ceñida azul como el fondo del mar, bien puesta, como un traje ceremonial, una capa de cuello alto con patrones dorados por encima. Tenía el cabello en mechones rubios revueltos que parecían haber sido peinados en un principio, pero dejados a la suerte durante el resto del día. La barba le crecía apenas por no haberse afeitado en días y eso, lejos de darle un aspecto desaliñado; lo hacía lucir genuinamente guapo.

No interesante: guapo.

Pasaba su mano libre sobre su túnica para alisarla y arreglarla, un leve sonrojo que nunca notaste se terminaba de disipar por su rostro con un suspiro cansado. Tenía el ceño fruncido, pero parecía satisfecho por la forma en que sus labios iban relajados.

El hombre parecía no tener la mejor vista, el eco de sus tacones chocando con el piso era acompañado del eco hueco de su bastón de orquídea negra.

Sus ojos, desenfocados y lechosos por una capa de desgaste se parecían mucho a cierta persona molesta; dorado falso y azul desgastado.

Eso te enfureció un poco más, como si fueses un toro que se desboca al ver esos colores en particular.

Te vio antes de que pudieras hacerte la tonta y colarte a la oficina entre la lateral de la puerta y su brazo extendido que la sostenía abierta. No se notó sorprendido o extrañado a pesar de que era la primera vez que lo veías, esa era una mala señal.

“Así que eres tú.” No dio contexto, habló de más. Lo miraste con sospecha y recelo, pero no pudiste plantarle una cara tan mala como con Sage. Eso sería grosero.

“¿Nos conocemos?”

El hombre curvó sus labios levemente, no como burla, a la cual estabas acostumbrada. Como dulzura, de esa que a Sage le quedaba espantosa. Pero esta era de verdad.

“No personalmente.” Finalmente soltó la puerta y extendió la palma de su mano derecha sobre su pecho mientras cerraba los ojos y hacia una pequeña reverencia. Impecable y sereno. “Puedes llamarme Truthless Recluse.”

* Que apodo tan peculiar…*

No querías ser grosera, así que le diste tu nombre a cambio y un leve asentimiento de cabeza.

Recluse olía a agujas de pino fresco frescas, las bolsas cansadas bajo sus ojos lucían similares a las tuyas. ¿Era un alumno de la academia? No…

No era viejo, pero lucía como un adulto endurecido. ¿Un exalumno? Entonces no sería raro que haya pasado un buen rato hablando con el director.

“Esperaste mucho, lo lamento.” Truthless se deslizó para hacerte espacio, extendiendo su mano hacia la entrada de la oficina; indicándote que era tu turno de pasar.

Eso de inmediato avivó la razón y la ira del porque estabas ahí, le agradeciste y te despediste; entrando echa una furia a esa oficina exquisita y dando un portazo detrás de ti.

No sabes cuanto tiempo estuviste gritando y quejándote, contaste todo, se te salieron algunas lágrimas mientras te revictimizabas. Contaste lo del lazo, como habían discutido e incluso la amenaza de que sus quejas no procederían a nada.

No te importaba que tus gritos fueran escuchados por alguien más, Truthless seguramente ya se habría ido y esta ala solía estar vacía de noche.

Pero incluso en la candela de tus gritos y tus arrebatos por haber sido llevada al límite, tu subconsciente notó ciertas cosas cada vez que volteabas y dirigías la mirada a otro lado para reformular. El almizcle en el ambiente de la oficina, dos tazas sucias que aún olían al remanente del fuerte té rojo y un par de papeles regados por el suelo.

Para cuando te cansaste, porque calmada no estabas; el director te ayudó a redactar una queja formal que estaría anexa en el curriculum de Sage, dijo que lo reprendería severamente y haría lo que estuviera a su alcance para intentar deshacer el lazo.

Sage, en su farsa; incluso intentó deshacerlo en esa forma; pero para su nula sorpresa, no pudo.

Lamentablemente, te dijo con franqueza lo que temías; Sage era uno de los profesores más importantes de la academia. Valioso. Él solo enseñaba un programa entero, en el que tu estabas, y se dedicaba a las demás carreras a tiempo completo. Pero se aseguraría de cambiar su actitud.

Para cuando saliste, agotada, con las marcas saladas de lágrimas marcando tu pequeña puesta de color en tus mejillas; el edificio ya estaba cerrado. Por lo que tendrías que salir por la puerta trasera de emergencia, te sentías derrotada. Por Sage, por el director permisivo y por la estructura de este sistema el cual Sage ya te había advertido engreídamente que no haría nada al respecto.

Extraña fue tu sorpresa cuando abriste la puerta de la dirección y viste a TR de pie, apoyado sobre su bastón y con los ojos cerrados. No de sueño, sino de letargo, de espera.

¿Estuvo escuchando todo? ¿O se fue y regresó? Cualquiera de las dos ideas te hizo sonrojarte de la vergüenza. Gritaste, y mucho; pero estás segura de que escuchó la mayor parte de tus quejidos dirigidos. Y si era un exalumno como para tener la libertad de merodear por la academia; conocía a Sage.

Cerraste suavemente, esperando que no te hablara. Lástima.

“¿Ya está todo bien?” Gemiste profundo en tus adentros. Truthless enderezó su postura y finalmente abrió sus ojos cansados para verte.

No era curioso, era como si ya te conociera de tiempo; simplemente te dedicaba atención. Querías decir que todo estaba bien, quedar bien con el desconocido. Sin embargo, también querías desahogarte. No tenías a quien contarle ahora, ya era bien entrada la noche.

“No.” Respondiste seca, pero te hizo sentir bien ser sincera. No habías obtenido algo, no se había solucionado la situación y no estabas satisfecha con lo que el director te ofrecía. Por supuesto que todo está mal.

Recluse asintió, no preguntó de más y luego volteó levemente hacia los pasillos apagados y el acceso principal bloqueado.

Y en vista de que tu tampoco le preguntaste que hacía ahí, decidió que era una buena oportunidad.

“Es muy tarde, déjame acompañarte a tu habitación.”

* ¿Cómo sabía que vivías dentro de la academia? * Un pequeño error de dedo de TR al hablar. Apretó los dientes por su error. Para su suerte, la amabilidad después de todo un año con un profesor tan estúpido; concentró tu atención en otro lado.

“No hace falta, la academia es segura.” Ningún alumno lo sabía con certeza. Sage, cuando edificó la academia, destinó una pequeña parte del flujo de su magia en proteger la institución durante eones.

No era algo que tuviera méritos de por medio, sin embargo; como nunca han existido incidentes que pongan la integridad de los estudiantes en peligro. Todos asumen que es un lugar muy seguro.

“Insisto, hace demasiado frío a esta hora fuera de los edificios.” Volteaste a ver la oscilante oscuridad de la noche por los ventanales y luego a Truthless sosteniendo su bastón de orquídea. Asumías que estaba encantado para ayudarle a ver mejor, los ojos en la corona parpadeaban perezosamente en distintas direcciones.

No se veía como un delincuente, y si intentaba algo siempre podrías patearle el bastón para correr.

Pero eras sincera, la idea de caminar sola hasta tu habitación después de esta humillación era deprimente. En cambio, ser escoltada por un hombre guapo… no mejoraba nada.

Pero ayudaba a tu autoestima.

“Vámonos entonces.” Se apartó de la pared con elegancia y se acercó a tu derecha. Ofreciendo su brazo libre para ti. “Tendrás que guiarme, nunca he visitado la residencia de estudiantes.”

No te abrazaste a él, simplemente colocaste la palma de tu mano sobre su brazo y sostuviste tus cosas con tu antebrazo libre.

El camino fue silencioso, TR no preguntó nada y tu no querías hablar al respecto. Aunque las cosas no eran incomodas, era compañía dispuesta e inesperada. El hombre olía fresco, de esos que mantienen su aspecto impecable, pero parte del estilo era verse desaliñado; no lo lograba mucho. Se notaba el esmero que ponía en tener sus túnicas bien teñidas y planchadas, el esmalte negro de sus uñas, su cabello sin ninguna punta abierta. El labial oscuro retocado y la sombra de sus ojos sellada.

Con un suave desliz de dedos, el rubio abrió la puerta de la salida de emergencia. La humedad y la noche de verano era fría, probablemente llovería y después el sol de los días sería tortuoso y agobiador.

