falta_terapia

Wind rattled the pane of the window in its socket, adding to the static racket of rain as it hit the metal roof.

Living in the hills outside of the town was nice when the weather was forgiving, but with no city walls to protect you from the torrential downpour, your home was forced to take the brunt of nature's rage.

You were lucky that you loved storms. Anyone else might have been afraid the house would blow away, but you were too busy thinking about what good the rain would do for your garden. Oh! And the rain barrels would be full, which meant you wouldn't have to go to the river for at least a quarter moon!

Striking the match along the abrasive strip, you quickly used it to light a candle and tossed the rest of the match into the hearth. The flame exploded into a flurry of sparks the moment it met the bundle of wool and wood shavings serving as kindle between the logs.

There was an additional serenity that came with storms. No one expected you to leave your home in this weather. You could stay in and take a moment to yourself.

Knock knock.

The sound of thunder rumbled through your bones, the sound expected after the bright flash of light filled the living room. It was so loud you were almost certain it could have been roaring right at your—

Knock! Knock!

This time you were certain of it, turning to the door, which was fighting against the wind and its locks.

Someone was outside? In all this rain?

Pulling the quilt from your lap, you were quick to push off of the couch, rushing to the door. If someone had come from town, then it must have been an emergency, or someone had gotten lost, and your home was the only shelter for kilometers.

The moment you unlocked the door, it swung open, forced by the wind, which hit hard enough to steal your breath.

The rain was practically sidewise, hitting your skin through the door.

No one was there.

Wasting no more time in an attempt to prevent your house from earning itself a puddle, you pushed the door back using your entire body weight until the lock slid back into its holster.

"That was rather pointless…" Your voice trailed off, looking down at your—now soaked—legs.

"I wouldn't say so." A voice from behind you pulled a scream from your throat, immediately turning to press you back against the door.

Someone stood not a meter away from you. A brimmed hat on their head and tasseled eye hiding their visage. The feathered cape hanging off their shoulders was ever strange, though the fact that they were perfectly dry was stranger.

"Who are…How did…" Something in your head felt heavy, and your heart was beating so fast you were certain it couldn't be healthy. "Iguin? You're home already?"

Behind the tassels, a smile grew, their arms opening to accept you into a hug. All the heavy fabric they wore was like a comforting blanket you just wanted to sink into. They were warm, too. So warm you didn't notice your wet clothes were suddenly dry.

"It's hard to stay away for long." Their head cocked to the side, letting your hand smooth along their jaw to cup their face.

"Had I known you'd be back, I would have made dinner or tidied up at the very least." Letting go of you once you started to part from the embrace, they watched as you opened the kitchen cabinets, searching through what you had available.

"No need to worry about such things, my darling. I stopped to eat right before I arrived." Right as you were about to point, they reached into their cape. "And of course I brought you something, too."

Unwrapping the parchment paper in their hands revealed a powdered-sugar-dusted pastry, which rapidly caught your attention.

The way you practically bounced back towards them was a treat in and of itself. Your eagerness in something as simple as baked flour and yeast comes from a kind of innocence the witch lacked. Something they wanted to just bottle up and keep all to themself.

Though, one could argue they were already doing that.

"Can we have it now?"

"There is no 'we.'" Iguin set the wrapped pastry into your hands, closing your fingers around it and sealing it with a kiss on the back of your hand. The fabric tassels tickled your knuckles, leaving your cheeks rosy.

"Please, Iguin! I shouldn't have this all to myself. Pastries are a delicacy." Your hesitance to accept the gift was shown with how you kept your hands extended, not yet accepting the treat as your own.

"It is truly the least I could do. You earned it for being so patient, didn't you?" This time they turned away, pulling the cape from their shoulders as they neared the couch by the fireplace.

Watching them shrug off all that fabric truly changed their appearance. It was so bulky that it broadened their shoulders and gave them a far more intimidating appearance than they needed. After all, your Iguin was nothing short of a sweetheart.

"I suppose...Thank you." Bringing the sweet along with you, you found your spot on the sofa, shuffling until you were comfortable on the cushions. Their weight on the other side made everything sit perfectly.

"Ouph." The air escaped you when they blanketed their cape over you, nearly drowning you in the feathers along the neckline. You laughed between blowing the feathers away from your mouth. "I might boil between this and the fireplace."

"I sure hope not. Whatever would I do then?" You could hear the smile in their words, prompting you to kick a foot at them. They caught your ankle before you made any contact, to which you begrudgingly pulled your leg back with a huff.

Underneath, you were able to grade your hands along the inner lining of the cape, feeling the ribs and ripples of corduroy.

It smelled like them. Old books, crisp air, and metallic ink. It was heavy, so heavy you weren't sure why they chose to wear it all the time. It seemed like more of a pain than anything.

"I can barely move, you know." You slowly hid your face in the folds of fabric, muffling the end of your sentence. In some way you were trying to prove that your words were only playful.

"Perhaps I put it there so you couldn't escape, hm?" Iguin chuckled as they lifted a book from the side table, flipping back to where they'd left off.

You remained silent for a moment, watching them with a gaze of fondness.

"I wouldn't run from you, Iguin."

The witch paused their reading.

"Is that so?" Though they tried to play off the effect of your words, it took them a noticeable moment to get back to reading.

That heft of the cape had become a comfort. Like layers of fabric holding you down to your bed, begging you to stay in their hold and drift off to sleep. The rain had become background noise, mixing with the crackle and pop of the fireplace. Your partner was by your side, a book already propped open in one hand while their other rested in reach of you.

It wasn't worth fighting back the weight of your eyelids, which lowered with the slipping of your consciousness. You were fast asleep in no time, curled up below the cape with the parchment-wrapped pastry still cocooned in your hands.

The book closed with the tensing of their fingers, placed on the side table so they could lean over your resting form.

"Pulchritudinous. Beyond compare." Iguin hummed, their voice lower than a whisper in fear of waking their beloved.

Seeing you bundled under their clothing was such an endearing sight. While they hadn't planned on staying here long, it felt too cruel to take the comfort away from you now.

It was only when the fire began to die out and darkness sunk into the room that they finally took the chance to move you. Not in any way detectable; you were on the couch one moment and on your bed the next. Their cape was replaced with two of the larger quilts available, and your treat was left on the coffee table for tomorrow.

Iguin remained a moment longer, floating over your chest, listening to your light breathing and occasional shuffling.

Leaving paradise with you meant going back to their busy schedule on the peninsula. Back to the real world, where plans were quickly unfolding and they could only keep time waiting so long.

One last kiss, pressed to your temple, and they were gone in a cloud of thick black smoke.

Their thumb pressed the cork back into the top of the globe, re-inscribing the seal that protected it from breaking.

Inside was your cabin, miniature and protected, the fake rain having settled since they'd kept the globe still for so long during their visit. You were safe in there, where no one could find or save you.

Iguin gave the orb a gentle shake, stirring up the crystals that form the rain, restarting the cycle of rain befalling your home. You'd have no reason to leave so long as the storm raged.

"Sleep well, lover." They kissed the side of the globe as one last sign of admiration and slipped it back into the corduroy-lined pocket of their cape.

You can’t sleep. 

To be fair, you’ve never truly had a good night’s rest. Now, you don’t think you’ll ever sleep again. 

The soul isn’t Kris. That part you’ve figured out. But what part of Kris is the soul?

You get it now. The extrovert nature, the forwardness, the second voice. You’ve been talking to the soul for the past who knows how long? That must be why it’s so comfortable around you; why it acts like you truly are friends. Maybe you are, in some messed up way.

The soul’s been controlling Kris. But why now? What makes now so important? Is it all the time? Only when the soul’s inside them? Yeah, yeah. That explains the cage. Okay.

You rummage through your jumbled memories, trying to differentiate between the two Kris’. You thought something was wrong, but you can’t believe you had to be straight up told to recognize it.

What kind of friend are you? ~*•*~ You got a call yesterday. After you got home. After your little rendezvous. 

It was Kris. Because of course it was.

Or was it? Was it actually the soul calling you? How many times have you called Kris while they’ve been possessed?

Not a lot, a comforting thought pushes its way to the front. It’s why you always call after midnight.

You were too stressed to even consider picking up. The idea didn’t register to you. 

You let it ring. And ring. A text followed shortly after:

found it

You stare at it for an hour. Another comes in. 

gnight

You sent a thumbs up.

~*•*~

It’s been a few days. You’ve been making up for the lack of social interaction you’ve been missing. You pretty much show up out of the blue, asking your friends if they all want to go out for dinner. They agree. They don’t bring up your deep eyebags. They don’t bring up how fake you’ve become. You’re plastic at this point.

…

You understand what it means to truly ghost someone now. 

You’re sure they’ve both noticed. You ignore almost every text Kris sends you, which yeah, isn’t a lot, but it’s more than they usually send.

Is it the soul? Is it forcing them to text you? This is unusual for them. They don’t send texts like this. 

You’ve developed a failsafe: Assume soul unless proven otherwise.

And so, you completely avoid them at school. When you hear them speak, just a sliver, you hear that grueling second voice. You’re spitting excuses to bolt before they can stop you.

You feel guilty. Kris hasn’t done anything. They don’t deserve this.

…but does the soul deserve this, either?

Of course it does. It tricked you into thinking–

Yeah, okay. But it didn’t really do anything wrong. 

It possesses your best friend!

What if it didn’t mean to?

That’s a dangerous assumption to make. 

…

What if it really does need you?

Be quiet. You just want to feel needed.

~*•*~

Kris keeps texting. You’ve never seen them text this much. 

There’s no questioning the stability of your mental health from them. It’s mostly just normal things. Random gifs. Stuff they probably thought you’d find funny. 

It must be the soul, right? What if it’s picked up Kris’ mannerisms by now? It must be worrying that you’re ignoring it.

…Unless Kris really is worried about you.

You can’t wait. The anticipation is killing you. The call button looks very enticing. So you dial. 

They pick up on the first ring.

Silence.

You hold your breath. You’re almost sure they do too.

You don’t dare to speak. You need to hear their voice. You need to make sure it’s them.

More silence. It’s like you’re both expecting the other to break first.

You hate this.

You pull the phone away from your ear to stare at the contact. You almost debate hanging up, when–

“Hi.”

…

You can’t believe they actually folded.

But no voice. You don’t hear it.

Okay. This is okay. They’re okay.

You’re okay.

~*•*~

‘Because you’re the only one who can help me stop it.’

Is it bad you’re even considering this statement to be true?

You’ve heard it all– seen it all. Everything this town has to offer. Nothing changes. But you’ve never seen anything like the soul before. A separate entity living inside a human through its life force. That makes it mystical. Special. It really is neither human nor monster. That in itself is safe to assume.

What if it does know more than you? The end of the world? The ROARING?

What does any of it mean? Why’s it telling you?

‘I’m going to cause it.’

It wouldn’t admit that if it was true. It seemed so adamant on opposing this catastrophic event at the time. So– why’d it say that?

You want to go back. So bad. Ask the questions pounding in your head.

But you’re scared. It can read your mind.

You can’t slip up. Not once.

~*•*~

It’s pouring. You’re entranced by the patter on your window.

You can’t sleep again. You’re not as used to it as you thought you were. Not when there’s so many things on your mind.

There was a thump on your roof about an hour ago. You knew exactly who it was as soon as it happened. A part of you was glad to hear it. Another part of you was nervous. 

But they haven’t moved since. They’re just sitting out there. On your roof. In the rain.

Your window’s open. You don’t know why they aren’t coming in.

Your mind starts to spiral into ‘is this the soul? Has it come to kidnap you? Force you to help it?’

But the tiny doubt that whispers ‘it’s Kris’ makes you push your window open yourself.

You stick your head out, finding them to your right. They’re melted against the brick, no doubt trying to shield themself under the small overhang. They might’ve given up at some point. They’re soaked.

Their sweater is drenched a deep, dark green and their damp hair sticks to their face when they spot you.

The sight makes you want to cry.

God, you feel so selfish. You’re worried about the soul trying to be your ‘friend’? What about Kris?

Constantly being puppeteered by something they don’t understand. Or maybe they do, to some degree. You sure as hell don’t.

You recognize it now; the restraint they have when the soul speaks for them. You couldn’t imagine being forced to say something you don’t want to. Constantly being dragged around to places they don’t want to go. They’ve completely lost their autonomy.

It’s horrifying.

“Hey,” they mumble after a solid minute. They cringe when their voice cracks. “I was gonna– but I… wasn’t sure you’d–”

You’re dragging them inside before they can finish.

The fabric is squishy and unpleasant under your fingers, but you don’t care. Once they’ve found stable footing, you’re swiftly wrapping your arms around their middle. You squeeze, and squeeze, and you’re sure you’re cutting off their oxygen, but you’re too afraid of letting go. 

You can feel them stiffen as you bury your head into their neck. 

But eventually, you feel their arms rest over your shoulders. 

“I’m sorry,” you sigh pitifully, muffled as your lips move against their skin. “I’ve been– I should’ve…”

Their fingers dig into your back as they grip you harder.

Then, you feel it. Those stupid unnamed boundaries you’ve had for as long as you can remember – you feel them crumble. Just a bit. Just enough.

You want to sit down with them. Right now. Confess to everything that’s been going on. Confess that you’d listen to anything and everything they’d be willing to tell you. Confess all you’ve ever wanted is them and they’re all you need. 

And you’ve never been more grateful for their soaked figure. It makes your silent tears blend right in.

It takes a while, but you eventually pull away. Not a lot; just enough to face them. Just enough for your foreheads to skim.

You can tell they want to question it. All of it. But they don’t. You’re grateful. They’re not ready to ask and you’re not ready to talk. 

The thought makes you disappointed. You can’t let this opportunity slip away.

Screw it.

“I really care about you, y’know,” you whisper, immediately feeling more vulnerable than you should. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Their grip falters, just slightly. You can tell they don’t expect it. To be honest, you didn’t either.

“Yeah.”

They pause.

“You can too. You know that?”

You smile. Warm and sincere. “Yeah.”

And that demolishes any sort of hope you have. You’re both still keeping secrets.

…

You feel something wet splash onto your forehead. They’re squeezing their hair over you like a drenched towel. 

You slap them away. “Kris!”

…

But that’s okay. Pretending just makes things easier.

~*•*~

You’ve been feeling better. Turns out comfort from someone you actually care about does wonders on the psyche. Who would’ve guessed?

And you’ve become blindly confident into giving into your deepest impulses. You haven’t been thinking much lately, either. But it doesn’t matter. You want answers. You need answers.

Your hands quiver with more and more deja vu. The window beckons to you, just as it does every other time.

Okay. Gameplan go.

You stick your head inside. Kris is just as exhausted as every other time. You’re certain they’re asleep. You made sure to wait til two in the morning to ensure your greatest success rate–

“You’re back.”

Shit.

Berdly Berdly Berdly Berdly Berdly Berdly Berdly Berdly–

“What’re you doing?”

You chant Berdly’s name in your mind as you nearly sprint to the cage. There’s a new lock on it, but the key sits peacefully on the floor, next to the wagon. You snatch it mindlessly.

Berdly Berdly Berdly Berdly Berdly Berdly Berdly Berdly–

“Why’re you?–”

Shut the fuck up.

…

And you’re graced in silence. 

You jam the key into the lock, snatch the soul, and stuff it in your pocket. Just as you did days ago. It doesn’t get a chance to physically interject. 

Berdly’s the only thing you dare to think of as you hop gracefully onto the concrete of their driveway. You find yourself drawn to the only place you think you’ll feel peace.

The river.

You’re hoping that the close proximity to their house will help you prevent almost getting caught like last time. Maybe you’ll even hear them sneak out their window – depends how loud they decide to be.

