#tfc mc

“This is quite a busy establishment, dear thing. I don’t have all night to watch and wait for you to deliberate.”

The purple-clad storyteller sat behind a wooden desk in front of you, clawed hands neatly clasped on its surface. Beneath his arms rested a piece of paper. A contract, its dotted line left unmarked by a signature. Your signature. A knot twisted in your stomach whenever you glanced at it for too long. But it wasn’t exactly enjoyable to look up at the Jester’s beastly eyes either.

“You know the offer. You know the price. All that’s left…”

He moved one of his star-patterned arms to slide the empty contract towards your side of the desk, though there was no writing utensil for you to use.

“Is for you to pledge your payment.”

Something cold and trembling and immensely uncomfortable coiled around your heart, then your lungs, and finally your intestines. You tried rubbing a finger or two on the seam of your pants on the outside of your thigh. It did nothing but make you acutely aware of how anxious you were.

The Jester, though you weren’t looking at him, had a smile on his mask, as you knew he always did. But there was also a smile in his voice now. A knowing and deeply unsettling smile. You didn’t need to look at him to know he had tilted his head in mock-sympathy when he began to speak again.

“Life always presents us with difficult choices, visitor. This one is no different.”

Your breathing became shallow in your attempts to fool yourself into thinking you were calm. When you ceased one diffident habit, another began.

“It’s sad…But true. Many things are.”

Yes, it was quite tragic, the position you were in.

The Jester had sent for you (he had a Fool knock on your apartment door at an ungodly hour in the night, and the masked performer in pink—who you now knew was a kidnapped and brainwashed person—wordlessly beckoned for you to follow. You did so, and now here you are, back in the circus) to offer a proposition.

The offer was simple, really. It was quite obvious that the Pierrot had taken quite a liking to you—the understatement of the century—and so did the Harlequin. They were rather curious about you. More so than any other human Jester had seen them encounter. (You seriously doubted he meant that as a compliment.)

But alas, the circus is not a sedentary thing. It is no different from a migratory bird species or a grazing animal in need of new pastures. It is a business, one that simply keeps moving forevermore as a fact of its existence. But that fact would prove itself incompatible with the Pierrot’s…fixation.

In other words, the Jester was proposing that you (somewhat officially) join the circus as a permanent resident. It was a way to avoid any pesky problems like, oh, he didn’t know…kidnapping you? Killing you, maybe? Such things would result in Pierrot becoming…irrational, he described. And we can’t have that, can we?

Think of it as tying off one last loose end, he said. After all, you knew quite a lot about the circus. He can’t in good conscience just leave you to idly prattle about the troupe and its tendencies behind closed doors. It was quite the risk that he wasn’t willing to take blindly. You understood, didn’t you?

Really, he was just using flowery language to describe you becoming a circus pet. A glorified emotional support animal. A life-like doll, fit with customized responses. It made your stomach churn to think about.

Of course, there was always the alternative. That being your guaranteed kidnapping and eventual inevitable demise, whether that was you being devoured, experimented on by the Doctor, torn asunder by the Harlequin...He spoke of those things so casually, like he knew you wouldn’t say even a word to a single soul outside the circus. It seemed he had long since abandoned any thoughts of pretending that you didn’t know what was happening behind the curtains of this place.

This whole “proposal,” in fact, felt like one big act. A performative illusion of choice when the leader of the circus had long known your answer before you even did. If so, was he doing this for formality’s sake? Was this just a way to get you to squirm in your seat and shrink under his gaze?

It felt less like a genuine proposition and more like a stage, one in which you were an unwilling and unknowing performer for him and him alone.

Your mouth became dry. What choice did you have, really? Try as you might, you couldn’t find any falsehoods or places to argue in the Jester’s reasonings—if they could be called that. It was true that Pierrot was…unpredictable when it came to you. You knew the circus would leave your city at some point—you awaited it, actually. But what would Pierrot do? He made it abundantly clear that simply leaving you wasn’t an option.

Would he steal you away from your home, your life, your very existence? Would he devour you whole so nobody else could have a chance at claiming you? Would he try to keep you like a child does with a stray lizard found in a garden?

It’s not like you were complacent in all this. You enjoyed Pierrot’s presence, liked him, even. But you didn’t know him. You didn’t know any of the circus members. And now you’d just move in with them, uprooting your independent life to become a glorified servant or god knows whatever else? You didn’t even know their real names beyond their circus titles!