Truthless se disculpó y quitó tu mano, solo para protegerte con su capa. Las pequeñas gotas del rocío y el frío fueron mitigadas. No hablaste para agradecerle, solo asentiste y te pegaste más a su costado. Ojalá fuera de día, querías presumir.

Rodearon el edificio principal, pasaron por los jardines y auditorios de tu facultad. Las instalaciones eran inmensas, pero bien diseñadas para poder desplazarse en pocos minutos. Los edificios estaban dispuestos como fichas de dominó y la extensión de su inmensidad se desplegaba hacia el costado contrario. De esa forma se podría cruzar toda la academia fácilmente a través de los caminos de piedra crujiente.

Poco te atreviste a voltear a ver a Recluse, su facie era regia, serena. No te pedía indicaciones y sabía hacia donde girar. Tal vez era grosero no preguntar por él como lo hizo contigo. Pero tampoco tenías muchas ganas de hacerlo y él pareció notarlo. Entonces, tal vez ninguno estaba siendo descortés.

Bajaron las escaleras, dentro de las jardineras alrededor de las aulas de la media superior. El bastón de TR repiqueteaba a su paso, seco y amaderado; solido. Los ojos tallados en la corona de su orquídea brillaban, pero eran opacados por la iridiscencia de los arándanos en los arbustos que se removían, despertaban y abrían los ojos a su paso.

Una que otra fruta madura a veces flotaba cerca de ustedes, al nivel de sus rodillas para iluminar un poco el paso con luz amarilla e iridiscente. Solo para aburrirse poco después y acurrucarse en una jardinera.

Las que aún estaban pegadas a los tallos de los árboles, solo giraban su ojo perezoso hacia su caminar.

Las luciérnagas azules sobrevolaban con ustedes, el brillo opalescente trazaba el camino de su vuelo y luego desaparecía un rato.

Llegaron a los jardines de la básica, te la pasaste volteando hacia el lago. Como esa noche la luna no brillaba, los cúmulos de estrellas se reflejaban en el suave flujo del agua. Todo era tan silencioso, debido a que terminaste el año antes que todos; nadie se atrevía aún a desvelarse.

Los dormitorios estaban conformados por tres edificios, dos de ellos eran para los más pequeños y jóvenes; dividían niños y niñas respectivamente.

El ultimo edificio era mixto, hecho para los adultos en los programas superiores, hace ya dos años que te mudaste ahí. Te agradaba, podías recibir visitas y no había horario para apagar las luces. Prueba de esto, eran las múltiples ventanas iluminadas; a diferencia de los otros dos edificios que ya estaban totalmente en penumbra. Probablemente muchos se estaban preparando para los exámenes finales.

Cada edificio tenía su comedor en el primer piso respectivamente, incluso muchos profesores o personal de servicio también iban ahí.

Sales del cobijo de Truthless y avanzas por tu cuenta por el par de escaleras en la entrada, volteas un poco.

“Aquí está bien.”

“Todavía no llegamos a tu habitación.” Abres los ojos de más, pero te indigna más que lo haya dicho tan serio.

* ¡Eso sonó terrible! *

“No es necesario, ya me ayudaste lo suficiente.” Si, tus palabras eran sinceras, pero tampoco querías que un desconocido supiera exactamente dónde está la habitación donde te quedarías varios años. “Los dormitorios son seguros también.”

“No lo dudo.” Frunciste levemente el ceño ante la respuesta técnicamente correcta, pero si pauta a cerrar la conversación.

“Entonces buenas noches… y gracias por acompañarme.” Te diste la vuelta, empujando la puerta de cristal. Usualmente siempre había algunas velas flotando sobre su lato de plata por ahí para guiar a los estudiantes que llegaban tarde al edificio, tomarías una y te irías a dormir.

“¿En qué habitación estas?”

“¿Disculpa?” Volteaste hacia él, tus palmas contra el cristal grueso. El reflejo del lago ondulante se perdía a la altura de la capa oscura sobre sus hombros. No pudiste disimular la mueca en tu rostro, pero a Truthless no pareció molestarle. De hecho, ya la esperaba. No te sonreía con nerviosismo o para agradar, estaba serio, con los párpados pesados.

“Para no equivocarme cuando quiera encontrarte después.” El cansancio solo te hacía más suspicaz, que hombre tan peligroso. Aunque el peligro en si mismo había sido permitirle acompañarte tanto tiempo.

“Es una pregunta extraña…”

“Si.” Se encogió de hombros mientras cambiaba su bastón de mano. ¡Ni siquiera se estaba defendiendo! “Solo me gustaría saber donde encontrarte, pero puedo preguntar aquí por ti de igual forma.”

Volteaste tu vista hacia los solitarios jardines que acababan de recorrer, porque era una respuesta bastante buena en realidad. No encontrabas una forma para echarlo a patadas porque no había dicho o hecho algo mal. Estabas tan acostumbrada al trato áspero y hostil de tus compañeros en las clases; casi todos eran hombres.

Y al contrario de lo que alguien pudiera pensar por fuera, eso lo volvía un ambiente bastante centrista a ellos que te subestimaba en consecuencia. Para ellos, tu solo eras el lugar ocupado que otro hombre pudo haber usado.

Sin contar las acciones de el vómito, engullido y defecado que llamabas profesor Sage.

TR en cambio era respetuoso, no incomodaba, no intentaba otra cosa o decidía que merecía un premio por ser amable. Solo había decidido que quería verte otra vez, pero te daba el derecho de cerrarle la puerta si no lo querías.

Eso, de alguna forma; te resultó mucho más intimo que todas tus interacciones románticas en tu vida.

Así que le dejaste la puerta cerrada, con la posibilidad de que él pudiera tener una llave en el futuro. Además, una chica inteligente nunca llevaría a un hombre hasta su habitación la primera vez que se conocen, sin importar que tan guapo sea. ¡Podría ser un asesino por uno de esos del curso al que le caías mal!

“Puedes preguntar por mi al guardián del primer piso.” Dijiste y entraste rápidamente al edificio, pegándote a la puerta de cristal para ver la reacción de Truthless.

Él simplemente cerró los ojos para asentir.

“Que descanses.” La voz de TR a través del grueso cristal se volvió más suave.

“Buenas noches.” Murmuraste con los ojos entrecerrados, aún esperando a que hiciera algo.

Él implemente levantó su bastón para irse, esperabas que fuera en dirección a la entrada de la academia para cruzar el rio hacia la villa. Pero fue en la dirección por la que habían llegado. Levantando de su letargo nuevamente a los arándanos maduros que revoloteaban molestos por el dobladillo de la túnica de Recluse.

No te quedaste observándolo todo su trayecto, eso sería grosero; así que tomaste uno de los porta velas que flotaba cerca de ti y corriste escaleras arriba hasta tu habitación.

Odiabas las escaleras que necesitabas subir, normalmente utilizarías un hechizo de levitación o te lanzarías por el centro para frenar el impacto antes de estrellarte. Pero, esta noche simplemente te arrastrabas patéticamente hacia arriba. Dudabas de tener tanto aguante como para activar otro hechizo cuando el que te mantenía despierta te estaba robando energía constantemente justo ahora.

La vista era linda, sí. Pero a veces te cuestionabas que tanto valía la pena.

Para cuando llegaste, te diste una ducha y te colocaste ropa cómoda; ya con la premonición de lo que implicaba desactivar tu hechizo.

Te aventaste a la cama, te arropaste y con un simple ademán lo deshiciste.

Caíste inconsciente inmediatamente.

Nadie permitiría estos hechizos en estudiantes si requiriera recuperar todo el tiempo que se utilizó, solo le daba al cuerpo el suficiente tiempo para poder reaccionar por su cuenta. Sin embargo, no sanaba los daños que el cerebro y el sistema nervioso sufrían a causa de trabajo ininterrumpido por días o semanas.

Así que eso se arreglaba en una visita rápida en la enfermería.

Para cuando despertaste habían pasado dos días y medio, el hechizo se aseguraba de no matar de hambre al usuario maximizando la distribución y uso de energía y calorías. Pero aun así te despertabas con mucha hambre y sed.

Te diste otra ducha y te colocaste tu túnica, esta vez sin los cintos dorados.