You pull it from your sweats. This time, you don’t dare to loosen your grip as you eye it like a deadly predator.

“You’re lucky I came back. Do you hear me?”

The voice quiets. “Yes.”

“You should be grateful.”

“I am. More than you could imagine.”

You approach the sounds of the water splashing gently against the rocks in its way. It all flows the same, ever unchanging. You can just slightly feel the mist of the river sprinkle on your arms.

“So you better not lie to me this time.”

“I won’t.”

You decide to choose the annoying accusatory method. “Who the hell are you and why’re you… in Kris?”

It squirms in your hand. Guilt complex!

“I’m not guilty.”

Crap. Berdly Berdly Berdly–

“I am Kris–”

You roll your eyes despite the severity of the situation. “Okay bud. I don’t know how stupid you think I am, but I’m frankly offended.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Yeah, you are.”

There’s a moment of absolute stillness. It doesn’t matter what dumb ideas it’s formulating; you won’t believe a single one. There’s only one answer and one answer alone that you’ll believe.

If it could sigh, you’re sure it would. “Fine. I’m not Kris.”

You’re ecstatic from the confession. This makes things easier. Now you don’t need to hold back.

“So… why’re you controlling them?”

“I’m their soul.”

“No, you’re not. You don’t think I would’ve noticed you years ago if you were? You’re probably just– I dunno, in the soul. Or controlling it.”

“Controlling it.”

“Okay…” you quirk your head. “Then… stop?”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” you spit back as if your argument had any merit.

“I didn’t want Kris as a vessel.”

…

You have no clue what that means.

“I had my own vessel. It’s gone. I didn’t choose Kris.”

Still no idea.

“Someone chose to put me in Kris.”

“Then tell them to change it! You know more than me, man!”

“I can’t. I don’t know how to contact them.”

“Surely you can find a way! You’re like, what, an extraterrestrial god or something?”

“Something like that.”

“No, not ‘something like that’. I want details.”

“I don’t think you do.”

“Who’re you to tell me what I want?”

It totally knows what you want. It can read your mind, for god’s sake.

“There. You proved my point.”

“No, I didn’t!”

“I don’t want to fight you.”

“We aren’t fighting. We’re talking aggressively.”

“Why don’t you trust me?”

Your mouth flies open in disbelief. “Oh, come on. You’re a flying, telepathic parasite in my friend’s body.”

“Your best friend?”

“I– yeah. Whatever.”

“I wasn’t trying to take over their life.”

Your eyes narrow. “Well, you kinda did.”

“I was trying to fill in the gaps that Kris couldn’t anymore. Keep up with school, keep up with you.”

“You thought Kris cares about school? Wow, you do know nothing.”

“But they care about you, don’t they?”

You freeze.

“If I just stop commanding them, they can’t do anything. It’s like a puppet with no strings. It can’t move on its own. I wanted to help.”

Well, it didn’t do a great job at it.

“I see that now.”

You massage your temple with your free hand. Of course Kris needs their soul to live. They would’ve kicked it to the gutter by now if they didn’t. But, they can’t control themself when the soul’s inside them. That’s why they take it out. That part’s a given. 

But that’s the issue. Yeah, the soul knows absolutely nothing about Kris, but it’s… trying. That you don’t want to admit. Yet you don’t really sense anything untruthful in what it’s confessed so far.

It’s harder to decipher what’s right vs wrong when the supposed wrong side is more morally grey than you thought.

Your hold slackens. “You suck, y’know that?”

Your arm drops to your side, releasing the soul. It hesitantly hovers where your hand was. 

The rocks crunch under your steps. You find yourself pulled to the edge of the water, sitting on the bank. Just as you did when you were a child. But now, your legs could extend into the river if you so wished. And instead of finding a quiet human at your right, you find a soul. 

“You’re caring. Forgiving. I can see why Kris likes you so much.”

The compliment makes your stomach churn. From anxiety or flattery, you’re not sure. That’s what makes you terrified.

“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to scare you.”

“Yeah?” You mumble with zero conviction. “Y’know, you’d be great for a haunted house. You’re like a walking– floating audio device. Don’t even need to get close to your victim to make them feel like you’re whispering in their ear.”

You stop yourself from glancing over, but you’re a bit disappointed by the lack of reaction. Not even a huff. A sigh? A wince?

“I did laugh.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Did you?”

“You couldn’t hear it. But I did.”

You shiver at the thought. You wish you knew what that meant. You try to push it down before it hears you.

“So… what’s with the whole pretending to be Kris thing? Trynna get into my pants?” You joke.

“No.”

“I’ll assume you laughed at that one, too.”

“No.”

“Oh, c’mon. You’re hard to please.”

“I admire you.”

You pause. “...That’s why you couldn’t tell me the truth?”

“You’re funny. You’re comforting. You’re smart.”

Your ears feel hot. You don’t like how much you enjoy hearing compliments from Kris’ demon. It’s a bit horrendous how fast you cave for any semblance of Kris flattery. It feels just as off as it usually does, and this isn’t Kris, but you can’t help but crave it tenfold.

“You like putting straws on water fountain spouts to shoot the water in the air. You put your best tests at the front of your binder and hide the rest behind. You don’t want Kris to see you cry. You don’t want anyone to see you cry.”

It’s weird. Because yeah, this is a completely different person you’re talking to, but they know you well. They know everything Kris knows about you. And somehow more.

“You’re just trying to get me off topic. Like all those other times.”

“I was stopping you from revealing me to Kris.”

“They don’t know?”

“Of course they know. But they don’t know you know.”

“Why’s that a bad thing?”

To be honest, you’d rather someone (like the soul) reveal your secret instead of you doing it yourself. 

“They would not take kindly to me talking to you.”

…

And that. Makes your brain work a mile a minute.

Is the soul dangerous in Kris’ eyes? Or is Kris worried that the soul will say something to you that they don’t want you to know?

You’re confusing yourself now.

“Not even I know as much as Kris does.”

The hell does that mean?

“It means–”

“Okay, no,” you bring a finger to its hypothetical mouth, ordering it to shush. “If we’re gonna have any sort of normal conversation, you need to stop doing that. The whole mind reading thing.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Whatever.”

It stills. You feel like you’re about to get a presentation.

“Kris, with the help of a few others, will cause the end of the world. The ROARING.”

Okay. Here’s what you came for. Whatever the hell this is.

“There’s something in the bunker. Something that Kris doesn’t want me to see.”

“You’re being awfully vague.”

“Because I don’t want to confuse you. Nor do I know many details myself.”

“Then start from the very beginning.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you won’t believe me.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

“I’m not going to trust you out of the blue. I need more than that.”

“You need to ask them yourself. Then, you’ll realize I’m telling the truth. After that, I can tell you everything I know.”

God damnit. “Fine. What does any of this have to do with me?”

It paces forward, hovering over the smooth stream. “These rivers. They always move in one direction. They all end up at the same place. Whether a place of peace or a place of destruction. Its fate is already decided.”

Oddly poetic. “Yes, teacher.”

It ignores your obvious sarcasm. “What if you wanted to divert the stream? Forge your own path? End up somewhere different?”

You gesture to a random patch of dirt. “Then grab your shovel and get digging.”

It glides to your face. You’re almost entranced by the glow in the night. “Exactly. And you’re my shovel.”

“Why me?”

“Kris would never give me the chance to talk to Susie one on one. They know I’m opposing whatever they’re doing. They want Susie to blindly trek towards what she thinks is the ‘good ending’.”

It lowers to your hands resting in your lap, just barely brushing your palms.

“But you. You found me before any of this started. You keep coming back. I believe it’s fate we met. I believe it’s fate you’re here with me right now.”

You can’t help but be skeptical. “One man’s fate is another man’s force.”

“There’s no harm in asking them, right? Even if you don’t believe me right now. If I’m lying, you’ll know through them.”

Compelling argument. It’s like it knows exactly what to say.

“Okay. I’ve got you a deal,” you lower your head to seem more intimidating. “You try to give Kris their autonomy back, and I’ll… hear you out. I’ll ask them. Whatever you want.”

“That sounds counterintuitive.”

Yeah, maybe just a bit. If you somehow end up believing Kris is some villain, them gaining their autonomy isn’t exactly the best thing. 

But that’s not your concern right now. You need to default to soul = wrong. “Then just– do stuff Kris would do.”

“I’ve been trying to.”

“Then you’ve been trying wrong! Kris wouldn’t do any of the things you do.”

It’s rendered silent for a few seconds. Then…

“Can you help me?”

…

You can’t believe you’re about to explain Kris’ mannerisms.

You keep it relatively light, fast, simple – you’re sure it’ll get the just eventually. You ignore the flutter in your stomach when you talk about the smaller, more meaningful bits.

“–And stop talking to everyone. That’s just– no.”

It tilts as if quirking its nonexistent head.

“I don’t. Not anymore.”

Right. That’s a thing of the past, now.

But does that mean the soul stopped talking to everyone for you? Knowing what you do now–

“Of course I did it for you.”

Oh, c’mon.

Your cheeks flush hard. “I told you to stop doing that.”

~*•*~

Eventually, you come to the realization that you can’t just cut off Kris because there’s some creepy soul inside them. Which means, the soul is a part of your life now whether you like it or not.

While you’re not exactly thrilled about talking to a weird spirit, it’s hard to prevent. And the soul is more endearing than you first believed but you won’t admit that.

The exact thought appeared in your head, as thoughts usually do, to which the soul couldn’t resist listening to. It made it more concerned than you expected. It told you it didn’t need to keep up appearances with you anymore because you know the ‘full truth’ (which you find hard to believe).

But what happened next surprised you. It told you it would keep its distance if that’s what you wanted. Of course, there was an unspoken assumption. It thought you’d come crawling back after it was ‘proven right’.

You didn’t care about the specifics. Distance from it is all you need.

And so your old routine continues. You’re neutral to Kris at school and you see them after midnight. You would fully avoid them during the day, but there’s a small but loud part of you that tells you not to. You listen to it, for some reason.

You’ve been sick of surrounding yourself with your room, so you text, saying you’re coming over this time. No question, even though it probably should’ve been. Your phone buzzes in your pocket – more than a definite, single ‘yes’ – but you’re too busy climbing onto their roof to reconsider.

Right as you gain your footing on the shingles, your eye catches a very distinct green sweater at the window. Their arms spread to hold onto the frame, effectively shielding your vision of the inside.

“You–” they start, face unreadable (how unexpected). “Did you get my text?”

You pull out your phone. “C’mon. There’s no way your mom’s still pissed that I’m sneaking in–”

And your mouth drops, cutting yourself off. You stare at the thirteen messages. You almost want to screenshot it because of how absurd it looks coming from Kris’ name.

You swipe up.

moms sleeping

i dont want to wke her up

A minute passed.

r u at home

ill come to u

or wherever you r

Another minute.

my roofs slippery

dont want u falling off

Two minutes.

im out rn

i cnt make itto the wndow

its jammed from theutside

outside 

wait form e in dribeway

Five minutes.

ur coming arent u

You can’t help but wince at the messages. Of course this is about the soul; they don’t want you seeing it. 

…

Actually, this isn’t a bad time to test a mini theory you have. Yes, the soul was the one distracting you from Kris, but will Kris cover for the soul as well?

“Huh,” you shrug, waving your phone in their face. “Looks like a bunch of lies to me.”

They avoid your gaze. “I don’t lie.”

“What about incorrect truths?”

“Yeah. That’s better.”

You find yourself carefully trekking up the roof, avoiding the many wet patches. “So. What’re you hiding?”

They don’t flinch. “My drug ring.”

“Got anything for me?”

“Can’t give away the merchandise.”

But you don’t back down. You stick your face right into theirs, looming over them like a predator. “Oh, Dreemurr. You know I won’t back down.”

“I know.”

You squat, inching closer. Your noses nearly touch. “Let me in.”

“Can’t.”

“I’ll shove past you.”

They give you a look, as if saying ‘I’d like to see you try’.

“Don’t believe me? I’ll–”

A droplet of water lands on your nose from the overhang.

You immediately back off. “Ew, there’s probably so much dirt from your roof–”

And you feel a hand on your shoulder, ushering you closer to them. 

There’s a smile of pure satisfaction that spreads across their face as they use their other hand’s sleeve to dab it off. Your cheeks flush at their warmth. At their closeness. You felt so in control before. What the hell happened?

You’re immediately thinking abort, abort!

You snatch their offence wrist, tugging it as far from your face as possible. You’re hoping they won’t feel your hot face, even if they can definitely see it.

“Okay!” You announce a bit louder than you should’ve, starting to rise. “Let’s just go back to mine!–”

But you misplace your step. On their stupidly wet roof.

And you’re tipping backwards before you can stop yourself.

And you’re screaming.

Kris immediately reaches out the window to you, grabbing your other bicep to stabilize you as you fall on your ass.

Your panting, life having flashed before your eyes.

Then, you hear a snicker.

“Told you my roof was wet.”

“Shut up, Dreemurr.”

~*•*~

You watch from afar as the soul attempts to put your advice into action. It’s actually trying to act like Kris. You’re surprised it’s following every little detail you told it. It’s almost impressive how much it remembered.

It isn’t until you see Kris at the grocery store after school when you actually consider what you’re about to do.

You see them with a list, no doubt doing some shopping for Toriel. You don’t think Kris notices you, but you can’t be so certain about the soul.

But you can’t help but anonymously step past them as they stare from the list to the eggs. And maybe you peek over their shoulder. They seem a bit confused.

Well, you’re sure Kris knows which eggs to get. However…

“Don’t you always get the large ones?” You peep.

They turn to you, just slightly shocked to see you. It vanishes almost instantly.

They look at the eggs. “These look medium at best.”

And yeah, that second voice is always a bit of a scare, but for some reason, you find yourself rooted in place.

It’s crazy how this one interaction spiraled into a multitude of interventions.

You find yourself glancing around more and more, to the point where you might just be outwardly searching for them. There’s something so satisfying in correcting the soul’s mimicking – it feels gratifying, in some weird way.

Maybe you feel like you’re helping Kris gain back some semblance of their identity. 

Or maybe you’re actually having fun with the soul.

Sometimes you let them– it watch you play piano. You’ve learned a thing or two from listening to Kris. Yeah, they’re definitely more skilled than you in music, but you can say with certainty that the soul has no idea what it’s doing when it presses the keys. 

Other times, you’ll help it make pie with their mom. You guide it through the notions despite knowing Kris is an absolute master at it. It feels almost wrong, but you enjoy the time nonetheless.

And every so often, you find yourself walking side by side with them, rambling about nonsense, when it slips their fingers into yours.

All you can think is:

Pshh, Kris would never… do that…

Your gaze turns to them and your thoughts go quiet. You can only assume you’re staring into their stern, hard, nervous eyes. You can only assume you’re staring at Kris’ real expression.

~*•*~

They don’t know what to do.

They’ve been so busy with Susie and Ralsei and everything else to realize what’s been truly going on.

You’re warming up again. Not to them, to the soul.

It’s acting like them. It makes them want to throw up.

You’re extra close, almost touchy when they’re not in control. You’re soft. You’re emotional. You’re everything they’ve ever wanted.

They watch you laugh through eyes that don’t feel like their own. They watch you smile at words they don’t want to speak.

When they find themself at your window, you’re different. 

It’s like everything’s been flipped on its head. While you seemed to hate them with the soul before, it’s like you’re buddies now. 

With them, you’re almost shy, like nothing ever happened. You don’t brush the pads of your fingers up their arm. You don’t whisper in their ear, close enough that they can smell your gum. 

And you give them this look. They can’t place their finger on it.

It’s almost like sympathy. Maybe understanding.

But you don’t understand anything. You never will.

They can’t put that burden on you.