Any sane person would simply laugh in the Jester’s face if he offered such a shoddy attempt at a fair trade. Leaving your life behind, and for what?

But of course, that isn’t the full extent of the deal. It was silently known that it was pretty much inevitable that you would end up in the circus one way or another. If not by choice, then…

Well. The alternative is what you were hoping to avoid.

If you were to make this contract with Jester, with the circus, you’d have guaranteed protection. You would be an official member, and members weren’t allowed to hurt each other, of course. If you didn’t join, then you would be fair game for the other members to toy with. After all, you’d be Pierrot’s responsibility—after he inevitably kidnaps you—like a precious doll meant to be kept safe in a drawer. And if the others came across that precious thing? Well, it was Pierrot’s fault for not keeping it—you—safer.

However, you are no doll. You are not a plaything that gathers dust and cracks and shatters with a wrong stare—despite what the Jester seemed to think.

You are a person. And that means that you are capable of reasoning. Of bargaining.

If this whole situation was truly as inevitable as it seemed, if there really was no better option but to remain with the circus one way or another…then you wouldn’t be so quick to just lie down and accept it. Not without a last-ditch effort of your own.

“The other Fools…” Your hands clenched into fists on your thighs, the action making just the slightest amount of bravery flow through your veins. It was frail and short-lived, but it was there, and that’s what mattered. “What will happen to them?”

The violet-eyed performer in front of you simply tilted his head as if not immediately understanding where your words were coming from. But he answered your question anyway.

“The same thing that always happens to them when we must relocate. We dispose of them. Cut any ties tethering us to our past locations.”

He was being awfully straightforward. It was uncanny considering his previous words towards you, subtle enough to be played off as mere theatrical flair, but just close enough to the truth to make you uneasy. You would almost consider this new routine a breath of fresh air if his words weren’t so macabre.

The Fools…Carol and who knows how many other people would be thrown away as broken puppets or cracked dolls. Like useless things that only took up space. Like garbage. Or worse, the circus would find some other use for them that still disposed of them…

Your mind drifted back to what little you had seen of the black tent at the very edge of the circus…

Carol didn’t deserve that. You didn’t pretend to know her as anything other than a colleague, but she still had her whole life ahead of her. She was hardworking, diligent in every task she took without complaint. She was a good person.

And what about the other performers in pink? What about their lives, their dreams, their aspirations?

…But what about yours?

If you did this, if you joined the circus, there was no going back. You got a distinct feeling that any kind of contract with an inhuman beast would only end once your life extinguishes. And you didn’t even fully know what you would be doing as a permanent resident of the circus.

Jester only said that you would not start out with full clearance to do as you wished. You had to work, had to earn your place above any other Fool to prove that you were worth keeping and providing for.

It was insurmountably selfish to think of yourself now. But perhaps it was simply in your nature as a human to only care for your own survival. Jester would likely agree.

You swallowed thickly, forcing your knee to stay still and not tremble with excess anxiety. It was now or never to make a proposition of your own. You forced your voice not to waver as you finally got a chance to speak.

“…Alright. I’ll do it. But on one condition.”

Jester tilted his head, interest piqued and eyes hungrily awaiting. You didn’t know if he would actually hear you out or if he was just curious. But you knew that you had to test your luck anyway. A deep breath filled your lungs, but it gave you no comfort.

“I’ll join the circus without any issues or complaints if you let Carol go. Let all of the Fools go, actually. Return them back to normal and let them go back to their normal lives.”

Purple eyes bore into your own, searching your gaze for something you couldn’t see. Maybe he was looking for any cracks in your resolve. Maybe he was looking for where you gathered the sheer audacity to ask—no, demand—such a thing. Maybe he was considering abandoning this farce and just kidnapping you on the spot. Your gaze didn’t waver, despite the fact that both of you knew that you were afraid.

It was ominously quiet for a split second, but it felt like an unbearable eternity. But you didn’t back down. Didn’t retract your words or try to soften the demand. Jester’s eyes seemed to flicker brighter for just a moment.

“You would willingly do this for her? For strangers you will never meet?”

You slowly nodded, knuckles nearly turning white from how hard you clenched your fists. This was really happening. But you knew it wasn’t for some noble reason you were making a deal of your own. It was because you would never be able to sleep soundly again if you knew that Carol was reduced to a shell of who she once was, lost in a sea of other pink performers whose names and faces were stolen from them.