La academia tenía estrictas visiones acerca de la ropa de sus estudiantes. Proveía a todos con ropa digna y acogedora para que ninguno tuviera que gastar dinero que no tiene en ropa del pueblo. Sin embargo, aquellos estudiantes que no estaban en servicio por vacaciones tenían que dejar las cintas de su grado académico en su habitación.

Cuando abriste la puerta para ir al comedor, viste con desagrado un montón de folletos colocados en tu puerta con algo de cinta que seguramente dañaría el barniz de la madera.

Eran panfletos acerca de los cursos de verano de Sage, por supuesto que los partiste a la mitad y los arrojaste al bote de basura.

Fue lo que había en el suelo frente a tus zapatos lo que te llamó la atención.

Habías escuchado de estos por los pretendientes que les hacían regalos a tus amigas, eran postres encantados dentro de cajita de cartón planchado. Una vez los abres, comienza su proceso normal de vida comestible. Este era un pastelito circular de varios pisos con crema y frutos rojos.

Luego te tomarías el tiempo emocional de valorar el detalle, por ahora lo devoraste de un solo bocado y lo que sobró de lo restregaste con la mano.

En el empaque tampoco había nota o mensaje, simplemente moviste los hombros y bajaste a tomar el almuerzo.

Te sentías mucho mejor, era la primera vez que usabas ese hechizo tanto tiempo; por lo que creías que te cobraría más días de descanso. Aunque, a juzgar por lo sediente que te sentías, asumías que el hechizo cobraba sus favores a cambio de otras cosas.

Los cocineros nunca racionaban la comida de los estudiantes, aunque esta si se dividía de acuerdo a los requerimientos nutricionales. Como una recomendación para una dieta saludable.

Tu simplemente pediste doble de todo, tomaste un vaso que podías rellenar cuantas veces quisieras y fuiste a sentarte.

Y mientras comías, escuchabas.

“¿Otra vez el profesor Sage?” Murmuraba un chico que creía no estar siendo escuchado. Parecía estar consolando a un par de chicas.

El comedor solía estar vacío a esta hora, aún no eran vacaciones oficiales para el resto de los alumnos, aun no terminaban las clases.

Por lo que las conversaciones eran fáciles de escuchar incluso si les dabas la espalda.

Escuchaste como una de las chicas sorbía sus lagrimas y se quejaba suavemente.

“Traté de hablar con él para poder presentar otro examen o entregar un trabajo extra y… simplemente dijo que yo ya estaba reprobada.” Al pronunciar esas ultimas palabras, se echó a berrear nuevamente.

“¿Por qué no intentas hablar con el director?” Casi te burlas de la sugerencia del chico y te llevaste otro bocado de sopa a la boca.

“Tengo miedo de que el profesor Sage tome represalias contra mí, él… él dijo que no podrían hacer nada al respecto.” Levantaste la ceja escéptica. “Además, también será mi profesor el siguiente año. Puede desquitarse aún más conmigo…”

Si bien es cierto que esos chicos tenían la suerte de estar en programas menos estrictos, no sabes que tan prudente es permitirle a un alumno rendir más exámenes o trabajos extra si reprobó todo el semestre del programa. Sobre todo, con un profesor tan pesado como Sage, tal vez otros profesores fueron flexibles con ellos y ahora se han topado con un muro enorme.

Lo que no te pareció en absoluto, fueron las palabras de Sage. Y te constaba, te lo había dicho a ti también. ¿Hasta que punto se le permitía a ese imbécil amenazar alumnos de esa forma? No te parecía para nada.

Seguiste escuchando los berridos de la chica, sobre Sage, sobre que siempre era lo mismo y tal parece que no son los únicos a quienes los amenaza implícitamente y rige sus aulas en base al miedo y las consecuencias de descontentarlo.

Te concentraste, tanto que no escuchaste el repiqueteo constante de un cetro de madera bastante pesado.

“¿Puedo sentarme?” Levantaste la vista bastante tarde al hombre que estaba de pie a tu lado, aunque tenías demasiada hambre como para ser cordial y no seguir masticando el bocado que tenías aún a medio moler.

Era Recluse, no tenía puesta la capa alta de cuello alto. Solo llevaba su túnica oscura, ceñida a la cintura con un fino laso; asumes que es por el calor que se está asentando rumbo al medio día. Incluso algunas velas flotantes estaban siendo reemplazadas por abanicos coloridos que planeaban por el comedor.

Y bajo su túnica, resaltaba en cuello delgado y ceñido de otra prenda.

Tu asentiste a su petición e inclinaste la cabeza hacia tu mesa.

“Veo que descansaste bien.” Asentiste. Truthless tomó asiento frente a ti y dejó su orquídea apoyada contra el filo de la mesa, sus ojos luminosos parpadeaban disparejos, pero observándote al final.

De no ser por su comentario, olvidarías que llevas metida días en tu cama, para ti se sintió como una noche de sueño reparador.

“Gracias por el pastelito.” Dijiste al final, mientras acababas con la fruta y los dátiles. No sabías con exactitud si había sido él, pero probaste. TR lució confundido, pero al final asintió.

“No sabía si te gustaría el sabor, hazme saber si tienes otras preferencias.” La verdad era que no, fue Sage quien te dejó esos papeles con el pastelito como una disculpa extra. Recluse había preguntado por ti los días que estuviste durmiendo, incluso hoy; pero nunca preguntaba por tu habitación en particular. Quería que fueras tu quien se lo dijera, por lo que aún no podía darte regalos. Simplemente iba al primer piso, si aún no salías del edificio; te esperaba en el comedor.

¿Y quién era él para no adjudicarse los esfuerzos de Sage? Seguramente no los querrías en absoluto de saber que vinieron de él y a Recluse no le agradaría que te quedaras con el antojo después de esforzarte tanto este año.

“Estuvo bueno, aunque prefiero que tengan mango y kiwi.” TR asintió con un leve canturreo, el próximo pastelito sería de ese sabor.

“¿Estás libre hoy?” Soltó, tu dejaste de lamer la cuchara y volteaste a verlo. Siempre tenía el ceño fruncido, como si estuviera eternamente molesto. La verdad no te ofendía, su mirada hacia ti no se sentía de esa manera. Pero te causaba curiosidad, si relajara el rostro más, podrías ver mejor las sombras oscuras en sus ojos, el delineador negro. Lo único que podías ver bien era el labial azul mar de sus labios.

“Bueno… tengo que estudiar mucho para el siguiente semestre.” No diste la cuerda a torcer para que el rubio revelara sus intenciones.

“Quiero que me acompañes al pueblo.” Pero Recluse no compartía ese retorcido juego de tira y afloja que a Sage tanto le gustaba. Él te daba y decía cosas con las manos extendidas, tan honesto y dispuesto. Porque él ya lo sabía, por todo lo que había escuchado de ti a través de los años y por lo mucho que te vio.

“¿Para…?”

“¿A caso no soy merecedor de tu compañía?” Dejaste caer la cuchara y el repiqueteo contra la mesa hizo eco en el comedor vacío. TR viendo que aún no acababas tu postre, se levantó apoyando su peso en su cetro y fue por otra cuchara para ti.

“Eres muy amable, ¿qué quieres?”

“Tu compañía.”

Al final, dejaste una carta con el guardián para tus amigos. Por si… ¿te secuestraban?

El calor abrasador del verano comenzaba a robarle verde a las plantas de los jardines, no se podía mirar el rio directamente sin ser cegado por el reflejo del sol. Así que llevaste una sombrilla que Truthless se ofreció a sostener con la mano que no guiaba el bastón. Podías escuchar el leve bullicio y gritos de los más pequeños en los edificios de básica, probablemente estaban en su hora recreativa o un descanso libre.

Los arándanos se escondían dentro de los arbustos o reposaban somnolientos en el suelo frio a la sombra.

Cruzaron el rio, en la villa te compró un helado. Dijo que le traía recuerdos agradables, aunque ya no disfrutaba el sabor.

Se ofreció a abrir un portal para trasportarlos al pueblo, pero tu no salías mucho de la academia y tenías mucha energía. Así que caminaron. Pero le dijiste que tenía que enseñarte ese hechizo, todos tus compañeros hervirían de celos cuando lo aprendiera.

Te habló acerca de que era exalumno de la academia, no quiso decirte hace cuantos años… sería muy difícil explicarte que fue incluso antes de que tus descendientes nacieran.