They’ll make sure of it.

~*•*~

After a week or so, it starts working. You didn’t know this was an objective you were subconsciously trying to reach, but it feels right.

It feels like you’re with Kris when you’re at school. It feels like you’re talking Kris when you know there’s someone lurking beneath their skin.

The voice is unnerving, just as it always has been, but you’ve been used to it for months now. 

You’ve been having fun. You love the excuse of spending more time with Kris. If this is how it has to happen, then so be it. You hope this helps them, even if just a bit.

Things finally feel right.

…

But then you watch them crawl out their window.

You were going to show up unannounced, actually respect their boundaries this time, maybe offer to go out, but they’re already leaving.

To where? You have no idea. You got no text informing you of such.

Not that you think they’d tell you every little thing they do–

You duck into the forest surrounding their house before they notice you. You’re not sure why.

Stop hiding like a creep. Just call out to them.

And you do. Well, you’re about to. You take in a deep breath, when–

“Don’t. Just watch.”

And whatever shout in your throat gets lodged painfully.

You find it hard to swallow.

The voice travels down your spine, leaving uneasiness in its wake.

But you listen. You’re not sure why.

You tail them from a distance, hiding behind parked cars and thick trees. They follow the road. Not once straying from their path.

Maybe they’re going to get a snack. Maybe they’re going to Susie’s. You don’t know where she lives. Yeah. She probably lives down here, right? That’d make sense.

…

But, street after street, they don’t turn. Not once. They don’t even think about it.

There’s not a single head in sight.

The street ends. You’re stepping on grass.

The silence is killing you.

They’re heading straight. 

Straight for–

…

You’re not sure when you avert your eyes. 

But you do. 

You don’t want to see it.

Your mind jumbles into a million pieces.

The bunker. Yeah. Okay. Okay.

You–

They’re not doing anything suspicious there. 

You can’t seem to stomach the fact that the soul was, even in some tiny capacity–

…

It’s not right. Don’t say that.

It’s just…

Not wrong.

And somehow, that makes things even worse.

~*•*~

Okay. Okay!

Kris visited the bunker! That means nothing, right?

You’re sure that one time meant nothing. They were probably just wandering the forest, got curious about the big thing, maybe wanted to explore the thing.

Well, no one can get in, right? There’s nothing to explore!

It meant nothing. 

Not the first time. Not the second time.

Not the seventeenth time.

You just keep following and following, hoping for something different.

You hate the soul. No, you don’t.

It’s helping you. No, it’s not.

“Ask me about it. Later. My response should be enough evidence.”

Of course it was talking about Kris. Of fucking course.

That would’ve been horrible. If you went into that blind.

You don’t want to ask. You don’t want to be a part of this.

…

You don’t want to ask.

“Hey, have you ever been inside that weird bunker? The one south of town.”

You can’t believe you held your composure. Not one voice crack. Not one stutter.

Please answer right away. Please. 

They don’t. They pause. 

Why couldn’t they answer right away?

You have to nudge their shoulder.

“Nope.”

You smile. It’s wide. Too wide. “We should explore it. Could be fun.”

They’re picking at a loose string on their sweater. “Can’t. Doors are locked. Probably.”

‘Probably’. Your head’s pounding.

“Then let’s find the code!”

A pause.

“What’s with the bunker obsession?” They tease. But it feels too real.

You shrug to hide your full-body shivers. 

“It’s creepy, dontcha think? Thought it could be fun,” you repeat. You repeated it. They know. They know. They know. They know–

They seem uninterested. “Could be.”

…

You grit your teeth. You might crack a tooth. 

What about the end of the world? Does that sound fun? Does that sound like something they’d do?

Of course not.

Of course not!

~*•*~

“–and now I don’t know what to do because I can’t for the life of me believe that you’ve done anything but lie to me because that– it’s just easier to think that! Right? And– and I don’t want to hear any self-righteous bullshit–”

It’s been three days. You can’t believe you survived three days before rushing into Kris’ room with one thing on your mind.

You’ve been ranting. True ranting. For the past hour. You’re not sure how deep into the forest you ran, but you ran far. If the soul could pop, you’re sure it would’ve from the way you squeezed it like a stress ball on your way here.

It hasn’t said a word since. It just watches as you pace back and forth, flailing your arms into the air like a lunatic.

“–because I just know you want to tell me to choose what I think’s the right option but I don’t know what that is!”

You throw a stone into the river. Correction, you chuck it so hard it shatters against another.

“Oh, and don’t get me started on Kris. Are they seriously lying to me? Seriously? Me? Why can’t they just be honest about their… supposed– doomsday plans?”

There’s a distinct silence. Where’s the so-called comfort you were pleading for? Isn’t that what the soul offered you that Kris didn’t?

“Why– oh, oh! And why did it take a goddamn soul spirit thingy for them to show me any sort of– I don’t know! I can’t believe that you’re the one I’ve been– I… and– and! I’ve never seen them cry! Isn’t that crazy? I’ve known them longer than I’ve been without them, and I’ve never seen them cry, get angry, anything! I’d take anything!”

Your eyes dart to the soul.

“Did I really have to beg? Because I would’ve! I– I just… needed to know.”

…

You wanted to know.

You want to know.

You want to know everything.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t,” you spit. “I’m an idiot for thinking your voice was enough for me.”

“You’re not an idiot.”

“Here we go. You gonna tell me none of it was my fault? That I couldn’t have known?”

“No. I won’t.”

You sigh. “Then tell me something I don’t know.”

There’s a long, drawn out silence.

Then, the voice echoes as it always does. Right in your head.

“You’re codependent.”

Your eyes snap open. “Excuse me?”

“You’d do anything for them. You’d die for them. You need to start thinking for yourself. For someone other than them.”

You’re about to scoff, tell them it knows nothing. But your steam dies faster than it came.

…

Is it ironic that all you want is a hug from Kris?

Just– their arms? Anything?

That one at the window felt really nice. 

God, you really are pathetic.

…

You hate this.

You hate all of this.

…

But, you suppose you owe a certain someone your end of the deal.

You plant yourself on the grass, absorbing the sounds of running water. It always did calm you down.

It flies to your side.

“I know you heard my thoughts. Just– get on with it,” you mumble with no conviction. “Please.”

It halts.

“No.”

Your eyes dart to it. “What?–”

“If you don’t want to hear it, I won’t force you.”

…

Huh.

You exhale. A long, drawn out exhale.

You don’t say anything in response.

And you wait a minute. You make sure to fill your head with unrelated thoughts.

You were sure it was manipulating you; telling you that you have a choice in all this, when in reality, you don’t.

But it doesn’t push you further.

Your throat is rough, coarse. But you push your voice through anyways.

“I do,” you eventually say. “I want to know.”

…

It doesn’t perk up, it doesn’t seem grateful.

It’s like it knew you would cave eventually.

~*•*~

This is bad. This is really, really bad.

They didn’t question your curiosity about the bunker. Anyone would find it alluring. But their hesitance grew when you accidentally let slip that you know the bunker has a code. It was fine; they chalked it up to ‘oh, you probably just stumbled across it recently; saw the newly revealed panel that dropped by a certain Susie’.

You seemed a bit distant after the conversation. You’ve been changing a lot. It’s fine. It hurt more than they’d like to admit, but they let it go.

They’ve had to attend certain matters more often as of recently. With an end goal now in sight, they expected to be more involved. But, they kept feeling like they were being watched. 

Of course that wasn’t you. That’d be stupid to assume.

And they haven’t been sleeping. At all. That’s what class is for.

They’re on the brink of sleep, wondering what’s wrong with you. That’s when they hear their window open.

Silently. Sneakily. With intent. 

With practice.

They can’t bear to stop you. Not when you subtly glance in their direction to ensure they’re motionless. Not when you stare at the soul like it’s a familiar face. Not when you take it.

It doesn’t matter.

It’s fine.

They already know what to do.

They already know exactly what it’s doing.

~*•*~

You go along with it. Only because you don’t know what else to do.

You can’t disagree with anything it claims. In fact, you almost feel inclined to… believe it.

From what the soul tells you, Kris, the Roaring Knight (needed an explanation for that, too), and perhaps other third parties are trying to bring about the ROARING. Which is, essentially, the end of the world. 

It explained how there exists something called a dark world. These dark worlds are fueled by a dark fountain, which can only be opened by a lightner; those who live in the ‘real world’. 

(Again, not too sure what any of it meant.)

It wanted to show you a dark world, but just the fact that it was so adamant on having proof makes you believe it even more.

When too many dark fountains are opened, it causes ‘titans’ to emerge and, with enough, causes the ROARING. Which is what Kris is allegedly assisting this Roaring Knight to do.

It’s a lot to take in, but it’s okay. You’ve developed a new mindset:

Believe it until something proves it wrong.

There hasn’t been anything to deter you yet. Which leads you to now.

With the soul in your pocket, you’re climbing over the Holiday’s gate. You’ve been enveloped with so much deja vu lately that you’re used to the feeling. Except you’re not chasing it down this time. You’re helping it.

You like helping. You like feeling needed.

But this is just–

“That one.”

You stop circling the perimeter, assuming the soul is gesturing to a specific window. The room’s nearly pitch black, but you recognize that snowflake wallpaper from the deep recesses of your childhood memories.

You climb the hedges that conveniently lead you to Noelle’s window. It takes a few attempts (and a few sore fingers) but you manage to wedge your fingers between the gap of the closed frame. 

As quietly as you can possibly manage, you pull the frame and worm yourself through as small of a crevice as you can make. You land on her couch, wincing when it lets out a small creak. Thankfully, Noelle remains in her peaceful sleep.

“It’s the room next to this one.”

Yeah, I know that. I kinda grew up here.

“Right.”

…

It shouldn’t bother you, but that just shows how much it doesn’t know about you.

How does it know so much yet so little?

The halls are quiet, but you’d argue you’re even quieter. You avoid parts of the floor you know will creak, finding yourself in front of a certain deer’s room.

You weren’t really close close with Dess, but just the sight of the door makes you grow a bit squeamish. 

Before the soul can rush you, because you just know it wants to, you enter the cold room.

It’s just as you remember it–

“It’s in the closet.”

You’re rather offended that it cuts off your internal monologue.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want you to get caught.”

You ignore the curious parts of you that want to explore this ancient relic of your past. Sliding the closet door to the side, the guitar’s exactly where the soul claims it’d be.

Your hand slips underneath the strings, tugging them out of your way. 

And there it sits; the labeled bunker code.

1225.

You bolt out of there before you give them the chance to catch you.

~*•*~

The longer you walk, the slower your steps become. The longer you walk, the distance of your strides decreases. You hope the dark clouds of the sky will come to consume you.

You’re hesitant.

You were so ready to do whatever the hell the soul wanted you to do. You felt betrayed, for some reason. Even though Kris owed you nothing. 

You just thought– maybe you had that type of friendship where you tell each other everything. Like about certain eldritch demons. And mysterious bunkers. And end-of-the-world plans.

Even though you know your friendship isn’t like that. And that pissed you off even more.

But now you feel empty. That flame dwindled not long after you left Noelle’s.

You keep telling yourself that you’re still upset, because you are. But even more so, you’re trying to hide your thoughts of doubt.

Just by proxy of your attempt to bury it, you’re almost certain the soul knows.

And yet, it’s been silent. Hovering alongside your pace, even when you slow significantly.

You don’t know why it’s not trying to plead its case a bit more. It knows how you feel. It has to. It was so adamant on you listening to it. It begged you. Now, it feels like it’s just going with the flow. 

The river’s taking you somewhere. Maybe it knows you can’t swim against the stream. 

You cross your arms, fingers tapping against your elbow in quick succession. “So… if we punch it in, will something happen?”

“We need three parts.”

“Uhh, not sure if you’ve noticed, but we only have the one,” you mutter under your breath. “Shouldn’t we get the others before we input anything?”

“It might give us a clue as to how to get the second part.”

You highly doubt that, but you don’t voice your hesitance. You’re sure it heard you, anyways.

The soul’s glow seems to brighten as you near the doors of the bunker, flying a bit too close for comfort. You bury every second-thought you’ve ever had deep into your stomach.

“Okay,” you whisper to yourself, fingers brushing the panel. “Do I just…?”

It doesn’t respond. It watches you intently.

Okay.

The pad of your pointer finger hovers over the one.

Nothing’s gonna happen.

You feel the button under your touch.

Stop worrying.

“What if it blows up?” You blurt.

It doesn’t seem amused. “It won’t.”

“What if it locks us out? Or it alerts someone? Or–”

You’re interrupted.

There’s a bang to your left.

You glance just in time to see the soul hit the ground, undoubtedly sniped by the rock that falls with it.

…

You’re frozen in place.

You know who’s behind you.

Crap. Fuck! This is the worst possible outcome!

What do you say? What do you do?

You peek behind you. Your eye catches just the slightest green before your head jerks away in fear.

“Oh!” You grin at full force, voice weak. “W-what a coincidence!”

You finally turn to Kris, a bead of sweat dripping from your forehead. They look awful.

The slight breeze brushes the hair from their face. Their eyes are blown wide; wider than you’ve ever seen them. They’re hunched over, leaning on a trunk for support. Their mouth opens and closes, as if not knowing what to say. To be fair, you’re just as lost.

There’s no saving this.

Their voice is hoarse, but quiet in skepticism. “What’re you doing?”

Your lip quivers. You can’t lie to them.

“Lie to them.”

Your tongue moves quicker than you can think. “W-well, you didn’t want to explore the bunker with me, so–”

Their eyes dart to the soul, still unmoving. They take a step forward.

As if on instinct, you step to block it.

Their jaw clenches. It isn’t until they grip their knife impossibly hard that you realize they have one at all.

This isn’t happening. 

They blink. “So you–”

“I didn’t steal your soul!” You blurt, shaking your head defensively. “I was gonna put it back! And it makes for rather enjoyable company! You have a mighty fine soul, Kris!–”

Another step forward.

“A-and!” You panic. “I didn’t even have enough of the code to get in! It’s– what, three parts? I only had o– zero! I had zero– I have zero parts! I’m not exactly a treasure hunter, nor do I care enough about whatever secrets lie inside to look for them! I don’t care at all! Secrets mean nothing to me!”

The voice in your head echoes louder than usual. “Be quiet. You’re–”

“No!”

They seem awfully confused. “Who’re you–”

Nope. Not doing this. 

“Why did you lie to me?” You snap.

…

Their lack of response speaks volumes.

“You told me you’ve never been inside. The bunker.”

“I haven’t.”

Your conviction grows. So does theirs. “It told me–”

“You believe it?”

“It hasn’t proven me wrong yet!”

It just happens to tell you everything you want to know! Even with the evidence, the plentiful amounts of evidence, it still feels the need to boast about you. 

Their eyes narrow. “Why does it matter?”

“Because– I don’t really get the whole doomsday ROARING bunker knight stuff, but it– sounds bad.”

They seem shocked that you’re mentioning it at all. 

“What?”

You pause, a bit in a panic. But this is Kris. They can’t read your mind.

“It took me to a dark world!” You bluff. “I know about–”

Right. You don’t actually know enough to–

“About the prophecy.”

…

You follow its lead senselessly. 

“–about the prophecy.”

“You talked to Ralsei.”

“I talked to Ralsei.”

Who the hell is Ralsei?

Kris is oh so obviously picking apart your fat lie in their head. “He wouldn’t– he doesn’t–”

“He knows everything.”

“He knows everything!” 

You can’t believe you’re the echo now.

And even then, you find yourself breaking.

“I– I told you you could tell me anything.”

They scoff, but you can tell there’s no heart put into it. “Was that before or after you found out?”