And then what? They’d be disposed of? Killed or eaten or tortured or god knows whatever else simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Carol didn’t deserve that. None of those poor souls did. Some of them very well may be awful people. But some of them might be good people as well. Most of them were probably troubled yet innocent people, easy targets to pluck from the cracks of society.

But they were all just people. And that was reason enough.

The Jester hummed a small considering sound, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Hm. Consider it done.”

You couldn’t help but feel your resolve weaken just a little after hearing that. The amethyst-colored storyteller didn’t try to bargain. He didn’t try to intimidate you out of your conditions or even question them. It was downright unsettling how quickly he accepted those terms, so much so that you felt the need to repeat yourself to ensure he knew what he had agreed to.

“Just…leave the others out of it. This is between you and m-“

“Oh, dearest thing…”

Jester interrupted you, and you felt your heart drop to an ever-expanding pit in your stomach as he leaned forward slightly. He smiled a triumphant sharp-toothed grin that said one certain thing: he had won.

Uh oh.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He laughed a full and rich laugh, not like the performative empty ones you heard before. You didn’t know if that meant you were safe or if you were utterly fucked. With your luck in this place…it probably meant the latter. You leaned back in your hard chair as the violet-clad troupe member stood from his own chair and approached you, but you didn’t try to run.

You made an agreement, after all.

An uncomfortable heat crawled across your skin. Sweat began to bead up on your nape. But you still didn’t move—whether it was because you knew you had made a deal fair and square or because you were simply frozen with dread was yet to be determined. Jester was in front of you now, violet eyes shining with a knowing triumphant glint.

He got the better end of the bargain, this you could feel in every fiber of your being. But was there ever a chance of you getting an equivalent exchange in the first place? Should you have played your hand better and tried to test your luck and ask for more? Or was this whole game rigged from the start?

You could feel it. Your luck had run out. Just as the Jester said it would on that night you first spoke to him in his purple tent. Your lungs began to ache with dread, heart pounding like it was trying to escape from your body through your throat. The beast in front of you smiled wider like he could smell your unease—he probably could, now that you thought about it.

“You worry that I will make you a mindless slave. That I will take your name, your face, swallow you whole, never to be seen again…And under normal circumstances, you would be right to fear that.”

A single clawed fingertip made its way beneath your chin, putting just the slightest amount of force to tilt your face upwards. Your breathing went still.

He seemed to like that.

“But you would be more entertaining fully lucid, no? And you agreed willingly.”

The question was rhetorical. You knew this because he didn’t move his claw to let you nod or make even the slightest movement with your chin, and his face was relaxed like he already knew the answer anyway.

“Therefore…”

His claw kept pressing beneath your chin, and you realized he was slowly guiding you to stand up. You followed his action—mostly to avoid the sharp tip of his finger from puncturing through your jaw—to slowly stand from your seat while maintaining eye contact, your heart still pounding and stomach still churning with uncertainty.

“I will give you just a little bit of leeway.”

His star-patterned hand then suddenly grabbed your jaw—not violently, but firmly and without hesitation. You couldn’t help but let out a combination between a small gasp and a shaky confused sound at his uncharacteristic closeness. This was the most physical touch you had ever even seen him do in the entire time you’d known him—which isn’t a lot of time, but enough to know that touch wasn’t something he did casually.

The lower half of your face was almost entirely engulfed in his long and sharp fingers save for your mouth. He held your jaw with restraint, this you knew, but you still panicked that his claws would put five perfect finger-sized puncture wounds in your face. His other hand grabbed one of yours and stretched your arm past his shoulder, forcing you to lean back slightly and hold an uncomfortable pose as if he had just finished some twisted dance with you.

He just chuckled at your expression, which you were sure now revealed your nearly endless dread and doubts about what you just willingly signed up for. Dear god, were you more of an idiot than you thought? What made you think any of this would turn out alright?

“You won’t tell the others of this, will you?”

You were confused for a second, and your face reflected that. What did he mean?

Your eyes went wide when his mask suddenly met your face in an intense and overwhelming kiss, heart hammering against your ribcage and free hand trembling with the urge to shove him away, to slap him, to dig your fingers into his shoulder, to do something. And yet you didn’t dare move a muscle to fight against him, acutely aware of how his claws threatened to dig into the skin of your face and one of your hands. Your free hand trembled and shook unbearably, and you clenched it into a fist to try to resist the urge to push or punch at the performer’s chest.

This was wrong. So very, very wrong. Why was Jester doing this? What could he possibly get out of doing this to a member of the species he clearly held noticeable disdain for?