Te habló acerca de su martirio por el programa de magia de la luna oscura, no dijo quien fue su profesor. Pero si que era prepotente, déspota y muy egocéntrico.

“Todos los profesores de ese programa son un enorme dolor de culo.” Soltó y luego se disculpó contigo por sus palabras. Tú te reíste y confesaste algunas cosas que pensabas acerca de Sage. Le hablaste de él y sobre lo estúpido que era.

Truthless lucía… complacido con tus palabras. Asintiendo a cada comentario cada vez peor.

En el pueblo la vida era ajetreada siempre, fueran vacaciones o no. Los mercados que bloqueaban las calles ofrecían un sinfín de objetos y alimentos locales o importados.

Truthless compró algo de fruta madura y un poco cara para tu gusto. Acomodada firmemente en una canasta de mimbre que le obsequiaron por su compra y sostenida por el antebrazo que aún te cubría con la sombrilla.

Te ofreciste a ayudarlo a cargar, pero se negó con insistencia.

Entraron al local de una modista, la pequeña campanita balanceándose ruidosamente. La mujer mayor ya parecía conocer a TR, pues tenía su pedido de tela listo y doblado para él.

La anciana te cayó mal cuando te miró con desaprobación y tu pateaste los enormes rollos de tela antes de correr delante de Recluse. No te reprendió, lucía más pensativo que otra cosa.

Para la merienda te invitó a una confitería en el centro, quiso mostrarte todos los postres y cosas dulces que le gustaban. Roles de canela, pastelitos de crema y fresas, macarrones de rosas y menta, café con leche y crema de higos.

Al final terminaron pidiendo demasiado, así que Truthless lo ordenó en cajitas de regalo con lazos para llevar. Esas las cargaste tu.

Para cuando saliste del local ya estabas bastante sonrojada, el rubio supuso que era por el sol; así que pegó más la sombrilla hacia ti.

La verdad es que te daba un poco de vergüenza en el mal sentido. No te habías ofrecido a pagar nada porque no traías oro contigo.

No sabías que acompañar requería que compraras cosas que podrían costarte la beca del mes.

Se sentaron a descansar en la fuente principal con vista a la aguja, un castillo inmenso de marfil construido inimaginablemente en la cima de la montaña más alta del continente. Cada noche, sin falta, la luna salía por ahí y se posaba en la punta de la cúpula de la torre más alta.

Truthless lo veía con particular gusto.

Cuando regresaron bien asentada la tarde, te dio la mitad de las cosas que compro a excepción de las telas. Te negaste efusivamente, diciendo que no necesitabas tanto (y no tenías para regresar el favor después). Y aún así, te lo dio.

“¿Te veré mañana?”

“Tengo que estudiar.” Esta vez no era una prueba, era sinceridad. Si bien las vacaciones mitigaban la presión de las clases y los exámenes. Tu carrera era un curso del que no tenías la libertad de dejar de pensar durante tus descansos. Al menos no si tu no querías quedar debajo de tus compañeros.

“Después entonces.” Asintió ante tu negativa y para tu sorpresa y horror en cantidades similares; extendió su mano para tomar la tuya. Tuviste que hacer malabares con la otra mano para no soltar la canasta y la cajita de postres. “Recházame cuando quieras.” Dijo antes de posar tu mano sobre la suya y besarte los nudillos castamente, pero asegurándose de dejar su labial bien imprimado en tu piel.

Ya ni siquiera protestaste por sus regalos, te metiste corriendo al edificio. En parte un resultado que TR quería para que te llevaras sus regalos, así que se rio por la nariz y condujo su camino adentro hacia la academia rebosante de arándanos recién despertados por el ocaso de la luz.

Esa noche tus amigos comieron contigo un poco de los pasteles y postres que el rubio te obsequió, jamás podrías acabártelos tu sola. La fruta la guardaste para hacer tus propias meriendas mientras estudiabas. La canasta de mimbre y los lazos le dieron un poco de vida a tu habitación.

El rubio respetaba tu tiempo, aunque aprovechaba la letra pequeña de eso. Te dejaba sola unos cuantos días para estudiar y después aparecía en las mañanas preguntando por ti para salir a algún lado.

No todo tenían que ser salidas costosas al pueblo, a veces merendaban juntos, otras veces iban a mojar los pies al lado o sentándose en las jardineras donde los arándanos tomaban por cama sus túnicas.

Cuando el calor era particularmente insoportable cruzaban a la villa por helado y colarse en algún local donde el hielo de los mostradores aminorara la temperatura.

Era agradable, demasiado… casi olvidabas…

Lo que no paraba de llegar cada día, eran aquellos folletos molestos, el pegamento de las cintas era difícil de retirar e incluso colocaste una capa de aceite para que ya no pegaran esos horribles panfletos; lograban hacerlo de alguna forma.

Ah, y tu pastelito al pie de la puerta siempre seguía apareciendo por las mañanas, siempre le agradecías a Recluse cada vez que lo mirabas y él simplemente asentía.

Y, tal vez era imaginación tuya. Pero los folletos eran cada vez más desesperados.

* ¡Gran curso de verano! *

* 11 de cada 10 estudiantes recomiendan los cursos de verano. * Con ese si hiciste una mueca.

* ¡Te divertirás! *

* ¡No pierdas el siguiente año! *

* ¡El profesor Sage te enseñará con gusto! * Bufaste, si…claro.

Siempre terminaban rotos y olvidados en el bote de basura.

Truthless Recluse no era ajeno a la postura que Sage tomó una vez ocurrido el incidente de la bofetada, le parecía patético honestamente.

Así que cuando Sage lo recibía lloriqueando y preguntando sobre los pastelitos que te dejaba todas las mañanas, Recluse simplemente le decía que no se los había comido.

Riéndose en sus adentros por el crédito que se estaba robando.

Porque a diferencia de las tácticas de perdedor (según TR) de Sage, Truthless no necesitaba de probarte, de hacerte pasar un mal rato o jugar a perseguirse y luego darte cortesía.

Tu eras su mujer y te va a tratar como tal, aunque tome tiempo para tu disposición.

Era tan obvio, el lazo, todo el tiempo que llevas aquí, la resonancia. Había escuchado de ti por años, * eras tu * y no necesitaba que terminaras odiándolo para descubrirlo.

Así que dejó de confiar en las tonterías del sabio para simplemente hacerlo a su modo.

La idea de que él ha creado más intimidad alrededor de ti que ese imbécil a lo largo de los años lo hace regocijarse.

Si, había sido daño colateral de las malas elecciones que Sage tomaba por ambos a lo largo de su vida. Todavía no olvida el incidente que casi termina con la reputación de Sage en la academia y esos cientos de errores que nunca terminaron de consolidarse, aparentemente destinados. Pero siempre una trampa para hacerlos sufrir.

Por eso, ahora TR tomaba sus propias decisiones y había decidido que eras tu. Y… puede que se tome algunas libertades y secretos al respecto.

Pasaron las semanas, ahora los estudiantes de básico rondaban durante sus paseos y tus amigos te esperaban restregados contra el cristal cada vez que tu y Truthless iban al pueblo, porque eso significaba más postres y regalos caros que compartirías con ellos. Al menos hasta que tuvieran que regresar a casa.

Las salidas se volvieron más apegadas, salían durante la noche al observatorio, sobre todo en noches de luna nueva y menguante; como cuando se conocieron. Esto porque las constelaciones solían verse mejor.

Nunca preguntaste como era que podía abrir el observatorio tan tarde, ¿quizás beneficios de graduados? Siempre escuchaste que la academia estaba abierta a la investigación de maestría y doctorados.

Truthless también se ofreció a enseñarte bases para hechizos adelantados a tu grado. Claro, siempre y cuando pudieras manejarlo.

Era extraño, los exalumnos del programa de magia de la luna oscura solían ser egoístas con su conocimiento y la práctica de hechizos.

Pero el rubio se tiraba contigo en las alfombras de la biblioteca vacía y te enseñaba, a veces si requerían ejercicios prácticos; salían al campo donde nadie pudiera verlos.

Tus vacaciones pasaron más rápido de lo que te hubiese gustado y más de lo lista que estabas para enfrentar el aula de tu carrera.

Truthless decidió llevarte al pueblo para festejar, no porque se acababan las vacaciones, sino porque oficialmente entrarías a tu segundo año de carrera.