“Found out what?” You bite back. “That you’re apparently some evil mastermind trying to end the world?–”

You’re exaggerating again. To be frank, you don’t care about the world as much as the soul seems to. The world’s done nothing for you.

“No,” they huff. “About it.”

You’re rendered speechless. If you had no shame, you’d have said ‘before’. But even now, you know they wouldn’t believe you.

They let out a pitiful laugh. It’s depressing. “Yeah. How could I tell you ‘anything’ when you knew that?”

“That fact doesn’t change what I said! You can still tell me anything–”

“How long’ve you known?”

You truthfully think for a moment. “I don’t know, a few months?”

“You’ve known for months? And you didn’t talk to me about it?”

You scoff. “You can have secrets from me but I can’t?–”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying you’re a hypocrite.”

“How am I a hypocrite?”

“It went both ways, didn’t it? You could tell me anything, too.”

Your shrug like a madman. “Neither of us confessed to any of it! So we were both lying! We’re both assholes!”

They haven’t stopped taking steps. 

What the hell does someone do in this situation?

You’re trying to overplay your lack of trust in them. “What about the ROARING? What’s that?”

“You already know.”

“I want to hear you explain it. What does it mean for you?”

“It doesn’t–” Their eyes widen in realization.  “What did it tell you?”

“It told me you’re evil and quite frankly I think that’s stupidly simplified–”

“It’s more complicated than that–”

“Yeah, I got that, thanks!”

“You don’t understand–”

“Then help me understand!”

Step after step. You can tell they’re trying to approach you like you’re a rabid dog.

“It’s a demon. It’s been tormenting me. Controlling me.”

“They’re lying.”

You crumble. “I… I know.”

They don’t seem too pleased with the info. “You know?”

“But– it’s been trying to give you your life back, right?”

“How?” They jab their knife in the soul’s direction. “I wake up every day without a single limb in my body to call my own. I can’t move, eat, talk without its approval.”

“I don’t have complete control over everything. They can nod, muffle their voice, rip me out–”

Your hands tangle behind your head. “I didn’t know what to do! You need your soul to live! If I told you I knew, it’d just– make things worse–”

“What happened to ‘independence’? You’re giving excuses.”

Your eye catches the slightest movement near your feet; the soul seems to have regained its footing. Metaphorically. But you’re sick of this whole ‘call and response’ game.

You snatch the soul as it rises, squeezing it in your palm to stop it from running.

“Kris. Just– listen. Please?”

They’re unmoving, too busy shooting the soul with a nasty glare.

Thankfully, you think you’ve made up your mind.

“I… I’ve never been the one to ‘save the day’– or anything. This whole ‘ending the world’ thing? I don’t get it– I don’t want to get involved. Not by a longshot. I don’t know why I even–” You cut yourself off with a sigh. “But I… trust you. And if this is something you think is necessary for whatever you’re doing? Then fine. I don’t think you’re a bad person, Kris.”

“They’re manipulating you.”

“And this whole soul thing? I don’t get that, either. And, to put it bluntly, I wanted to forget it existed the moment I saw it. But… I don’t think it’s evil, either.”

“It’s manipulating you.”

“But I just… could we– I don’t know, pretend? This didn’t happen? Go back to normal? If I–”

“Do not give me to them. They’ll kill me.”

You snap. “No, they won’t. They need you to live.”

Kris’ gaze turns to you, staring like you’re crazy.

“You should care about the ROARING. You’ll all be dead.”

“They’re not an idiot. There’s gotta be some loophole–”

“You’ll never change.”

You snap. “You know nothing about me!”

Kris seems to fall into an immediate state of distraught.

“You can hear it?”

You come to a startling realization.

“You can’t?”

…

Holy fuck.

Your palms instantly feel very hot and you’re chucking it at the nearest tree like it’s a spider crawling up your arm.

“Oh my god,” you shiver.

But it’s already swerving, preventing the impact.

And it’s flying away.

“Shit,” you both wince.

As you begin sprinting through the plumage of trees with Kris practically using you as a crutch, you let your thoughts process for the first time since you got here.

So, it turns out Kris can’t hear the soul. That’s horrifying. Does it work in reverse? The soul must’ve been reacting to your thoughts, right? Reading your reaction to Kris’ words, rather than their actual words themselves?

Doesn’t matter.

“Wait, wait–” You skid to a halt, gesturing to a large, loose piece of bark. “Carve this out for me.”

You try not to think about the fact that they instantly break it off with their knife. Although, they do look at you questioningly.

“It’s probably better to whack it down than to snipe it with rocks, right?” You reason.

They shrug. “No clue.”

You clutch the DIY board in your free hand, continuing your chase with Kris on your shoulder.

You feel a drop on your cheek. It’s raining. As if things couldn’t get any more complicated.

The soul’s glow has dimmed significantly, but it hasn’t quite faded.

You feel a foreboding reason as to why.

But Kris breaks your thoughts, panting like the life’s being drained out of them.

“When we– when we’d talk at school, you…?”

You’re a bit peeved that their mind has chosen this conversation as priority. “Yes! I knew! I knew it wasn’t you.”

They seem a bit more ticked off than you expected, hiding their scowl behind a blank facade.

You continue. “But it wasn’t like that, I just– I liked spending time with you. Soul or not.”

“But– the soul isn’t me–”

“I know it isn’t, but I was training it to act like you!”

You realize how psychotic you sound and you immediately shut your mouth.

“You– what?”

“It was stupid– I thought if you felt like yourself, you’d feel better about the whole possession thing! And– it felt like I was talking to you.”

You just feel like offering your entire heart today, don’t you?

They don’t grace you with a response. You’re a bit worried they’re pissed as hell, but when you glimpse at their face, their cheeks have reddened. Huh.

You’re chasing in silence, quickly catching up to the rather slow perpetrator. 

You release Kris. It’s hovering low enough that you’re almost able to swat it with your board. You miss a few times, but as you did with your rocks, you hit it on the third try.

It barely flies a few feet forward before continuing its flee–

Kris whips a rock, hitting it square on. It descends a bit before elevating right back up.

Wow, they’re–

But they don’t stop. They keep firing.

This can’t be good.

The soul twitches in what you’d think to be pain when Kris aims for another.

You drop your weapon (You’re not sure where their knife went). You can’t help but rustle their damp arm, sabotaging their throw.

“Stop! You’re gonna hurt yourself!”

They don’t cease, winding for another. “It isn’t me– I’ll only feel it when I put it back in–”

You mess them up again. “That’s still hurting you!”

They realize you won’t falter. Or, maybe something else–

“Do you care about it?–”

Crap.

“No! I just– it…”

You feel yourself being yanked back by your wrist, turned to face them.

“The soul!” Your neck cranks, watching it continue its escape. “What about–”

But they don’t seem worried. When you fidget, they capture your other wrist.

All they do is stare intently. Pleading you to answer.

You avoid their gaze. “It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Talk to me,” they beg. “Please.”

Don’t make the same mistake.

“It–” you cough. “It made me feel good. I don’t care about it– but… y’know…”

A pause.

…

So you continue.

“When it’d tell me I was funny. Or it held my hand. Or told me it liked being around me. A lot of me hated it. Because I knew it wasn’t you. But, sometimes, when I’d close my eyes…”

It was easy to pretend.

Maybe that’s why you caved so easily.

‘A lot of me hated it’.

You’re such a liar.

And you’ve embarrassed yourself enough. Might as well ask the question that’s been burning in your mind for far too long.

“Why did it take someone possessing you to show that you care about me? Even if it wasn’t really you showing me.”

…

Their eyes are unreadable. You squirm, blinking away those stupid emotional tears.

“Was I–” Your voice cracks. “Was I not enough for you?”

“You–”

“Sure was enough for the soul, haha.”

…

Isn’t getting things off your chest supposed to feel good? This isn’t as gratifying as you thought it’d be.

Their fingers brush your wrists, warmth spreading through your already too hot body.

Then, they speak. You wouldn’t have caught it if they weren’t inches from your face. You feel their breath on your face.

“I’m not– good. At this.”

You choke back a laugh of disbelief. “Neither am I.”

They let out a stressed, grueling sigh.

“You wouldn’t have made things worse if you told me you knew.”

Their forehead rests on your own. It feels right. Real. Perfect.

“‘Cause of all the people in the world, I’d want you to know all the fucked up stuff that’s been going on.” 

Their fingers interlock with yours. They grip hard, not wanting to let go. You don’t either.

“Because I’d rather spend my hell on earth with you.”

…

You’re ducking into their shoulder before they notice your tears. Their hands slip from yours, instantly winding behind your back. They squeeze you like you’re their lifeline. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear.”

“Nope, no–” you sniff, sinuses clogged with snot. “I– It’s not your fault, I’m just… a hormonal emotional teenager.”

You feel them huff out a laugh. Your fingers curl into their sweater.

You don’t care that they kept things from you. You don’t care that they’re still keeping things from you.

You don’t care about the past. About the future.

You don’t care about the demon. About the ROARING. About any of it.

Not when it feels so right.

This finally feels right.

…

Your eyes open to the soul, floating waywards above. Watching. Waiting.

You loosen your grip, just slightly. You silently gesture to the soul. They take the hint rather fast, turning to it with a deathly glare.

But then, it does something you don’t expect.

It descends. Slowly. Right to your eye level.

“I’ve tried everything,” it confesses with grueling disappointment. “You never listen. I don’t know what else to do.”

And you’re sure you could reach it if you tried.

…

So you lunge for it.

It doesn’t fight you at all. It seems to accept its fate. You can’t for the life of you figure out why.

You clasp it between your hands. Finally. Finally.

This is all over. For now, at least.

You turn to present the soul to Kris like a birthday gift, but your relieved smile vanishes.

Despite their weakened state, they’ve remained upright for this very moment.

Their eyes glow with a look you’ve never seen on them before. Their knife reappears in their grasp from wherever they hid it.

They’re staring at it like they want to kill it.

“Kris?” You squeak, holding the soul just a tad closer to your chest. “You, uh, okay?”

They tread lightly, stopping when they stand before you. Their free hand, the one without the knife, hovers near your own.

They halt when they see your hesitance.

You peek at them under your lashes. “What’re you doing?”

“You said you trust me, right?” They mumble ominously.

“Yeah. Trust you don’t have bad intentions,” you laugh nervously. “Right now, it looks like you’re filled with nothing but.”

They blink, eyes narrowing onto you. Their grip relaxes. “I’d never hurt you.”

“I–” your bashful smile morphs into one of worry. “I know. But you can’t… y’know, kill it.”

“I won’t.”

“Or hurt it.”

A pause.

“Why not?”

“It’s your soul,” you turn your body away from them. “You need it.”

They stare at you like you’re an idiot. “It’s not just my soul.”

“I know, but–”

Your foot taps, anxious from the way they almost loom over you.

“–what if I brought it home? Just for a day. Let you calm down a bit.”

“I’m calm.”

“You’re good at presenting as such, that’s for sure.”

They hold out a hand, more demanding if anything.

“Give it to me.”

You refuse. “No. I won’t let you hurt yourself.”

“I won’t.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Then we’re back at square one.”

You sigh. “I guess we are.”

You’re fine with that. The hard part’s over; the reveal. Your thoughts are already laid out like glass. It just depends if they decide to smash you to pieces or–

Nevermind. They’ve just tackled you to the grass.

They tumble over you as your head hits the mud, feeling much stickier than before. Ouch.

Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be?

They bracket their legs around your waist. Your hands grip the soul with all your strength, jerking away as they attempt to pry your fingers open.

Their blade’s clenched between their teeth. Their voice is muffled, but loud as hell to your ringing ears. “I’m sorry–”

You knee their side, shoving them off of you with much more ease than you expected.

“Don’t wanna hear it!”

You’re not sure what running’s going to do for you, but you’re on your feet.

You can’t really tell where you are, so you just head away.

“You–”

You wish it could feel the way you suffocate it between your palms. “I’m not doing this for you!”

The grass is slippery, almost annoyingly so. You can’t help but slow down.

But you don’t hear the steps swiftly approaching. You don’t feel the arms sneak over your shoulders.

How’re they so sneaky?

They paw at the soul, managing to get one of your wrists in their grasp. You’re awkwardly tangled in each other’s arms for an oddly long time.

Eventually, you turn to face them. You hold it above you while they twist your elbow to bring it down. Shit.

As a last ditch effort, you shove them off you with all your might. “I’m doing this for you!”

And you chuck it into the sky. Again.

Kris rips the knife from their teeth, ready for another pursuit. You’d rather be in an endless loop of chasing and hunting and fighting if it meant they’d be okay.

…

But the soul–

It doesn’t run. It doesn’t hide.

Even without eyes. You can feel its stare.

Its stare of triumph.

Like you’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life.

But you can’t stare for long, as Kris is already shoving you back by the shoulders. You hit a tree, trapped between the trunk and the arm across your chest.

You squirm, but your legs barely touch the ground. You can’t move.

“Let me go!”

“No–“ they struggle. “Stay here.”

You object and object, but they don’t listen.

They’re waiting for you to calm down, but you don’t.

The tree shields you from the storm, offering grace from your sickly wet clothes.

And you’re tired.

You’re desperate.

You see the knife in their free hand, and you swiftly reach for it. Your hands tangle around their palm; around the base.

They panic. “Let go–”

“You first!”

“I’m protecting you–”

You don’t care for this stupid back and forth, so you keep clenching your fingers, digging your nails into their skin. They don’t flinch.

Even when they’re objectively weaker than you, you’re still outsmarted. 

You can’t win this.

…

Midway through your desperate clawing, your eye catches sight of something. 

Something behind them.

It’s–

A…

…faint glow.

You don’t know what it’s doing.

It floats. 

Waiting.

But then, it–

It hovers towards them. It’s coming.

Kris doesn’t notice your incentive fade.

You hear the voice. It’s quiet, almost remorseful.

“I’m sorry,” it whispers.

But you know it isn’t. 

And right as you think it’s about to touch Kris–

It vanishes. Nowhere to be seen. It’s gone.

You can’t help but focus back on them.

What just happened?

Their eyes widen in realization. Yours, on the other hand, squint in confusion. 

Their grip almost completely slacks, nearly dropping the knife.

…

Then, it strengthens tenfold.

The arm on your chest pushes harder. Your back pokes into the bark.

Their jaw clenches. Expression unreadable. Blank.

Their wielding arm tenses.

…

You scream when you realize what’s about to happen.

You’ve never heard yourself make such a noise before.

But it doesn’t matter. No one hears you.

You don’t know where you are. You don’t know how far you are.

You’re too horrified to stop it.

You don’t think you’d have the strength to.

…

There’s a sharp, painful sting in your stomach.

A dig. A twist.

A knife. In your gut. 

The noise dies quickly. You’re too scared to look down.

You can feel the uncomfortable clog of liquid in your lungs.

…

You’re released. You immediately crumble to the ground.

Your legs feel trapped. Like stilts, ready to snap. 

You cough, wiping away the spit that dribbles down your chin.

You look at your hand. It’s red.

It’s blood.

…

Your vision’s becoming hazy, but you can make out most of it.

Kris is holding something. The soul.

They’re whipping the soul at a tree. 

Over. And over. And over.

They slam boulders over it.

Over. And over. And over.

They hold it between their hands. Squeezing, clawing, ripping…

You don’t want them to do that. You don’t want them to get hurt.

You try to tell them. You try to call out. You’re quieter than you hoped–

But they don’t hear you.

…

“I didn’t want to,” you hear faintly.

“Whether on purpose or by accident, you were always the one to kill me.”

It talks so casually.

It’s almost like it’s not being beaten to a pulp right now.

“I tried reasoning with you. Even tried running away as Kris. But you always catch up. It’s always you.”

You choke. Out comes more blood.

“I admire it. Your determination. Reminds me of myself.”