Te llevó a la misma confitería, nunca se te quitaba la vergüenza de no poder pagar tus propias cosas caras.

“No quiero que pongas dinero.” TR siempre te tranquilizaba y luego pedía lo que sabía que te gustaba. Pagaba felizmente antes de pedir para llevar las cosas que sobraban.

Recluse siempre se aprovechaba del privilegio que sabía que Sage no tenía, él no era un profesor. No debía tener cuidado de sus interacciones contigo y tampoco tenía que estarse escondiendo.

Podía pasear por la academia contigo, llevarte al pueblo y sentarse a la orilla del lago sin ser mal visto; al menos por las personas que lo conocían a profundidad.

Y, como esa noche era especial. Se tomó el atrevimiento de no llevarte temprano a tu dormitorio y te llevó al teatro.

“No estoy vestida para el teatro.” Reprochaste sosteniendo las cajas habituales de postres, viendo a todas esas personas con vestidos pomposos, pelucas blancas y plumas en los abanicos que iban en dirección a la función de la noche

“El uniforme de la academia es suficiente para impresionar.” Y Recluse tenía razón.

Las personas exquisitas se inclinaban con gusto y sonreían al verte bajar las escaleras hasta tu lugar. Tal vez una estudiante dedicada después de un largo día de clases. Quizá porque pensaban que practicabas como sanadora o magia blanca, nada más lejos que la pretenciosa magia de la luna oscura.

Debido a que el plan fue improvisado, TR compró los boletos apresuradamente y entraron minutos antes de que comenzara la obra. No habías tenido tiempo de leer el programa ni la premisa, pero estabas emocionada. Nunca se te había cruzado por la mente ir al teatro del pueblo.

“¿De qué trata?”

“Es la historia del rey que trajo la magia al mundo.” Truthless se acercó a susurrarte. Aunque tampoco pudo decir mucho antes de que dieran la ultima llamada para iniciar la obra.

Las luces se apagaron y de la oscuridad se elevó un hombre con una corona que fue iluminado por una profunda luz blanca.

“De la madre blanca me enviáis, de mi carne y cielo os engendro, hijos míos.”

La escenografía no buscaba imitar un lugar real. El escenario estaba construido como un cielo seccionado: plataformas negras, arcos altos, columnas parcialmente hundidas en penumbra y un sistema de luces que imitaba constelaciones suspendidas.

La música comenzó al son de las arpas y los laudes. Coreado.

La obra contaba la historia de la Fuente de todo Conocimiento, como bajó de más allá de los cielos y nació de un huevo que terminó convirtiéndose en la luna.

Como una osa lo amamantó cuando aún no existían los humanos y en tributo a esa madre, la subió al cielo y desde entonces portó su marca en la frente.

Viste como el actor tomaba pigmento blanco y se trazaba la constelación de la osa mayor en la frente.

La escena pasó a la Fuente usando su carne para crear a los primeros humanos, les dio fuego, techo y agua.

Y cuando prosperaron lo suficiente, les enseñó el arte de la magia. Para curar sus heridas, para cocinar platillos deliciosos, para entender la mente humana y para defenderse.

“Oh… humanidad tan divina, no deberéis codiciar lo que no está a vuestro alcance.”

Pronto llegaron las preguntas sin respuesta.

“Oh, Fuente de todo Conocimiento, oh, Fuente. ¿Cómo puedo adivinar mi futuro?”

“Oh, Fuente de todo Conocimiento, ¿cómo puedo ser correspondido en el amor?”

“Oh, Fuente, ¿por qué fuimos creados los humanos?”

Los actores que hacían de pueblerinos rodearon al rey y corearon su nombre al mismo tiempo, haciendo preguntas que serían imposibles de responder con el saber de este mundo.

“Oh, Fuente de todo Conocimiento. Si no os podéis responder a todas nuestras preguntas, ¿por qué os llamáis la Fuente de todo Conocimiento?”

“¡AGH…! ¡CALLAOS DE UNA VEZ, DESAGRADECIDOS INGRATOS!”

La siguiente escena mostraba al rey llorando a solas, sentiste un nudo en la garganta.

Seguido de una escena de una turba enfurecida mientras el rey respondía desde lo alto de su torre.

“¡La Fuente hizo que mis cosechas perecieran!”

“¡NO! ¡NO HABÍA FORMA DE CONTROLAR EL CLIMA!”

“¡La Fuente hizo que mi amada me dejara!”

“¡NO SE PUEDE CONTROLAR UN CORAZÓN QUE NO OS CORRESPONDE!”

“¡La Fuente me dijo que los humanos fuimos creados para morir!”

“¡NO!”

“¡MENTIROSO!” Gritaron todos al unísono.

El estruendoso sonido de un órgano te hizo sobresaltarte en tu asiento. Las luces se apagaron.

Se escucharon los pasos de todos corriendo por el escenario y el azote de algo muy pesado que fue dejado en medio del escenario.

Todos jadearon cuando se encendieron todos los reflectores en dirección hacia la brillante cuchilla de la alta gillotina.

Detrás de esta, estaba el rey de pie sobre una tarima. Tenía las manos y los pies atados, portaba un camisón blanco y sucio.

Tu estabas en shock, aún viendo la cuchilla de la guillotina que se suspendía en las alturas por una soga, lista para ser cortada. Por lo que no escuchaste parte de los diálogos.

“…y por sus pecados os condeno a morir.” Dos hombres obligaron al rey a hincarse y poner su cuello desnudo en el hueco donde la guillotina iba a impactar.

“¡LA FARSA MUERE HOY!”

“¡NUESTROS OJOS NUNCA MÁS SERÁN CUBIERTOS POR VUESTRAS MENTIRAS!”

Cortaron la soga de la guillotina y todos en el teatro gritaron, tu incluida.

Pero las luces se apagaron justo antes de poder ver algo, la música se detuvo y las luces volvieron a encenderse.

Todos los pueblerinos estaban desconcertados, pues la guillotina había bajado y en el suelo había una enorme mancha de sangre; pero el farsante no estaba.

La música del arpa reanudó y se cambió a una escena solitaria. La Fuente salió por un balcón del castillo, sin corona y con una horrenda cicatriz alrededor de su cuello.

Le dio una mirada de desdén al público y volvió a entrar al castillo.

El órgano y el arpa iniciaron un soneto acelerado y violento mientras se iban derribando partes de la estructura del castillo conforme las luces se apagaban y prendían; simulando el paso de los días; hasta que el lugar quedó hecho ruinas.

“Oh, Fuente de todo Conocimiento… Oh, Fuente ¿por qué nacimos los humanos?”

Pero nadie respondió.

Entonces las luces se apagaron, dejando una suave antesala de velas que emitían una cálida luz amarilla; anunciando que la obra había terminado.

Todos se levantaron a aplaudir, pero tu estabas tensa sobre tu asiento, enterrando los dedos en los reposabrazos.

No fue hasta que Truthless pasó un paño de seda por tus mejillas que te diste cuenta de que estabas llorando.

Soltaste un suspiro lastimero y volteaste a verlo, él lucía en parsimonia. Su maquillaje impecable y su mirada cansada, como si esperara esa reacción de ti.

Tomaste el paño entre tus manos y comenzaste a retirarte las lágrimas y el escurrimiento que te provocó la obra. Él no protestó.

Luego te diste cuenta de que no habías reconocido el talento de los actores y te uniste a los demás para aplaudirle a los actores que estaban en el escenario entrelazando sus manos y dando múltiples reverencias hacia el público. Incluso te levantaste para acompañar cada ovación, Recluse se levantó a tu lado, pero no eran tan efusivo como tú.

Salieron en silencio del teatro, te compró un recuerdito tejido que podías usar en tu bolso para que dejaras de llorar un poco.

Solo agradeciste y te sorbiste los mocos mientras seguías mojando su paño de seda.

Te calmaste un poco de camino a la academia, cuando las luces del pueblo se volvieron más alegres y muchos puestos les ofrecían ropa, comida o flores.

“Lo lamento, no quería arruinarte la noche.” Dijo Recluse mientras tomaba de entre tus brazos la caja de pastelitos para cargarla él.

Lo miraste confundida.

“Oh, no no no. Me gustó mucho.” Sorbiste más lágrimas. “Es solo que nunca había ido al teatro, no sabía que te hacía experimentar tantas emociones.” Se te quedó mirado un rato en silencio, pero simplemente se rio por la nariz y negó con la cabeza.

“Eso solo fue una representación dramática de lo que en realidad pasó.”

“¿Y qué pasó en realidad?”

“Nadie lo sabe, sucedió mucho antes de las primeras escuelas.”

No pudiste decir más, TR se detuvo en un puesto de flores. Ya llevaba un tiempo echándole el ojo a algunos puestos, pero tu asumías que era porque seguía pensando en la obra como tú.

Te quedaste de pie esperándolo mientras hablaba con la florista y señalaba algunas flores.

Ella gustosa tomaba las flores frescas de los baldes de agua que Recluse le pedía, las acomodaba de acuerdo a su conocimiento, recortó los tallos y al final las envolvió en tela. Se las entregó mientras él se hacía espacio entre la caja de postres y su cetro y le pagó unas cuantas monedas de oro a la mujer.

Luego volteó hacia ti y te tensaste.

“Lo único que deberías cargar hoy son flores.” Y te las entregó.

Debido a que TR no conocía tu gusto en flores, hizo lo mejor que pudo. No parecías de la que le gustaran los colores vibrantes, así que escogió coronas de leche, anemonas y lirios del valle.

Balbuceaste un poco y luego lo miraste desde abajo, abrazando tu ramo.

“¿Entonces… es una cita?” Preguntaste bajito, sorbiéndote los mocos.

“¿Te estoy haciendo sentir incomoda?” Ladeó la cabeza, genuinamente interesado en tu sentir.

“No… me gustaría que lo fuera.” Para evadir su mirada, abrazaste el ramo con un brazo y con el otro seguiste limpiándote las ocasionales lágrimas que te salían al rebobinar la obra una y otra vez.

“Entonces es una cita.” Truthless asintió y te ofreció su brazo para que lo tomaras y caminaran juntos por el flujo de gente, de regreso a la academia.

Comenzaron a caminar en silencio, esta vez te aferrabas más a él para no chocar entre la gente o ser llevada contra flujo.

“¿Aún te sientes mal por lo de la obra?”

“Un poco, no estoy acostumbrada.”

“¿Un beso lo haría mejor?” Te congelaste en medio de la calle, aún con la gente chocando y empujando entre los puestos. Haciendo que Truthless se detuviera en consecuencia también.

Lo miraste, pero también alternaste tu visión hacia la luna llena de arriba.

No estaba escandalizado o nervioso, no dudaba ni se sonrojaba como tú lo estabas.

Era una petición respetuosa, una sugerencia.

“Si, lo haría.” Fue la primera vez que lo viste sonreír más allá de sus labios ladeados.

Te temblaron las piernas y por miedo cerraste los ojos, pues eso era lo único que sabías hacer.

Pero el beso no vino de inmediato, no fue un golpe rápido y pasional como los libros de romance que a tus amigas les gustaba leer, en cambio lo sentiste inclinarse suavemente sobre ti.

“Recházame cuando quieras.” Dicho esto, sentiste su mano deslizar sus dedos por tu mejilla y tomarte suavemente, te inclinaste al toque; respirando rápido. Imaginando que su toque sería áspero contra la delicada piel de tu cara; pero no.

Fue un beso casto, pequeño, hecho para gente primeriza como tú. Sus labios eran suaves y cremosos por el lápiz labial, estabas segura de que tendrías rastros sobre tu piel.

Era paciente, su boca era tibia, no profundizaba hacia donde aún no era correcto. Casi dulce, pudiste percibir la esencia de vainilla cuando ambos lamieron la boca del otro, no con hambre; sino con el sentido de encontrarle razón a la emoción de la terracota caliente sobre el suelo frío de verano. Jurarías que incluso sabía un poco a alcohol, pero no lo habías visto beber jamás.

Cuando se separó, lo hizo apenas para verte mejor de cerca. Tu, por pena pusiste tu mano contra su pecho y lo presionaste lejos para tener aire frio circulante.

Se quedó con rastros de tu lápiz labial morado en los labios y este se mezcló con el suyo; dando una linda tonalidad azul purpúrea. No le desagradó y tampoco la limpió.

Lucía satisfecho, sereno como la noche y resolutivo. Como si hubiera encontrado mejor final que la obra de teatro de hace rato.

Si, parte de la satisfacción era por haberse llevado tu aliento y tu lápiz labial con él. Pero también lo era la sensación de que alguien los observaba desde algunos puestos más atrás.

Truthless simplemente volteó para mirar de reojo y no pudo evitar sonreír hasta que los colmillos sobresalieron sobre sus labios manchados de ti.

Tu no te diste cuenta y él fingió. Te ofreció el brazo nuevamente y siguieron caminando a través del bullicio de la gente mientras tu sorbías y te apoyabas levemente contra él.

La primera vez que fui al teatro lloré mucho.

A pesar que nosotros y Sage tienen un vinculo mental, ella no puede escuchar a la luz de la verdad porque es un ente a parte. Y por si preguntan, sí. Sage lleva milenios back shoteandose a los alumnos buscando al alma que le falta JAJAJAJAJA. Tremendo pirujo.

The circus was here for a time now, and more and more people disappeared. And while not all were the faults of your lovers, the town's population was ready to pin them all on them.

Silent scowls following you when you walked to the circus or left to return home. They knew you were with them. And each passing day you felt less and less safe crossing the streets of your hometown slowly becoming an estranged place to you, now that the Circus was your home and family…

Even the babies could sense the heavy atmosphere and you and their dads have difficulties calming them down. They cried and cried in the sick air of animosity. Sometimes you had to leave them still crying to return to your apartment. You proposed to take at least one with you, to share the burden for at least a night.

But Jester was not budging.

No underage monster will leave the premise of the Circus where none of the Fathers could protect them. They already had difficulties letting you go home when you announced the pregnancies, they are not about to let their offspring roam the town unsupervised.

So you left them to their fathers, crying yourself, and hurrying to return the next day.

Of course, Pierrot followed you to make sure you were okay on the way home at night. But you had to come alone in the morning most of the time.

You chose to silence the fact that people were whistling when you walk past them. That they purposefully bumped into you, or, sometimes, slammed you against a wall to spit at your face.

You chose to not tell them. To not anger them more.

To not put the entire town to death.

But each day it got worse.

Each day you grew more and more uneasy.

Each day, you jumped at mere shadows, or real tangible threats.

Each day you hurried yourself more to reach the circus quicker.

But today…

Today feels different.

Today feels… Worse.

The air is thick and chokingly hot and heavy. You sweat in your clothes. Everyone's face is darkened by shadows of anger and irritation. No one looks at you, which is not normal nowadays. and instead of relieving you, it sets an alarm in you mind.

And everything is so… Silent.

Eerily silent.

No music from the bars.

No chit chat from the tables of guest.

No car horn or engine.

Just.

Dead silence.

Only the wind wails in the tight streets of the city, and with it a scent of… Burning.

Like a fire…

Pushed by a gut-wrenching fear, you abandon your purse on the pavement as you rush to the Circus.

It doesn't take time for you to inhale the first fumes of smoke.

Fire….!

Fire!!!!

The closer you get, the worst the smoke and heat gets.

And when you finally arrive, a wall of the towns people are circling the circus, huge flames dancing, high like buildings, licking the tents. Some rose fools in their masks are on fire, or fleeing away, immediately stopped by some town citizens by a powerful punch in the face, circling them to do God knows what.

You press yourself between people to pass through the human barrier and reach the Circus opening. They let you pass in silence, but their gazes carry the threats.

And without thinking, or taking a proper last breathe, you jump into the flames, entering Hell itself.

None tries to stop you.

You rush to the babies tent the quickest you can, barely evading a falling heavy girder, only saved by Bil who grabbed your hand last second to pull you away from danger.

"(MC!)" He shouts to be heard above the rumbling fire, "What are you doing here?!"

"The babies!" You retort, pulling to let him go of you, "My babies!"

"The… Forget it, (MC), do not go there! It is in the middle of the flames! You can't do anything!" He tries, trying to pull you out of the fire.

But you pull harder, and manage to tear your arm off his grasp. You press your hand to your mouth and nose like it could do anything against the amber entering your gasping lungs, burning you from the inside. You dive under a fallen pole, Bil screaming at you to come back, but stopped by the wall of flames.