You don’t want to be anything like it.

…

You finally have the guts to look down.

It’s pretty bad. Your hoodie’s soaked from the rain.

There’s a deeper colour, right above your stomach. It’s too dark to make out.

When you touch it, your hands stain an ugly red. 

It washes away in the mist. 

You press on your middle, trying to wipe away the colour.

But it keeps spreading.

…

You’re not sure when Kris came to your side, but you’re glad they did nonetheless.

They’re urgently rambling. You’ve never heard them talk so much before.

Is it bad that you like it? You like their voice. 

Their hands move from your face to your cheeks to your stomach to their phone to your hand.

When you weakly reached for their palm, they interlocked with you wordlessly.

It feels nice. It’s the type of casual intimacy you’ve always wanted. 

You can admit that now.

They asked you why you’re smiling. But you’re too distracted by the way they wipe your lip of the blood. Your blood.

It’s staining their sweater. You don’t want to ruin their sweater.

…

You didn’t realize it, but you think they’re crying.

As much as Kris cries, anyways. Which is nothing. 

You wouldn’t know. You’ve never seen it.

But you’re watching tears fall from their waterline.

It’s not the rain. You can just… tell.

Your thumb swipes their cheek. Their hand envelops yours, encouraging you to cup it.

They gaze at you like you’re everything.

“You have the prettiest cry,” you whisper.

Your blood stains their skin. They don’t seem to care.

“Don’t talk,” their voice cracks painfully. “Please.” 

You watch the leaves collect the rain, dripping onto the muddy ground. 

“We… barely hang out– in the rain,” you sigh. “I thought… it’d be cute, but it’s just… gross.”

Your clothes stick to you uncomfortably.

Your blood mixes with the dirt.

They let out a pathetic, depressing laugh. But it immediately vanishes.

You don’t like that. You miss their laugh.

You’re tired. You want to close your eyes.

You don’t seem to get the choice, anyways.

Their eyes widen in panic. Or something of the sort.

…

You regret it. You regret wanting them to show more emotion.

It’s just not who they are. Even if it’s something you wanted.

And besides. After years of wondering, you finally know what their tears look like. 

But it’s not what you thought it’d be. 

You’re not sure what you expected. 

…

Although. You are sure of one thing:

You don’t like seeing them cry.

Officially, in the manga it hasn't been stated that Beldaruit has a medical condition, or that he was ever paralyzed. But then Chapter 81 gave us this page...

...and everything fell into place!

«My bones have been brittle from the day I was born»

Yes, this is a real medical condition.

Osteogenesis imperfecta (OI), also known as Brittle bone disease, Lobstein syndrome, fragilitas ossium or Vrolik disease.

● ICD-11: LD24.K0   ICD-10: Q78.0

«Osteogenesis imperfecta (OI) literally means “imperfectly formed bones”, and is a rare and complex genetic disorder that is often characterized by bones that break easily. The vast majority of OI is caused by variations (mutations) in genes that affect the structure of type I collagen or genes whose proteins interact directly with type I collagen.»

In other words, a person with this condition is born with bones so fragile that their legs can break under their own body weight, and even lifting an object can result in a broken arm.

This would explain why Beldaruit is confined to the chair and prefers to travel around the Great Hall through smoke illusions. If he tried to stand on his own feet, his legs would most likely break under his own weight.

We only see Beldaruit lying in bed, where he has already developed pressure sores and ulcers. (I absolutely love the level of details in this manga and how seriously Kamome Shirahama approaches depicting different medical conditions.)

Also, notice how gentle all of his movements are. He doesn't even fully close his fingers around the rope, and the way he holds his pen is so delicate:

Symptoms found in various types of OI include:

whites of the eye (sclerae) that are blue instead

short stature

loose joints

hearing loss

breathing problems

problems with the teeth (dentinogenesis imperfecta)

Potentially life-threatening complications, all of which become more common in more severe OI, include: tearing (dissection) of the major arteries, such as the aorta; pulmonary valve insufficiency secondary to distortion of the ribcage;and basilar invagination.

More information

There are several types of osteogenesis imperfecta, ranging from mild to severe. I'll only talk about Type I, because I believe that's the one Beldaruit has. His body shows no obvious skeletal deformities, and he's quite tall, both of which are consistent with the mildest form of the condition.

You can read about the other types here

"Type I OI: people with Type I OI, the mildest and most common form, may have only a handful of fractures or as many as several dozen fractures in a lifetime. They may have few obvious signs of the disorder. In Type I, there usually is little to no bone deformity. Height is less affected than in other types of OI, and many people with Type I are often similar in height to other family members. Muscle weakness, joint laxity, and flat feet are common. Dislocations and sprains may occur, as well as fractures. Life expectancy appears to be average."

Works featuring characters with the same condition:

"Miss paws, where are you!" The childish and playful voice woke you from your own little head, soon the same green hair from your memories arrived with a smile, quick in her steps to scoop the black cat in her arms. "There is a witch here! A true witch! With true magic! You NEED to see him!"

She talked while the you got comfortable in her embrace.

'Oh dear, is it who I think it is?' you thought for yourself.

Eventually Coco left the tiny atelier, arriving where the witch had hidden.

"Look, he is inside there. He's fixing the costumer's chariot that one of the boys broke.. but isn't it so cool? There is an actual witch here!" The girl was so happy that she squished the poor cat in her arms, hugging her harder while giggling to herself.

"meoow!" You protested for your poor bones being crushed by Coco, she quickly released you on the ground. "I'm sorry, Miss paws, I got carried away, hehe!" She apologized while petting her.

'Is is finally time? Oh my poor girl, you have no idea what is coming for you.. if only I could protect you..' The feline lamented, you were scared for this day, scared to change how things would come, what if you change things for the worst?! What if the brimmed hats get their hands on Coco because you were close? You were scared.

"Oh, Coco, it's you." The door opened just to reveal clean white hair and blue intoxicating eyes behind a calm and composed face. "And who is this?"

"This is Miss paws! My cat! I brought her to see a true witch for the first time, too!" Coco said with proud while holding your front paws, making you stand in only your back ones. You watched carefully the man with careful and gloomy eyes, before meowing at him and lashing your tail back and forth, your own way of greeting Coco's future caretaker.

'He sure is as beautiful as the arts showed.. do witch's have special face products? There isn't a single spot in his face.' You analyzed him with care, not holding yourself and your hobby for beauty while judging him.

Maybe you liked self care in your past life? Who knows..

"It's nice to meet you, Miss paws." He greeted holding one of your paws and pretending to shake it. Coco smiled happily. "I'm qifrey, a true witch that is here to help fix some things." He played.

He straightened himself, changing his attention to the girl instead. "Coco, could I ask you something?"

Besides the task given to Coco, you were granted the privilege to go as you pleased inside the hut with qifrey, and so you did. While Coco was outside sitting in front of the door, you were inside. After all, what problems could a cat do? It's not like you can talk and reveal the truth about magic anyways. So you watched carefully while qifrey sorted his materials to start working on the drawing.

You watched with attention, from the moment he picked up his pen and started working on the circle first.

You just failed to notice the way qifrey stopped momentarily to watch you with careful eyes.

He felt something strange coming from you, you looked too sentient for a normal cat, he knew something was wrong the moment his eyes landed on you a while back, he could feel the weird energy around you, like you didn't fit who you were.

Deep in his mind, he wondered if you were really just a cat, he remembered how Coco talked about the first witch she saw long ago. Maybe there is something he doesn't know? Or just didn't understand yet.

Some time passed, you were able to hear the exact moment Coco saw the truth behind magic, you had heard her careful footsteps with your cat ears, shifting in your position and drawing qifteys attention to yourself, preventing Coco from getting caught, even if you knew she was not going to.

Qifrey worked on the last line before releasing a sigh.

"Finally, it's done, good as new to fly again." He talked carefully, like he was talking to you, which dragged your attention to him.

You meowed to him, watching him back.

He kept his eyes on you, his face more serious for a moment, he took his time to analyze you and your reactions. You, in return, just looked back at him with big green eyes, with a stare as deep as his.

He swore he could see hope in your eyes as you watched him back.

"Are you truly... A cat?" He whispered more to himself, but loud enough that you could hear clearly, you just blinked in return.

He sighed again, breaking the eye contact and starting to pack his things.

'Did he noticed?' you questioned yourself while still watching him take away his pen and ink. Soon after qifrey opened the hut door, being faced by Coco, who stared at the door with a face of someone deep in thoughts. You left before they finished talking, deciding to pass the most time you could with Coco's mom before she... Well.

You arrived quickly at her side, rubbing against her legs to draw her attention to you.

"Oh, hello there, paws." She recognized you, picking you up on her arms and brushing that spot in the back of your ears that makes you melt every time.

'Not that I'm a true cat, but after years, how could one not enjoy this kind of attention?' you reasoned with your human morals that way, enjoying the pets.

Coco and qiftey soon arrived, Coco skipping to her mother's side, holding qifrey's belongings while he tested the chariot.

"Are you alright? I thought you wanted to see the winged chariot." The woman asked, stoping to pet you for a moment. "It's so rare for you not to get all excited when it comes to magic."

Coco looked away with a sad and confused face. Only changing it when qifrey arrived asking if she was alright, she answered shoving his things on him and hiding behind her mother.

You sighed internally, watching the hole scene unfold. 'I wish I could help in some way..' you have thought about trying to save the woman, but despite how much is hurts, you are still scared to do something that would change Coco's destiny for the worst in the future. So the only thing you did was watch her mother with found and sad eyes, purring in her hold and enjoying her presence while you could. You have always felt like she was your own mother, after she and Coco adopted you.

"Goodbye, may our paths cross again." Qifrey said as he left, his silluet fading in the distance slowly, making you leave your own mind to reality again. You felt the woman holding you leave a sigh, relieved. But you didn't paid attention to her. Focusing on the witch that would soon return. Only after he was only a dot in the distance and when Coco's mom turned to leave your eyes left his back.

She dropped you on the ground again, but you followed after her closely, meowing to draw her attention again.

"And what about you? What got you so clingy today, kitty?" She questioned the black cat following her steps, entering her shop again with an idea.

You watched as she got a piece of fabric and started folding it weirdly, passing it around her body like a second shirt. After finishing, she scooped you up again and started tucking you inside the fabric like in a kangaroo pouch, except it holds you right on her chest, where you could hear her heart beating slowly.

'She is holding me like a baby, maybe she used to do this with Coco?' you started the machine inside you again, purring loudly against her chest happily, enjoying every last second you would have with her by your side.

After finishing, she returns to her duty on the store, attending to costumers while you slept the hole evening being hold by her, in a way that made you feel like you belonged there more than anything.

This would be your last memory with her, and you would cherish it forever, until the day she is set free from the crystal comes.

Until the day you finally regain your memories.

Until the day you recognize who you truly are.

──── 𐙚 ────

All love stories are about two people, and you are a fool to think they would ever love you.

Maybe in another timeline the love story of the star and silver tree maiden had a different tale. A small flower bud ones watch them, this flower was the silver maiden closest companion who use to tell them of the wonders of life. This flower bud love the silver tree maiden but this flower bud could only watch as their love interest feel in love with a star.

Now this flower bud could only watch as their lady and the star begin to get closer and closer until this flower bud feel insignificant. They didn’t resent their lady after all the star was beautiful, bright and warm to their lady how can they? They love their lady and if been in love mean being happy for them in everyway then they will accept it even if they forget about them.

“How can I say I love you when I don’t even accept your happiness even if it directed to another. I can never be angry of you because I know my worth, I’m just a flower bud ; insignificant and unimportant. I am not like the star you fell in love: so beautiful and warm, I have no tittle or power like any of you and I have nothing to give but only words of what I know, that I know will never be able to fill you or express you how much I love you and if it mean to see you happy because of someone then so be it. I’ll always love you and seeing you happy is the only thing I want in this world”

Days continue to pass through you that it honestly felt like a dreams. You have thought so much of it especially what the relationship mean now between them, have they made it official?. Some days they would stop even coming to the mess hall and even more they almost seem to be…ignoring you….

So with a heavy heart you decided to confront them, even if it will maybe break you apart.

You walk down the corridors trying to find, after they left you ones again alone to eat, it was so unlike them. For them to hide from you, you where getting sick and tired. It almost like they are trying to forget you and it hurting you. What happening to the kindness boys you meet for them to act so unlike themselve?

You walk another corridor and finally found them, they where hunch over like sharing secret between them.

“…guys…”

At the voice of your voice both of them stand up like they where caught doing something they weren’t suppose to be doing. They also seem to be hiding something from you because they both are hiding they’re hand behind their back.

“o-oh (name) good to see you!” Qifrey look anywhere but you and his nervous voice just seem to accentuate it.

“I wanna tal-“

“oh look at the time, lunch must be over right we have to go now, see you later”

Olruggio quickly cuts off and took Qifrey with him, it was so quick they didn’t give you time to even finish.

“wai-wait!” but they already left, the corridor feel cool and your heart thumps begin to feel like they where in your ears. They left you…again

“why…why are you guys acting so weird…? Aren’t we friends? Why are you guys acting like you don’t want me anymore...” but no one answers and that almost broke your heart.

At the utter of this words a flower begin to wilt.

“calm yourself maybe it nothing yeah maybe maybe…” you try to console yourself but begin to loose voice at the end like you couldn’t come up with any idea, wrapping yourself like a hug like trying to not break down. You have gone through worse things, you can’t be breaking just because they both decided to have secret and fun...together.

“I can’t be this weak, I can’t I cant I can’t. I know worse things. I can’t be this sensitive just because someone have giving their hand to me and because they were kind!” You then remember what you said that night under the stars, when Olly ask of what love mean and came to a sudden realization.

“Love is selfless if I love both of them I will be happy for them” you will won’t you? But even if you tell yourself this, you can’t help it but feel like a liar because you know you will only be hiding and lying to your own heart.

That same night you try to sleep but when you have such a heavy heart and more thought that you can withstand, it honestly difficult. You try just about everything, counting sheep, drinking tea even just closing your eyes praying that you will eventually fell asleep. You didn’t want to think about them right now because if you did you will be crying till sunrise and try to act like everything is fine and dandy when everything feel like it falling.

Just then you hear a squeak from outside, is someone still awake at this hour?

“Dammit Qifrey be more quiet! You could of wake them up!”

“sorry ok?! They still should be asleep see? They didn’t hear it!”

Oh but you did, and hearing their familiar voice just seem to awake you more so you focused you ear to see what they where saying.

“…something to show you…it…”

“…we…..windoway….far…”

“….ok….go…”

It sound like they were going to sneak out and this time they weren’t going to invite you. At the thought of that your heart is already hanging by a string. You couldn’t take it anymore so with a heavy heart you took your cape near the door and decided to follow them.

You can’t take it anymore you needed answer and if you need to stalk them so be it and if it break you, you will suck it up and be strong because you are…right?

Following them was easy after all you where ones a alleyway kid who had to steal for food, staying in the shadows and be quiet was familiar to you and you can’t help it but be glad for now helping you in this.

They walk and walk it was almost endless, with light spell they light up their path but never looking back like they were sure that no one would be following them, as for you your steps where careful and quiet, stick would be moves and you would hide behind tree barks and big rocks just incase they decided to look behind them. Qifrey and Olruggio continue forward before stopping by a big open field, rocks scatter around and up the hill look to be a abandonee shepherd home.

From where you where you could hear them, you where hiding behind a pillar. So it took a lot of straining your ears to hear them well.

“...found this…want to…home…”

Something about finding this place and wanting to turning it to a home?

“………like….beautiful……..”

“…..I hope you….like it….”