Your jacket catch fire, so you throw it away, leaving your arms bare for the fire.

It is a Capharnaum. Screams, bodies, people running to escape, slowing you down. And it is way too hot for your human body, you can't stay here much longer, but you can't abandon your children and your lovers behind!

You finally reach the tent, devoured by flames. You rush inside with the scream of your babies' names.

And what you see inside.

You struggle to believe it.

You even think this is just a distortion because of the boiling air and flames.

But… No.

You are truly seeing it.

Pierrot

Harlequin

Holding the babies

Blood on their mouth, pearling in with an obscene carmine tint.

Pierrot opens his mouth, baring his sharp teeth, and takes another bite of the infant that is already no more…

Harlequin swallows before getting at it again.

You feel your blood leaving your head and you just… puke on the ground. You fall on all four and your stomach empties itself.

That. Catches their attention.

You hear Pierrot gasping your name and Harlequin letting out a choked 'Fuck…'

And before you can say a thing, or even move, a purple mass appears before your eyes, blocking the horrors to your view, and carries you outside of the tent.

"(M/C)…!" Jester berates you, blood pearling at his chin too, "What are you doing here? Are you mad?!"

"Wha… What are you doing in here!?" You demand, gasping for air. "My… My babies!"

" So you saw."

" Why…!" You feel tears instantly evaporating from your cheeks, "Jester, why?! We could have saved them!"

You see a fleeting mixture of shock and horror flash on his white mask tainted with red, instantly replaced by a stern and resolute expression.

"No, (M/C). It was over for them. They started the fire near this tent intently." He simply tells you, "We arrived too late."

You press your hands on your sternum, trying desperately to breath. But you can only inhale fumes and amber.

"I… I can't… Breathe…! I…" You gasp out loud, mouth wide open, and you puke once more.

Jester holds your shoulder, keeping your hair out of the way.

You babies…

Your children!!

The incarnations of your love!

Your dreams taken human forms!

Your…

You cough up, your fist pressed to your mouth as your body curls over itself violently.

Pierrot and Harlequin leave the tent, looking at you with only sorrow in their eyes. Even Harlequin's usual mischievous light is dim.

They are not proud of themselves.

But it was an instinctive act.

Purely an act of survival.

You hug yourself, crying on the ground, not seeing a thing anymore in the sea of tears.

"Do you have the bones?" You hear Jester asks.

"We do…" Harlequin responds in a voice void of all life.

"Then, we can go." The purple monster declares.

He wraps his arms under your knees and around your shoulders and lifts you up, still blabbering incoherently about your kids.

Your heart is bleeding.

How could you ever survive such a turn of events…

How…

Your chidren…

You carried them, felt them grow in your core.

You gave birth to them, in blood and tears. You fought fate itself to give them life.

And now…

Now…

________________

"How is she?" Ticket Taker asks Jester.

The purple monster remains silent for a moment, observing what remains of all that they built going on in flames down the valley.

"I put her to sleep via hypnosis. The Doctor is checking her up."

"A chance they didn't see us flee into the mountains." The blue one retorts, turning to observe you, sleeping on the lap of Pierrot, The Doctor checking your pulse.

"You think they did not see us?" Jester asks with cold venom, a terrible smirk stretching his mouth, "I think they know exactly where we are."

The Doctor approaches with his arms crossed, joining his seniors.

"The fire and smoke provided us a solid cover, human eyes are not meant for such environment. They surely know we are in the mountains, just not where precisely."

"It is not important, when they'll come for us, we will be long gone. But we still have a present for such a good public. Doctor?" Jester turns his gaze up at the giant cloaked figure.

The black masked man opens his cloak and takes off a little box

"Pierrot, cover her mouth and nose." He orders.

The red clown presses your face to his chest, embracing you tight, an air of desolation on his features. The Doctor opens the box and a thin black smoke escapes it, descending towards the town, carried by the wind.

"It should take 2 or 3 days for the first symptoms to reveal themselves. And it will already be too late." He closes it back before sighing, "I had great experiments in process… I'll have to restart everything."

"We all need to restart everything." Jester reminds him, "Start anew. Fresh."

"And (M/C)?" Ticket Takes asks.

"We bring her with us, obviously." Jester orders, spinning on his heels to return to you Pierrot and Harlequin, "She sealed her fate with us. She comes with us."

"What if she wants to leave after what she… saw?" Taker dusts his hat, following his boss.

Pierrot looks up at them, blood smeared on his face, hugging you as he trembles. Harlequin is kneeling next to him, silent.

Unusually silent.

Jester sighs, kneeling in turn.

"She made her choice." He caresses a strand of hair behind your ear tenderly with his claws, "Despite everything, she chose us. In all our monstrosity…"

They looked down, their hands fiddling with the ends of their sleeves. Even though he can't really see their face clearly—due to his already blurred vision from birth. He could still see the faint color of a light red spreading across their face, as well as the rough outline of their lip trembling, out of embarrassment he believes.

"When we grow up…would it be dumb to think that I want to be a knight?"

A knight?

"No. I think that's very cool! Can I ask why?"

They turned their head to the side—facing away from him. A mumble was barely heard, he leaned a little closer, all the while trying to not disturb the lamb on his lap.

"Huh? What was that?"

"I…" They looked back at him.

"I want to be a knight…because I want to protect you.."

"Why?" "Why?!"

They stood up, hands clenched and close to their chest as they looked intently at him.

"Because—because I don't want you to get hurt! You're always so reckless and chase after your lambs—even into possible danger like the forest—what if a wolf shows up one day!?" "Then I'll give it some head scratches!" "You're so unserious!"

The little boy lets out a small laugh, his hand resting on the back of his lamb while the other propped himself up. All while the other child let out a huff with a pout.

"If you're going to be my knight—will I be your king?" "What?"

"Since you're going to protect me when you become a knight. Doesn't that make me your king?" He gently cradled the lamb, standing up from the soft grass. "You know, because knights protect kings?"

"Uh…" They straightened up, puffing their chest out with an air of self confidence and pride. "Yes! Of course! I shall be your knight! Your sword and shield to use as you please! M'Lord."

They gave a mocking kneel, trying to seem knightly and chivalrous but it ended up being cute and endearing, at least to any grown-ups who may have been watching. The lamb-holding child let out a joyful laugh, playing into the mini role-play his dear friend had set up.

"Oh, my loyal knight. Stand up. I can't use you like a tool like a carpenter to his nails—you shall be my knight and advisor in one. And here I deem you—"

The vanilla themed child lowered his lamb slightly, gently guiding the hoof on each shoulder of the kneeling friend.

"—The Royal Captain of the Vanilla Knights."

The weight of solid steel lingered on the left shoulder for a moment, followed by the cheers and applause of the newly appointed knight. The first one in the kingdom. They looked up at the king of the Vanilla Kingdom. Even though his face remained calm, they could tell, that he really wanted to give them a hug. That he wanted to laugh and rejoice at that fact that they managed to pass the Knighting Trials. With a firm nod, they lowered their head once more, eventually standing up, face to face. One hand held the handle of their sword on their hip, while the other held their helmet.

This was it. The start of knighthood.

As the festival began, the laughing of citizens and thudding of goblets echoing off the walls of the large banquet. [Reader] quietly snuck away—at least to the best of their abilities, it's not easy to be completely soundless when wearing full armor and a clanking sheathed sword on their side. But with years of practice in sneaking around the town at night, it gave them some experience in getting away.

Aside their own footsteps and the armor, it was practically quiet in the garden of the newly created Vanilla Kingdom.

'The Royal Captain of the Vanilla Knights, huh?' They kicked a small pebble to the side 'Pure Vanilla….sometimes you just do too much…'

"I'd figured I would find you out here." A soft caring voice rung out, [Reader] let out a small sigh, running hand through their hair.

"Hey Pure Vanilla. Why aren't you at the banquet?" They turned around, looking over at their dear friend. And there he was, eyes open with his soft smile and relaxed stature, "I could ask you the same thing. After all, it was made specifically for your coronation."

[Reader] pouted a bit glancing away with arms crossed, "Yeah, but you were the one who decided to do a whole banquet even after I told you not to."

"Wait—Pure Vanilla! I do not want any sort of after party!" They shouted after him, the scurrying of hurried footsteps quickly catching up with the steady ones that were accompanied with the soft clinking of the flower staff the newly formed king loosely held.

He let out a small hum, considering the request "But if I don't have one, you would be all stiff and proper during an occasion that's meant to be celebrated! After all, you are the first one to pass the Knighting Trials today." He slowed his pace a bit, letting [Reader] catch up to him quicker, the two eventually walking side by side.

"That's because being a knight to a king is an honor—not a gift!"

"Then let it be a gift from me, not the King of the Vanilla Kingdom." He stopped, looking at [Reader]. They paused, choking on words, before eventually letting out a sigh.

"There's nothing that's going to change your mind is there?"

"Unfortunately no, my dear soon-be-knight."

"…." They stayed quiet for a moment, finally relenting to the friend's perseverance, "Fine…"

Pure Vanilla walked closer easily maneuvering between the flowers and plants, "Either way….[Reader]…" He stopped, a few feet away, hand clenched tightly around his staff. Shadows covered his eyes, his head slightly lowered. "I've…I've been holding it in ever since the Coronation but—"

He launched himself at [Reader], arms wrapping tightly around their torso, head lowered "I'm—I'm just so glad—" Startled, [Reader] went to take a step back—only to stop when they noticed the tears rolling down Pure Vanilla's face. The sounds of sniffles and silent sobs quietly escaping from him, he lifted his face, looking at [Reader], voice cracking, "I'm so glad—that you can stand by my side—not only as my knight, but as my companion!"

This wasn't the gracious vanilla ruler—it was Pure Vanilla. Their childhood friend. A boy who wanted to stay by his dear friend's side for as long as he could. They hugged him back, Pure Vanilla still sobbing against them as the both of them descended down to the floor.

'I promise. On my honor as your knight and close friend…' They hugged him tighter, eyes squeezed shut. 'I will never leave your side.'

Once Ariana began collecting her Jewels, the position as the Empire’s ambassador had been switched over from you to her.  She used it to find Prince Efrit of Xek, Sir Raymond from Galdeon and Jade Meldea within a year. Duke Nell Phantom had become her first Jewel after he had been honored for his contributions in the war against the Oriana Islands. In exchange for being the Princess’ Hound and overseer of her other Jewels, Ariana had promised to provide financial aid to his family after so many failed business deals forced him to fight at a young age. She has yet to deliver it to him. 

Huan Baek, her favorite and the Moon Fairy of Darhan, came to the country three months ago after he said good-bye to his loved ones.  Either he would come willingly to Arbezela as a concubine in your sister’s harem, or there would be war between the Empire and Darhan.

 Jade had been forced to be here too, as compensation for his father’s mistakes. If that wasn’t enough to give poor King Neptune a heart attack, Ariana ordered Lord Melda to be castrated for the crime of using his position and rank to force women into being his sex toys. Castrating a royal official based on Ariana’s testimony that Lord Meldea struck her when she had traveled to the southern kingdom of Marloe under the guise of a dancer? In Galdeon, she had coerced Sir Raymond to get on his knees at a banquet and kiss her feet in front of everyone, including King Goldblackrose. 

 By Astotelia’s mercy, when will she understand that actions have consequences? How could you even trust Ariana to look after the people with this kind of mindset? 

Why couldn’t your mother trust you to do more than just handling the palace’s domestic affairs and entertaining guests? 

You reclined back against your chair, glancing over your shoulder to blink owlishly at the sight of a setting sun from the oriel window in your office. The light blue skies were slowly transforming into an indigo tapestry of the night before you had realized that the day was already over; pink clouds still hovered the horizon, lingering for a little longer before they molded into one and birthed the constellations. You’ve been in here for too long. It was time for a walk. 

You stood up. As you did so, you saw two furred bodies spread across the floor twitch. The first one possessed a lanky frame with a long silky black coat and tail, one ear pointed up at the ceiling while a dark brown orb squinted at you. The second was smaller with a white fluffy coat and bouncing on her stubby feet, yipping in excitement  as her black nose twitched. You smiled softly, kneeling down to scoop up the little darling in your arms before pressing a kiss against the side of her head. 

“I’m sorry, Penelope. I didn’t think the paperwork would take me this long. How about you, me, and Morpheus here go outside for a bit while the chef makes us something yummy to eat?” Penelope licked your cheek in response, making you laugh. “Yes, yes, you would like that, wouldn’t you? Well, lead the way, silly girl.” You placed her back on the carpeted floor, watching in amusement as she almost barreled through the half-open doorway while Morpheus languidly stretched himself before following suit, although at a more leisurely pace and on your right side. 

An overprotective, energetic Pomeranian and a gentle Borzoi. They were last-minutes gifts from your parents, even when you had tried to persuade them that you did not desire anything for your fifteenth birthday. Now? They motivated you to step outside from your office and take time for yourself, though the habit of not eating lunch is still hard to break when these two ate twice a day, breakfast and dinner. 

And these two knew the way to their little playground like the back of their paws; down the grand staircase, turn right at the last step and then walk through the double stained glass doors to a cobblestone path that sliced through a wide, evergreen courtyard. They never liked the stone path, preferring to blitz across the grass. You would need to apologize to the gardener and make sure he’s paid properly for patching up the grass in the courtyard for the nth time after Penelope and Morpheus’ running around. 

In the center of this humble courtyard was a large two-tier fountain, commissioned by a famous craftsman in the Empire. Upon your request, the miniature statues of wolves that lined each tier were gulping down the water and  illuminated at night by magic. You personally liked the crescent-shaped moon where the water sprang out and was gulped down by the wolves  looking  up for it, for either guidance or sustenance. Fitting for Winterfell, the northern palace that served as your home. 

As much as you wished to appreciate the blossoming beauty of this chilly night on this little walk, your mind was plagued with anxiety and unease. The preparations for the Sun Ceremony would begin soon and the Emperor had not decided on which of his children would act as the Believer of Light. For Ariana or Bavilo, it was an opportunity to prove to the Emperor and everyone else that they had what it took to be his successor. All it meant for you was more paperwork and hours spent in the Empress’ office, organizing the event from the menus to the seating in the Holy Temple. You would never be considered to become part of such a sacred ceremony because the Emperor and Empress cannot bear the thought of another legitimate child being taken away from them by the gods. 

You squeezed your eyes shut. You inhaled deeply through your nose and slowly exhaled, allowing the scent of the white floribunda roses scattered across the courtyard to engulf your senses for a brief moment. To make you forget about the responsibilities you would have to face tomorrow and relax with your precious companions. You were about to take another breath when the sound of Penelope’s barking reached your ears. Blinking, you turned around and backtracked towards the fountain. 

Who or what did she see that was causing such a ruckus before dinnertime? Did Morpheus topple over her again? Did she see one of the new servants walking around and went into her watchdog mode until the danger passed? When you finally reached the center of the courtyard, she was snarling at someone you had not expected to see at this hour of the night. 

[nell phantom]

[efrit karsia]

[jade meldea]

[huan baek]

[raymond amber]

ALL the kudos: <img src="https://i.ibb.co/KsndWzq/all-the-kudos.png" alt="all the kudos">

Chapter kudos: <img src="https://i.ibb.co/9ZSmqrp/Chapter-kudos.png" alt="Chapter kudos">

Elevenses kudos: <img src="https://i.ibb.co/6P4JTsP/elevenses-kudos.png" alt="elevenses kudos">

Heaps of kudos: <img src="https://i.ibb.co/GvRw2HS/heaps-of-kudos.png" alt="heaps of kudos">

Kisses your forehead kudos: <img src="https://i.ibb.co/6nph6nM/kisses-your-forehead.png" alt="kisses your forehead kudos">

Reading in public kudos: <img src="https://i.ibb.co/f1HDR2K/reading-in-public.png" alt="reading in public kudos">

Re-read kudos: <img src="https://i.ibb.co/jWYQ8bt/re-read-kudos.png" alt="re-read kudos">

Should be working kudos: <img src="https://i.ibb.co/26WJHKg/should-be-working.png" alt="should be working kudos">

Read the whole fic in one go kudos: <img src="https://i.ibb.co/jMHrgSk/the-whole-fic.png" alt="read the whole fic in one go kudos">

Ungodly hour kudos: <img src="https://i.ibb.co/84300T6/ungodly-hour.png" alt="ungodly hour kudos">