“I want to say…

“I love you…”

“…..promise…”

“….we won’t tell them…”

And then your heart broke. You hide yourself the bark of the tree digging in your behind but you didn’t feel anything, you where covering your mouth forcefully shutting your jaws and suppressing the sounds that will begin to come out. Tears where already breaking down and they don’t seem to be stopping anytime now You knew it, You knew it, YOU KNEW IT.

They were hiding, hiding something this big from you. They didn’t want you to know, did they knew you like them that why they hide it? They love each other you should be happy! Yes but they hide it from you! Like even showing they love each other would hurt you. But it did didn’t it? But they hide it the entire time! You love them. You love them. You should be happy. They hide it from you. Like you been there would hinder them, like you where a burden, someone they took pity in and nurse them and now can’t simply leave them because it would make them see themselves bad.

You need to leave now NOW. You heart was burning, your body felt like it was on fire. You need to leave before they see you. So with quick and hasty movement you run and run back to you only save place for now, your room. You didn’t even know if you step on a branch, did they see you oh who where you kidding they probably heard you and saw you, but you didn’t care you just wanted to be alone.

A flower wilts, petals fall to the ground and it ones vivid color turn black like a rotten apple.’

Finally at the safety of your room, you sneak back in and fell to your bed in a tumble not caring if you took of your cape, you were such a mess to function and the moment and too exhausted from the running.

“Idiot, idiot, idiot IDIOT” you whisper to your self and each one feel like a dagger twisting in you interior. “ You are a fool, how could you love them both knowing that there is more chemistry between them. Idiot, idiot, idiot. They are kind, the kindness boys…” your voice waiver at the end, like you didn’t know if you even believe that last statement.

“…they are kind…kind...but they act so cruel…they hide…ignore…they’re cruel….” You were loosening strength your voice no mere than a whisper like a dyeing fire that is already extinguishing and leaving just a trance of smoke. Not only that you could already feel your body feeling slugish, your eyes heavy and your words becoming a jumble of words and before you close your eyes you though:

“what if I never meet them, would I even feel like this…?”

In another place, maybe far in the future but not in the same line. A person walk by a dark forest but something about this person was somber. On their head was a brimmed-hat making them a member of the group with the same name, but it was what in their head where was decorated in that draws the attention, black dahlias. Color like the void and darkness this flower was like a mystery just like it owner who hide behind a brimmed.

The flowers didn’t stop there, there was also a single black dahlia pin to their clothes on their left on their chest and it just happened to fall right where ones heart suppose to be, it was like a calling to anyone who see them, like a change of heart? But really who would even listen to a brimmed-hat feelings. What a joke.

…

Back then the worlds ones resolve between just Olruggio and Qifrey, it was bound to meet each other but somehow they always feel like something was missing, like a puzzle missing a piece. It it seem like they found that missing piece. Qifrey was the first to saw you. A quiet thing always so far away from other like you where putting some distance because you ere hiding something. And it was Olruggio who saw the look of interest on his best friend.

“Did they peak your interest? They really cute aren’t they?” Olruggio teasing voice broke Qifrey stare at you. They were sitting a little far from you but still able to see you work in somethinbg.

“wha-what are you talking” at the look of his friends, Qifrey try to disagree but his red blushing face wasn’t helping him. Olruggio seeing that you have captivated Qifrey attention –with is a fed since Qifrey was indifferent to everyone—decided to drag him to you so maybe you could all be friends.

“what are you doing!! Stop, stop stop”

But it was already late, they where in front of you and you look like you where annoyed at them. You harsh words didn’t register in Qifrey eyes, his mind was already running a million thought of how pretty you look.

‘their fierce eyes is so captivating I feel like I’m losing myself in them, hair so pretty I want to run my fingers through them, and gosh their voice is like a lullaby I wouldn’t mind falling asleep forever as long as they continue talking to me…”

Ah he was lost already, he could see Olruggio mouth move but no voice came out, it wasn’t registering in his mind. It only broke when Olruggio begin to give some advice and help your drawing, he too wanted to help maybe to get your favor he doesn’t know but a fuzzy feeling was already brewing inside him and maybe he like it, only a little!

When Olruggio give you back your page and your reach to take it back, some of the skin under the wide and big sleeves he could see couth his attention. Your hand was fil with callouses and red any normal person would think it would just be the calluses of holding a stylus for a long time but Qifrey wasn’t just anyone, he was more observant than those other people who only care for themselves. Your calluses look like that of someone been hit repeatedly to the point it won’t heal well and not only that you had drak purple bruises around your wrist that was hidden under your sleeve, like you were taken forgetfully and you didn’t even go to he medical spire for it. Qifrey wasn’t the only one to see them even Olruggio seem to saw it and decided to speak up.

“Hey your hands..” At the words of Olruggio, you hazily made an excuse and begin to shove everything in your bag, he even try to help you but you brush it off and run away. It seem like talking about them make you nervous and Qifrey could already maybe see what was the cause of your action. Abuse from someone and he already know who, your master, it wasn’t hard to see after al you never talk or were around any other apprentice or teacher only yours. So a plan begin to form on his head, they (Olruggio and Qifrey) were going to tell Beldaruit and get the Knight Moralis involve.

Normally if it was anyone Qifrey wouldn’t bat an eye but it was you someone who look so kind and clearly hardworking but it was because of your teacher maybe you were afraid of ever speaking to other and maybe forming friendship to another apprentices. Someone who have been hurt before will abstain themselves for ever forming any meaningful emotions in fear of been hurt again.

“you were right they are cute”

“hmm”

“but you face kind of scared them away”

“huh?!”

“but anyway you saw that right, their hand” Olruggio point to his and Qifrey nob. “Yeah, I know it doesn’t look like normal callouses you or I had so the only answer is that they are been hit and I think I know who, Their own Master” Qifrey explain.

“That…that..”

“no worry I’ll speak it with Master Beldaruit to have it all handle” Qifrey not feel thankful that one of the wise had taken him as his apprentices because not he can use that for this (nepobaby Qifrey).

And so it was like promise, Qifrey let his master Bleldaruit know of his worry and since the wise of teaching was a soul who are for children Qifrey didn’t need to ask anymore. It was lucky that they found you just about to be hit by our master that same day, they were just in time. Qifrey couldn’t fathom how long you had to suffered at the hand of your own master.

And when he got close to you and suddenly you cry, it just made Qifrey nervous and very worry. He didn’t like seen you sad and tear running down your face so he made a promise to himself. He would make anything possible to not see you cry and shed tears. But can he keep that promise if they are the cause of it?

For Olruggio it was different after night under the sky, the day you responded to him was the day he begin to understand what he was feelings the past days after they save you and when they introduce you to their little group.

It was love, the kind that make your heart thump rapidly, it was love that made his body burn like it was on fire from the nerves and because he was sweaty, it was love that made him think “Yes, it them I want to live my whole life with them forever” and it doesn’t seem like he was the only one, Olruggio could see that Qifrey too love you the same way he love you.

But Olruggio also love Qifrey, the same way that love is directed to you. Qifrey remind him of home, that even if he tell himself that he doesn’t want to talk abut it deep in his heart he does miss it, of the snow that cover the land and he thought to himself again” I too want to grow old with him by my side”

So with these thought in his mind he concluded one true that made him smile.

“Yes, I want them both. I want to grow old together, live maybe in a field together, maybe take apprentices one day and simply enjoy each other. Whatever it is I want to stay together forever till we grow old”

In the past there said to be a king accompany by his witch, they would walk around the town but feel like everything was the same. People would part like the sea at the sight of them, People would bow before them and it honestly feel little lonely for the king even if his companion was by it side.

Then a melody fill the air, the sound of a harp and the sound of someone singing. Their voice was like a siren becoming them closer to a open place in the plaza where people was surrounding someone. Seeing the king they part leaving him a opening to see right in front and what they say it took his breath away.

Right there was a person, a poet, a bard, singing such a lovely melody with their harp, they dainty fingers pluck the string producing such crystal like sound from them. They weren’t royalty from a far away kingdom nor where they someone of high statues yet they caught his attention like no other.

The witch was on the same boat as his king, he never seen someone witch such crystal clear voice that feel like the heaven wherever they speak

They with a harp and a heart that want to express have captivated the heart of the King and witch and their admiration just continue to grow as they hear their voice.

And they thought “Yes I want them by my side”.

Olruggio and Qifrey find themselves lost, they had a heart to heart the night before of their feelings and found out they love you and each other.

“It is possible to love two people at the same time?” Qifrey ask, he was o expert in lobe and neither he know what love is.

“I mean yeah, love is well love, you can’t control who you love even if it two people” Olruggio responded just as confuse. He too didn’t have any idea of what it mean.

“But won’t it be weird?”

“what weird about that?, You love them, I love them, I love you and you to love me…right?”Olrugio was not feeling a litle self-conscious, have he been getting the signal wrong? Seeing this Qifrey was quick to chase his worry away.

“Of course I do, but how do we show them we love them without coming to…impudent..?” was that even the right word to use? But Olruggio knew what Qifrey meant to convey “I don’t know, but we can think of something in the upcoming days!”

And they did, the next day they begin to brainstorm ideas, they went to the library to find any idea but any idea they come across it was scrap by the other.

A card? It would be to difficult to convey in simple words, they feel like it would become a book by the end of it.

A doll? it feel a little childish, even if they are kids still, it feel like saying that they like you in a friendship way.

Saying I love you? The worst they could come up with, they want to show you the best and simply words doesn’t cut it. Plus they thought they would only come out like a mess, they are to scared to say those three words.

The days still continue to past and they feel like they were running out of time—for what?—they had a long list and they still wouldn’t agree in anything between the two of them.

“Hey Qif, I think I got it, but I need to show you at night when they go to sleep” Olruggio whisper.

And just like that, they sneak out at night to a open field, firefly in the sky illuminated everywhere and up a hill is a old abandonee Shepard home and not only that it was house with a open view of the starry sky, much different than the endless blue of the ocean in the Great hall.

“It perfect…”Qifrey look amazed, th night sky look like the same one when you three lie on the grass and talk about love.

“I know right? I’m hopping they like it, A beautiful open field with a even more beautiful night fill with stars!”Olruggio raise his arms with a big grin on his face.

“Maybe we can turn this to our home, what do you think? I guess I also hope you like it, I saw you don’t like water or staying in the Great Hall so let live here with them together. And then when that day come we can finally say I love you” Olruggio give a bashful look.

“Alright then it decided, we will tell them at the end when we finish the 4th test and we can live outside the Great Hall but for now we promise we won’t tell them”Qifrey said and thought ‘yes you would love this place, maybe you guys would take apprentices under your own and we have live all happily under the night sky’

“Alright! Promise!” so a promise was made under the night sky between two people who wish to convey how they feel to their third person, the third person who was watching them from the shadow without them knowing and crying their broken heart out at the misunderstanding.

...

“You’re leaving..? “the day they were hopping for have come but your word have just shatter they plan of showing you the now finish house they where so ready to live with you.

“Yes, I just need time to…learn about myself and to explore the world “you say hopping they didn’t hear your voice crack from many tiresome days where you had to act like everything was fine when they leave you. It was a idiot move in your part, but you just needed time to resolve your feeling who know maybe this feeling would finally wither or maybe you’ll find someone else in your travels—oh your joking to yourself there will never be someone that compare to this two.

Qifrey and Olruggio were heartbroken, their love wanted to go and maybe they won’t be able to join them, and even if they try to tell you they two want to you would decline on them joining you. All their hard work in building the now finish atelier—who was now waiting for their new resident to live in—they wanted to show you now feel empty when you aren’t coming with them. But they can’t show you that they weren’t in agreement with you leaving ven if it hurting them. They have to support you because that what love is to support other even if you don’t like it. So with a heavy heart they finally accept that you where going far away from them but not before Qifrey say a resolution.

“Fine, But you have to promise to write letter to us please”

“Yes of course, I promise write letter to you guys”

What a liar, you never send any letter to them.

──── 𐙚 ────

ₐᵤₜₕₒᵣ ₙₒₜₑ

Anyone crying? Here a napkin for your tears.

You’re a personal assistant to The Wise, constantly on the run too and fro with hardly a moment's rest. Other witches in the Great Hall often watch you from afar, pitying your station and its seemingly endless duties. To be perfectly honest though, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. Even with the long hours you're honestly spending more time doing things outside your job description.

For example on the days Vinanna requests your presence you’re often settled between her legs under her desk, your tongue dipping into her folds and sucking her clit just the way she showed you. Sometimes she makes you sit in her lap and cockwarm one of her toys just to watch you squirm, if you’re good and don’t squirm too much she rewards you by bending you over the desk and plowing into you like she hates you. More often than not you leave her office aching all over but very content.

When Beldaruit calls on you to keep him company in his room you can cuddle and talk with him for hours. Usually his voice gets you a bit hot and bothered so you settle in his lap, grinding against him like a desperate dog in heat. He likes watching you needy for him though, it’s a real ego boost to know that even in his current state you still want him so badly. If you manage to cum from just the grinding alone he doesn’t let it end there. Using his fingers on you, having you suck him off, or having you ride him until he fills you more than once. He likes you to cum until you're shaking and fall asleep in his bed.

Now Lagrah was the newer addition. He’d caught your eye as Engeldill’s assistant, the older man was never quite fond of you and often passed you off to Lagrah as your point of contact. At first you were concerned about him not being privy to your arrangement with the other two other Wise. Concerned he’d find it unsavory and ultimately judge or belittle you. Thankfully that problem was solved the day he walked in on you breathless and completely fucked out. The other two Wise having pinned you to the meeting table and taken turns making you fall apart. He’d been extremely shocked and flustered but with a little prompting the two were able to get him to slide his hard length down your throat as they continued using you. A part of you thinks they knew he’d be easily convinced.

You do have days to rest of course. After particularly rough or intense sessions you need some time to recover. It’s never too bad, usually some soreness that just takes a couple days to ease. Other times you might just want a mental break to be with just yourself or work on your own magic or hobbies. They miss you when you’re away but they know keeping you cooped up would be bad for your overall health and well being.

Your robes carry adornments of each wise, on the outside it looks like just a simple signifier of your position. But in reality it labels you as theirs and often means others won’t mess with you. They’re a bit overprotective.

~~~

“You’re up late, to whom do I owe the pleasure?” Lagrah holds his hand out to you with a smile. You take it with a smile allowing him to pull you into his lap. One of your arms rests around his shoulder and the other shows him the papers in your hand. Lagrah doesn’t fail to notice how your movements shift your robes loose exposing an ample amount of your chest to him. It’s pretty late in the hall so he figures you loosened them before coming over.

“Vinanna wanted me to have you look over these. She said it’s important to the upcoming festival.” You explain as if you’re unaware of your wardrobe malfunction. He indulges you, taking the papers and quickly skimming them, he’ll go over them properly when your duties whisk you away but for now… one of his hands trailed under the fabric keeping your lower half covered. Fingers grazing already hot flesh, tender and wet. Seems Vinanna sent you on your way after having her own fun. He slips his fingers inside you easily making you moan and clench around them.

He can feel how spongy and pliant you are inside, the previous Wise stretched you well. If he were less of a gentleman he’d just slip himself inside of you now but he’d like to make you feel good first. You deserve it for being such a good assistant to them. His other hand tugs your already slipping too robes aloft your shoulders sliding around your front to play with your chest. Pinching your already hard nipple and rolling the bud between his fingers. You gasp and rock down into his hand sharply, clearly eager to have him.

“Lagrah~” you whine as you keep rolling and fidgeting in his lap. He thrusts his fingers quicker, curling and scissoring them to find your sweet spot. The jolt and loud moan you let you when he dings it makes him chuckle, abusing the spot relentlessly as you squeeze tightly around his fingers. “Oh fuck!” You keen hands moving to fist in his robes and rut even more urgently into his movements. He watches you with a simmering heat in his eyes as you arch and cry out, finally reaching your peak. Continuing thrusting his fingers through each quake and sloppy rut of your hips as weak rapid moans slip from your lips.

After you calm down a bit he helps you adjust to lay back on his desk. Moving between your legs he takes in how your robes frame you beautifully, sweat slicked skin adding a sheen to you that makes his cock twitch. Removing his robes slowly he watches your chest rise and dip with each labored breath. Positioning his hardened cock at your sensitive entrance taps the tip against you a few times before pressing inside your slick heat. Your hips stutter as you widen your legs more for him, hands reaching out so you can touch him.

He allows you to pull him into a deep kiss, savoring the taste of your tongue and groaning as he reaches his hilt. Lagrah starts a deep roll of his hips, barely leaving you before he fills you again. He has a way of taking your breath away with his deep overwhelming thrusts. Your fingers dig into his broad shoulders as you start rolling your hips down to meet each one. Breaking the kiss a string of breathy curses leave you as you feel another peak quickly spreading. Lagrah pushes a hand between your bodies to play with you. Your legs immediately wrap around his hips to pull him even harder against you, please dripping from your lips.

“Just let go, we can go until you’re completely satisfied.” He huffs groaning into your ear as he feels your pulsing heat constrict around him.

The papers Vinanna sent will have to wait a while.

~~~

Beldaruit can hear the knob to his bedroom turn and he doesn’t need his smoke statues to know it’s you. He’d been expecting you since this morning. You whispered to one of his statues that you’d be by for lunch so you could have your meal with him. Based on your tone and the wink you gave, you certainly weren’t talking about food. When you slip inside his room you glance around making sure no nurses or his apprentice were lingering.

“I’ve sent them away dear.” Bel hums, patting the space beside him, inviting you to join him on the bed. Slipping next to him you curl into his side resting against the pillows with him.

“How are you feeling?” You always ask, you know better than to push his condition. You can just relax and enjoy his company without the sex. Beldaruit is kind and intelligent, you could listen to his voice all day. Bel smiles at you running a thumb down your cheek before pulling you into a kiss.

“I’m feeling well. Please don’t be hesitant.” He urges you. Looking over his face to make sure he isn’t fibbing you smile back at him and nod. Slipping farther down the bed you settle between his legs and push his bed clothes up to reveal his already half hard cock straining against his underwear. Tugging those out of the way you immediately take him into your mouth bobbing your head languidly, making sure to flatten your tongue along the underside before teasing it over his tip.

Bel sighs at the feeling of your warm mouth on him, hand resting on your head while the other goes to his mouth to stifle his noises. When you hear his moans muffle you pause your movements and retreat to glare at the gentle featured man. “Bel, don’t do that! I wanna hear you!” You scold him. Your hand comes up to tug his away, weaving your fingers into his as you return to your precious motions. Hardening fully in your mouth you swallow around him squeezing around his sensitive length with your throat.

“Ahh!” he grits out face scrunching at the intense pleasure. “It’s too much!” He cried out as you did it again. His eyes squeeze shut as you continue sucking him, coming back up to suckle his tip. Using your hand to pump him as you keep torching his sensitive head. “I’m going to cum…” he huffs through labored moans as his hips arch up and his head tilts back. You watch as he shakes and cries out loudly, pressing your head down as he ruts desperately into your mouth. Hot stings of cum paint your throat as you try not to gag. When he finally loosens his grip you let your mouth slide back up his wet length and swallow the mess he left behind.

He watches you let him slip from your mouth, using your tongue to clean him. “You don’t have to do that my love.” He reassures you, flinching at the overstimulation. You shoot him a pointed look while licking up the last of it from your hand and sitting back up. After taking a moment to breathe you crawl up his lap wrapping your arms around him and kissing him slowly. He can taste himself on your lips, humming a moan into your mouth. Resting his hands on your hips he returns it happily.

“Can you do one more?” You ask resting your forehead on his. “I want you inside me.” Beldaruit chuckles and regards you fondly. You make him feel young again with all this energy you have.

~~~

“Now now, behave yourself.” Vinanna chastised you. She has you kneeling in the center of her room, arms bound by her staff’s pennants. You’d wriggled your hips to get some kind of friction and she caught you.

She’s punishing you for growing too bold during a Knight’s meeting and dragging your fingers up her thigh under the table. You’d trailed it up far too high and nearly made her lose composure. Nearly. She shot you a look that had you avoiding her eyes for the rest of the meeting. That certainly won’t happen again once she’s put you in your place.

Crouching on one knee before you she smirks down at your frustrated expression. “Don’t be so pouty you brought this on yourself.” She tisks, eyes flicking to your bare chest and down to your lower half. The pennants are also keeping your thighs strung to your calves, limiting your ability to move. She’d placed a toy on the floor for you to sit on, it’s the smallest of the few she owns. Smaller than what could satisfy you, she knows you need to squirm and clench to get any satisfaction from it which is why she won’t let you move. It’s a punishment after all.

Using the pointed part of her staff she lifts your chin so she can look you in the eyes. You look so cute like this, wanton and bratty, just the way she likes you. “You’ve been pushing your luck lately, I’m starting to think you like these punishments.” Leaning down on one knee she brings her face closer to yours. Lowering her staff she takes your chin roughly in her free hand. “You like when I’m rough with you sweetheart?” Her voice is firm but warm, a woman who knows how to twist your insides with just a few words.

When her firm hold stops your nod you stutter out a yes. It’s a pathetic wispy response she knows means you are in fact getting off on being punished. Letting you chin go she stands again adjusting her hold to constrict the pennants tighter. Stepping closer she pressed her plated shoes against your sex, the pressure she applies is slow but firm making you whine and try to press hips forward to meet her. She lets you, watching you with a smirk as you try to rock into the cool metal.

She’s always been a leader, being in charge is where she’s most comfortable, your established dynamic gives her the satisfaction she needs when it comes to a sexual partner. Close second would be Beldaruit but she can be a bit too rough for his frailer composition. In his younger years it was easier but she saves the rougher stuff for you now. Still she often likes to direct the three of you if she’s feeling in a particular mood. For now though, she’s enjoying the one on one time.

“Slow down.” She commands easing her foot back, taking away your best source of constant friction. You groan clenching around the toy desperately, legs straining against the pennants. You look up at her pleadingly with your best pouty expression, she chuckles. “Beg and I might let you get off. It’s the least you could do after such poor behavior.” She uses her staff as a prop to lean on regarding you smugly, hand on her hip.

Biting your lip you weigh your options. You could grovel like she wants and get your quickest route to release sooner or you could push your luck even more and deny her, bite back, and enjoy an even longer drawn out punishment that will inevitably lead to overstimulation and a more explosive orgasm. It’s a hard choice but you figure; in for a penny in for a pound. “What if I’m not sorry?” You tilt your head with your own matching smug smile. “You need to loosen up more Vi, have a little fun.” Your smug tone is cut off then the pennants unravel from you and retighten in different spots. The fast movements of the fabric tugging you into a new position, legs swung beneath you and face pressed into the cool stone of the floor. One constricting your neck just a bit, a warning.

The toy now presses into your stomach after you’d been roughly removed from it. Her shoes click with each step and as she walks around you. Leaning down she pops the toy from its position and takes it in her hand. You can’t see her but you can feel the toy teasing your entrance for just a moment before she shoves it in roughly, as far as it will go, flush to the base. Pistoning it roughly inside of you she watches with great satisfaction as you squirm against the restraints, curses and sobbed moans tumbling from you like a mantra.

“You’ll be begging me to stop by the end of the night.” Her tone is authoritative, firm and harsh. It makes you clench and rut back into the toy as your eyes roll back. This is exactly why you love misbehaving so much.

~~~

It’s been a long day, the last thing any of the Wise wants to do is stick around in this dull place a moment longer. Still it’s routine they sit and consult with the various leaders of the five kingdoms. They could have left by now if the ever meticulous and cunning King Deanreldy had not requested further conference. All the other rulers had departed; now the three sit side by side waiting for him.

“This is ridiculous.” Bel huffs. “He keeps us waiting, I swear he does this to antagonize me.”

“I’m sure he will join us soon, a King has many responsibilities. It is surely a serious matter if he need attend to it first.” Lagrah hums, honestly he’d hope the king takes longer to avoid any awkwardness.

“I’m quite comfortable.” Vinanna chuckles, hand pressed into her cheek.

Just a second later the door creaks open to reveal the man they’d been waiting on. “My apologies, I had a pressing matter to address. I’ll make this quick.” Deanreldy pauses, glancing around the room a moment. “Where did your little assistant run off too, I was hoping they could notate for us.” He wonders aloud.

“They needed to go on ahead, much needs tended to in our absence.” Vinanna lies smoothly. Bel hums in agreement. Lagrah doesn’t say anything concerned with slipping up and tipping the man off.

Unbeknownst to the arrogant king you had in fact never left. Currently you're being as quiet as you can manage, bobbing your head and sucking Lagrah’s twitching cock. He’s pulsing in your mouth trying desperately not to trust into your inviting heat. One of your hands is sliding your fingers in and out of Vinanna’s dripping entrance, curling and prodding against her sweet spot. The other is busy gliding along Beldaruit’s slick length, having wet it moments ago with your tongue before pumping it earnestly, rolling your thumb over the tip with every roll of your wrist.

Being the Three Wise’s most beloved assistant is not for the weak. You’re bold and hungry, eager to please. That’s exactly why they adore you so much, you make even the dullest duties more entertaining.

Qifrey gives you a glance as he looks at the hopeful gazes of the girls. He contemplates for a moment as he inhales deeply, bringing a hand up to his face to hold his chin.

"If she has no problem with it, I think we would all like to see some magic. I can show some of my own magic in return, it's only fair."

You give him a smile as you hold your staff and walk to the door, throwing a look back to the girls and Qifrey.

"There's no need, I'm in no rush. Now, the spell I want to show you needs to be done outside, if you'll follow me."

The girls quickly follow after you as Qifrey calmly follows behind. You hold the door open for the girls to file out. Coco and Tetia rush out as Richeh quickly follows after them. Agott walks smoothly out, though you notice her own pace quicken.

You finally follow out the door, staff in hand as you calmly walk after the group. You lead the group away from the atelier, close to where you landed and finally stopping once Qifrey calls out to you.

"I think this is far enough," he holds a hand up to shield his good eye from the sun. You finally stop in front of the tree you fixed and stand in front of it.

"Yes, I think this is far enough," you smile as you hold your staff across your body and stand up straight.

"I'll show you my favorite spell."

At your words, your staff lights up and your hair flies around you. Light emanates from your staff before flying around you, the field around you lights up before flowers of all kinds, colors and varieties bloom around you.

"Wow!"

"So pretty!"

Coco and Tetia yell in glee as Richeh's eyes shine and Agott stands with her arms folded, but an unmistakeable twinkle to her eye. Qifrey gains a shine to his eye as he watches your expression, a small smile to your face as flower petals fall around you.

Your hair stops whipping as the now bloomed flowers rustle softly around you with the wind outside.

"My master taught me this spell, many years ago," you reminisce on Flamme, your dear master. Those years you'd spent with her were some wonderful years. It's been far too long since you'd visited her grave, you're due to see her.

"It's beautiful, a field of flowers. So peaceful."

You smile fondly at Qifrey's words as he moves to stand on your right, observing the girls as they get closer looks at the flowers and stopping to smell them.

He glances at you as you watch the girls with a smile on your face.

“I know you don’t trust me,” you start, turning your head to Qifrey as he blinks at your words in surprise. He opens his mouth to object only for you to stop him with a raised hand.

“You’re wise not to. I’m a stranger, you’re protecting the girls. It’s a good instinct.”

You turn back to the girls, Tetia and Coco now weaving flower crowns as Richeh tries to mimic their movements. Qifrey watches you for a moment longer before turning to the girls once more.

"As an adult, I'm sure you understand the danger others pose, especially to children. I am only doing what I think is best for them."

You hum as you watch Tetia place a flower crown on top of Agotts head, the girl scowling, but still accepting it. You laugh a bit before finally responding to Qifrey.

"'As an adult?'"

You laugh a bit at the sentence, you're hardly an adult compared to some other elves. Even if you are older than Frieren, "protection from the Brimhats I'm assuming?"

Qifrey furrows his brows at first, "is something funny about what I said?"

You glance at him before resuming your gaze out at the field of flowers.

"I'm hardly considered an adult compared to other elves, some would even consider me still a child."

Qifrey tilts his head a bit, glancing over your form a subtly as he can.

"If you don't mind me asking how old are you?"

Qifrey is expecting fairly old, maybe a hundred years old since he knows that elves in literature are said to live for hundreds of years. So his shock at your answer is very apparent to the girls who give him curious looks.

"Hm, maybe two thousand years old? I haven't really been keeping track, truth be told."

"What?"

His mouth drops open in shock as his eye widens in what could be perceived as horror. You pay no mind as your face still falls neutral, your gaze falls on a figure in the distance approaching the atelier.

“Oh, who’s that?”

You gesture loosely at the figure as Qifrey just grabs your upper arms with his own hands, shaking you loosely.

"What do you mean two thousand years?"

"Exactly that? Two thousand years really isn't that long."

You suppose it's been so long that you've spoken your age out loud that you've forgotten what a normal reaction is to it. You've been spending too much time with Frieren you suppose.

Qifrey stops shaking you when you once again point out the figure in the distance with a dark, pointed, brimless hat. The man, you can see his form better, wears darker robes and walks stiffly, but picks up his pace when he sees your group.

"Oh no."

Qifrey moves you to stand behind him as you let him move you. You suppose it's natural for him to assume a protector role, though you feel a little silly standing behind him.

"Girls, it's time to go inside."

The girls, save Agott, are quick to complain.

"Wait!"

"We're not done yet!"

Richeh holds up her flower crown with a frown on her face, "not done yet."

Qifrey tuts as he walks forward, herding them toward the atelier.

"Girls, you'll have more time later to see the flowers. Inside, now."

You follow after Qifrey, keeping an eye on the man that gets closer and the closer he gets the more you can see his expression. His face is neutral, but there is a certain hardness to him. Like he hasn't had a proper nights rest in a long time.

You walk forward with the girls and Qifrey, until you feel eyes on you. You turn your head and see that the man has his eyes firmly set on you.

"Qifrey, who is that?"

You point your staff in the direction of the man as Qifrey pushes the girls further toward the atelier. If the man poses a threat, you have no qualms about using Zoltraak. Your grip hardens on your staff slightly as you angle your body toward the mysterious man.

"Someone who is not going to be very happy with me," he sighs as he stands in front of you, pushing your staff back up right.

Tetia turns to where your staff was pointed and yells out happily, "Olruggio!"

Qifrey stops as he hears the name and stiffly turns toward the mentioned man with what he hopes is an inconspicuous smile on his face.

"Olruggio! Has it been three days already? How are you?"

The man in question ignores the question as he stares at you, namely your ears, then your staff. Olruggio furrows his brows at the sight of you. He let it slide that Qifrey brought Coco, even if he still thinks it a terrible idea to essentially harbor a stowaway, but he draws the line now. He has to.

"What is she?"

He's gruff as he holds an arm out, pointing at you while you just blink at the motion. Qifrey gives him a frown as he tries to dispel the tense air.

"Is that how we treat guests?"

He tries to give an easy-going smile while Olruggio just narrows his eyes.

"Not when you have a history of bringing stowaways," he gives a pointed look to Coco, who hides behind your form. He may like the girl, but that still doesn't take away the fact that she shouldn't know about magic and should have had her memories erased.

"My name is (Y/n), pleasure to meet you."

You nod to the bearded man who only gives you a scowl. You merely blink at his expression, he almost reminds you of Serie in a way, namely from when you went with Frieren to deliver Flamme's will to her. You could feel Frieren’s irritation at having your dear masters will burned even if she didn’t show it. Ah, memories.

Olruggio only ignores you and looks to Qifrey for an answer.

"I allowed Coco to stay here, but I draw the line at mysterious creatures."

Qifrey sighs and pushes the girls inside the atelier, shutting the door as they complain. He lets his hand rest on the door before turning to the bearded man.

"She is not a mysterious creature, she's an elf."

Olruggio furrows his brows and frowns at his friends words.

"Elves don't exist."

He keeps a steady gaze on you while you just boredly look back. Your eyes drift up the sky as you ignore the odd look the man gives you.

"Oye, you," Olruggio points at you as your gaze lands back on him with a raised brow.

"Yes?"

"What do you want with the group?"

You lift your staff up with a small smile.

"Just trying to get home is all, I was just lucky to fall here."

"Fall?"

"I fell here. I was in a dungeon with some friends, though now that I think about it," you use your staff and cast an illusion in front of you of the events that happened just before you got sent to the sky.

"That spell was really weird, never seen anything like it."

Olruggio's face falls into shock as he watches the illusion of the demon cast a spell and then you pushing Stark out of the way before being sucked into a portal. His face falls in horror both at the sight of the demon and at the fact that you just cast magic with no quill or ink.

"Qifrey, get away from it. Now.lk8u"

Olruggio moves forward to pull the man away from you while your face remains neutral. Qifrey doesn't move, instead just giving Olruggio a look.

"Never been referred to as an 'it' before, that's a new one, even for me. I am an elf, we exist, though I do have an idea of what has happened to land me here.”

Olruggio glares at you as Qifrey holds an arm out. To stop Olruggio from coming closer or from stopping you from using your magic he’s not sure yet, but the point still stands that Qifrey is trying to keep the peace.

"I think we should take a moment to relax."

You lift an eyebrow at Qifrey, who you can see is sweating, and glance at this 'Olruggio' who still scowls at you.

"I have no qualms with this, though he is the one who called me an 'it.'"

Olruggio falters lightly as he tsks and looks away.

"My apologies, you said you were an elf? Well elves don't exist. Not 'round here."

You hum as you look past him and back up at the sky at the birds that fly away.

"Is that so...are there any magical creatures?"

Qifrey and Olruggio look at you now, the latter lowering his arm now that the tenseness in the air has lessened slightly.

"We have flying horses, dragons, why?"

"Then who's to say that elves couldn't exist?"

You give a lazy smile as you brush your hair back, maybe you should ask the girls to braid it for you.

"Well, in any case. It is fairly obvious I'm not from here and I already have an idea of what happened to me. Though," you look at your staff, namely the ribbon you have matching with Frieren, "I may not be able to get home from my side. Even if I can, it will take me a while to study the spell that sent me here."

You sigh as you put away your staff in a flash of light, causing Olruggio and Qifrey to jump.

"I'm afraid I'll be here for a while, regardless of if either of us like it."

Olruggio watches your expression before sighing and grumbling to himself as he takes off his hat and ruffles his hair.

He walks forward to enter the atelier and turns back to you with a frown on his face.

"You may stay, but only until you figure out whatever spell sent you here."

He turns to Qifrey with a larger frown and points a finger at him, "we need to have a discussion."

Qifrey just lets out a wobbly smile, glad that fighting could be avoided. He had no intentions of seeing what a two thousand year old elf could possibly do and he would like it to stay that way.

The three of you enter the home as the girls swarm Olruggio, you smile lightly at his overwhelmed face. You walk past where the girls have him cornered and take a seat at the table with a pensive look on your face. So, it seems that you've been sent to some strange time where magic only exists in the form of magical sigils. Interesting.

Qifrey pushes the girls away from Olruggio so that he can set aside his stuff and get situated as you gesture for them to come over. They eagerly follow as you distract them with an illusion spell, showing Frieren teaching Fern Zoltraak when she was just a little girl, letting Olruggio and Qifrey get a moment to compose themselves.

Olruggio for his part, watches the illusion in interest. You hold no magical ink or quill yet you can conjure magic. He shakes his head as he leaves you be so he can take off his robe and get some food in him.

You let the illusion play out as Tetia and Coco 'ooh' and 'ah.'

"Who's that little girl? And that taller lady?"

You look at Tetia briefly as you pull in closer to Fern's face.

"That's Fern, she's Frieren's apprentice. She's been with us since she was a little girl, like how Qifrey looks after you girls."

You move to Frieren showing Fern how to fire Zotraak.

"This is Frieren, she is my greatest and oldest friend. Don't let the illusion fool you, she is quite short," you laugh a bit at Richeh's face. She focuses so intently on the illusion.

At this Coco tilts her head in question.

"Oldest? Oldest," she mutters lightly before looking at you with stars in her eyes.

"Oh! Elves can be super old right? How old is she?"

At Coco's words you think for a bit. You know you're older than Frieren by a little bit.

You hum in thought as the girls sit around you, even Agott listens with her arms folded.

“Let’s see, Frieren is younger than me by about a thousand years, which is really nothing,” you start to mutter after that as the girls give you shocked looks. You grab the quill and ink that the girls were practicing and play with it.

“A thousand years?!”

“Probably more, I haven’t really been keeping track. As far as I know Frieren is at least fifteen hundred years old, so that puts her close to about nineteen or twenty in human years I believe? Could be a little younger.”

You use the quill in your hand and draw swirls in neat circular patterns, meanwhile the girls are having their entire world deconstructed by your words. Fifteen hundred years! That’s unfathomable to them. They can’t even imagine anything as old as that!

Olruggio walks back in at that exact moment to the girls chattering about how old you are when he gives Qifrey a confused look.

"What are they muttering about?"

"Her elf friend is over a thousand years old. (Y/n) herself about two thousand years old."

Olruggio makes a bewildered face, whipping his head to your form as you continue to draw little circles and spirals, unconcerned with how you’ve managed to shock their system. You instead continue to speak.

“It really is nothing. Serie is much older than I am, and I’m pretty sure Kraft is even older than her so it’s hard to tell really.”

You make a small sigil and inspect your line work as Olruggio has a hand in his beard, eyes glazed at your words.

He feels as if he were a mere child in your presence.

“We don’t age like you do, nor do we really die. We could live forever if we aren’t killed or get seriously ill.”

You gain a small frown on your face as Agott watches your face closely, the small furrow in your brow and the slightest downturn of your lips. If she weren’t looking closely she doesn’t think she would have noticed the change in your demeanor.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen another elf besides Frieren, I fear we are nearly to extinction.”

“Who are Kraft and Serie?”

You stop your drawing as you glance up at Olruggio. You hum as you place down the quill and open your palm. A faint light emanates from your palm until a shimmering image appears, a small Serie appears in your palm. Her neutral expression clear as she sits on her throne.

“Serie is a great mage, she was my masters master over one thousand years ago. She had already been alive for probably close to nine thousand years if my estimate on her age is correct.”

The illusion in your palm shifts to different expressions you’ve witnessed of Serie, your personal favorite, the one where she judges you for your spell choice, shows next causing you to laugh lightly.

The girls watch enraptured as Olruggio has wide eyes. Magic without a quill or ink, just conjured from the palm of your hand, it’s unthinkable. You let the illusion move around, mimicking her movements as the girls follow her form around the room. You watch as the girls follow her in circles with a small smile on your face. It never failed to bring you joy to see people amazed by magic, especially children. Their wide eyes and awe always made it worth it to use even the smallest amount of your mana.

You stop the illusion of Serie, next showing Kraft in his monk robes.

"Kraft is another ancient elf, though I know very little of him to be honest. What I do know is he was a great warrior before he relinquished his title and became a monk."

The illusion of Kraft walks around the room before taking a sitting position as the girls watch him with rapt attention.

"He looks so young, is he really old?"

You let out a slight laugh at Coco's words, before stopping the illusion completely in a shimmer of your magic.

"We reach maturity around a hundred years, so our looks don't really change. I don't think I've ever seen an elf look old, unless they were over twenty thousand years old and even then they would barely gain wrinkles."

Coco listens with wide eyes as Tetia 'oohs.' Agott looks at most perplexed while Richeh keeps her flat gaze. The more you look at the blue haired girl the more you think she looks like a mix of Frieren and Himmel. The thought is almost comforting, in a very strange way. Ah, you shouldn't get too weird about it.

"Anyway-"

Olruggio stands with his arms crossed. If elves can live for thousands of years, that means they can gain power for that long. You may seem to be nice and give off the air of someone who wouldn't hurt a fly, but he knows better than to trust someone at face value.

“You’ve lived for over two thousand years, yeah? Does that mean you’re very powerful?”

Your eyes flit to Olruggio who levels you with a harsh stare. Ah, so that’s why he asked.

“Powerful enough to face the demon king, yes. Though I harbor no ill will towards humans. Demons have all the ire I carry.”

His brows furrow together as he glances at Qifrey who shakes his head at him.

"Demons?"

You draw the sigil for Zoltraak and imbue it with a small amount of mana, causing a spike to erupt from the sigil and go straight up into the air. You set a defensive spell to stop it from blowing through the roof as the children and two other adults watch in shock and alarm.

"What was that?!"

"Woah!"

"Huh. So it can work."

You rip the page and push it away to practice other sigils, only for Olruggio to take the paper away from you.

"No more sigils."

You huff, "I'm not a child you chastise," despite saying this you do pout as he chides you on the danger of drawing sigils with no care. He looks at the ink you used and realizes that it isn't magical ink, it's just the regular ink the girls were using to practice their lines.

"How did you...? This isn't magical ink?"

Before you can respond, Qifrey goes first.

"Did you put- what was it- mana into the sigil?"

You turn to him with a small smile, "precisely. In my own world, we have our own sigils that we study, mostly in an academic setting. My thought was that if I drew it, I could probably imbue mana to make it work. It seems I was correct."

The girls look at the sigil in wonder. Coco goes to grab it, only for Olruggio to grab the sigil and keep it far from her.

"What sigil is this? It looks too complex to be a simple one."

You blink as you look at Olruggio.

"Zoltraak. Once the strongest spell demonkind had, after fifty years humans studied it enough that now it's the simplest and most basic offensive magic there is."

You smile as you turn back to the table and feel Tetia grab your hair. You nod your head to her unasked question as her face lights up and she starts to braid it.

"To answer your question, demons are creatures who have learned human speech. They hunt and eat humans both for sustenance and for pure enjoyment. They're disgusting creatures and both Frieren and I operate on a kill first basis."

Olruggio and Qifrey look at you with furrowed brows. Both feeling uneasy with you being around the children. You smile at the girls as they show you more of the sigils they've practiced.

You turn to the two adults with a flat look.

"I know how that must sound, but if you knew what demons were capable of and what they have done to humanity and my kind you would feel the same. I suppose you could compare them to the brimhats, though I'm not sure what they're like."

Tetia finished the braid as she pulls it over your shoulder. You touch the braid gently and thank her as she beams at you.

The two men sweat at your words, they suppose they can understand the hostility. Though if a brimhat were spotted the thing to do is to let the Knight's Moralis know. Wait, the Knight's Moralis.

Olruggio's eyes widen as he runs from the room.

Qifrey merely blinks at his disappearance and decides to let it be, focusing back on you.

"You said this Frieren and you were close?"

You smile as you think of the elf. An image of her stuck in a mimic clear in your mind.

“Frieren is my oldest friend. She’s basically my sister. It’ll be a sad day when Fern and Stark pass.”

Qifrey's face falls, as do the girls.

“How morbid? How could you say such a thing?”

You play with the end of your braid as you think.

“Unlike Frieren, I am very in touch with my feelings, though it may not seem like it. I am all too aware of how short your human lives are. It’s why I declined joining the party of heroes at first, I wasn’t too keen on getting close to anybody after our master.”

You throw the braid back as you stretch your arms above your head and relax your shoulders.

“Himmel was the one to convince me otherwise. He promised me the journey of a lifetime.”

“Did he grant you that?”

You smile as you think of Himmel and the party of heroes, the ten years that the trip lasted and the adventures you had with them.

“No. Not for the many lifetimes I’ve lived that is.”

Qifrey's face falls at your words.

“But he did remind me of the value of spending time with others. For that I owe him a large debt.”

You smile to yourself as you look at the girls who speak amongst themselves and look back at Qifrey.

"I have no regrets in joining the party of heroes. If I could go back and do it again I would."

Qifrey smiles at your words as he looks at you in a new light. You may not be harmless, but you certainly aren't a danger to them.

Olruggio walks back in to the room noticeably sweatier and haggled.

"Olruggio?"

"We may have a problem coming."

You lift an eyebrow at his words as he whispers to Qifrey who's eye widens, flitting to your form then back to his friend.

"Is something the matter?"

Olruggio turns to you stiffly as Qifrey brings a hand up.

"Nothing at all, just an oversight," his eye flits to the window, noting the sun going down, "girls it's time for bed."

The girls complain, even Agott has a frown on her face, as they rise from their seats with pouts.

"Now girls, a good night's rest is most important for growing witches."

Qifrey pushes the girls to their room as they complain the whole way, leaving Olruggio and you alone together.

The man looks mildly uncomfortable as he leans against the counter and looks away from you. The silence in the room is deafening as you both have nothing to say to one another, not until Qifrey enters the room.

"Ah, the girls were as feisty as ever," he wipes his brow with a hand as he looks to you now.

"You may have my bed, as you are our guest."

You lift your eyebrows as you open your mouth to decline only for him to lift a hand with a smile.

"You are our guest, I'd feel awful if we didn't show you any hospitality."

You smile at the white-haired man as you rise from your seat.

"Right, well, thank you, Qifrey. It is greatly appreciated."

He smiles and beckons you to follow him as you leave the living space to go to his room. The room itself is neat and large. It's cozy. Qifrey leaves you to your own devices as you settle in for the night. You settle in his bed as you look up at the ceiling.

'I wonder how the others are doing,' you turn to your side as your eyes fall shut.

So after they were in the disaster and heard that Beldaruit is injured and in the castle recovering, they knew that would probably be the last place he would like, so THEY KIDNAP HIM!

Why? Because they want to heal him, not because they are jealous or anything, truly they are not! They just know him better, how fragile his bones can be and how lacking the medicine is.

So they kidnap him, and after a lot of “What do you think you are doing?!” And “I hoped to never see you again” from him they put him to sleep and numb his arm the best as possible so they can start the reconstruction of his bones.

Sharp knife’s made of fortified crystal and diamond, the operating table made of cold steel, the coldness of the room and their mask hiding their worried expression, a part of them lamenting becoming someone like this. “Maybe if I was there to catch him, to be by his side”

Well, what use there is lamenting something like this? No spell can turn their clock, and even if there is they would refuse profusely.

Once the operation is done and they wrap some of their special bandages on his arm. Maybe they should hide him away for a couple of days, even weeks. Knowing his stubbornness, he could break his arm again.

They take his sleeping mask off so he wakes himself up at his own pace; seeing that his blood transfusion works properly, they turn to see him, staring.

Disbelief? Betrayal? Disappointment? All at once in his eyes. It hurts them, but it also alleviates their mind and worries, stubborn as always with those suffocating rules.

They thank their ingenuity and craftsmanship for making proper restrains on the bed, or else that idiot would’ve tried to crawl away.

They smile back, warm and genuine love in their eyes. Heart beating as strong for him as the day they declared their love for each other.

“Morning Beldy, still a light sleeper I see”

Oh, what they wouldn’t give to wrap their arms around him and share kisses with anecdotes in between.

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

—————————

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.