This had to be some sick and twisted display of power over you. It’s not like his actual face was touching yours, instead his cold mask awkwardly pressed against your lips in a way that only made you more aware of how wrong this all was.

You tried pulling away after a couple seconds, beginning to feel how your face was definitely flushed and steaming hot with discomfort, and your lungs were starting to ache with how you hadn’t breathed a full breath in too long and your muscles were starting to hurt from how much tension was stored in them and oh god he’s not letting go he’s not letting you pull back he’s trying to get you to open your mouth he’s pulling your arm harder what’s happening what’s happening what’s happening

You could feel his grip on your chin changing just ever so slightly, not loosening but angling your face a little differently. Your mouth opened just the tiniest little imperceptible bit in your struggle to move away…

It was all over. You instantly felt something hot and slick infiltrate past your teeth and slither its way into your mouth, and you had to actively force yourself not to give in to your instincts to harshly bite down on it. There was a taste of coffee and unidentifiable spices on your tongue from his that made you gag. You let out a sound close to a desperate suppressed yelp, yet Jester still didn’t relent.

Your lungs were starting to burn now. You started to panic even more than you had before, and in your instincts to try and get away to get some air, you pressed your free hand to the Jester’s chest to try and make another desperate attempt at pulling away.

An unbearably sharp and painful sting was all you felt in your mouth after laying a hand on his purple and yellow costume. Something warm and wet and coppery slowly filled your mouth. You could feel yourself trying and failing to cough, the warmth of the substance making you choke. Something leaked from between your lips and his mask’s mouth, wetting his mask opening and your chin.

Unable to hold yourself back now that you were in unfathomable pain, your fingers dug into Jester’s shoulder as you let out a suppressed yet still pained scream against his pale mask’s mouth. Your hand that was still held in his black gloved one squeezed his long fingers tightly, so tightly that it hurt your own joints.

Finally, finally, after what felt like an eternity without air, he allowed you to pull away. You stumbled to the floor onto your hands and knees, unable to comprehend what the fuck just happened. Red relentlessly flowed from between your lips and onto the floor in a sickening and rapidly expanding puddle. You coughed and choked on the sickly warm substance as a static feeling traveled across all of your limbs.

Blood. It was blood that you were choking on. Your blood.

This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening. This can’t be happening. It can’t be. It can’t be.

Your spittle was stained red. Gobbets of blood both thick and thin seeped between your teeth and clung to the cracks in your lips. It sprayed and dribbled between your front teeth as you coughed up and then forcefully swallowed some of the metallic-tasting fluid just to not choke on it as much.

It was hard—if not nearly impossible—to swallow now. Why? Why couldn’t you swallow properly? Why were you retching so much?

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that on the floor, just spitting up mouthfuls of blood onto the growing puddle beneath you and trying not to choke or gag from the sheer amount of it, but at some point you felt that something was fundamentally wrong.

Something felt different.

You looked up to Jester, who simply stood there, arms folded behind his back like nothing had happened at all. He looked to be enjoying the sight of you on the floor like some scolded dog. There was a big wet red stain on his mask’s chin covering the purple lines that descended from the corners of his mouth. You couldn’t do anything but stare at him with fear in your eyes and dread (and also now your own blood) pooling in your gut.

Jester just smiled wider. You watched as his mask’s mouth opened, sharp triangular teeth shifting and parting to create a gap and reveal an unnaturally long purple tongue, one now stained and dripping red and-

Oh god.

No no no no no no no no no

There, on the center of his long tongue, was a small lump of pink wet flesh.

You tried moving your tongue to feel for what he had bitten. Tried feeling for what was stolen from you.

There was nothing in your mouth.

You had no sensation in your mouth.

It was just an empty orifice. No familiar wet muscle resting between your teeth.

What?

What?

You feverishly reached a couple fingers past your lips and front teeth, feeling nothing but sickeningly warm blood and the sides of your molars. A gag escaped from your lungs as you realized you had to reach all the way to the back of your throat to feel any sort of texture. Your hand trembled as you looked down to examine it, fingers slicked and sticky with dark red. The warm stench of the stuff was starting to make you dizzy. Your vision began to get blurry.

This wasn’t happening. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. No muscle, no flesh, only blood. Only searing pain. You couldn’t swallow. You couldn’t breathe.

You trembled when you finally looked back up to Jester, who smiled a knowing expression down at you.

He swallowed.

You had a sudden urge to hurl. Either from what you just witnessed or from the overwhelming amount of blood that has accumulated in your stomach, you didn’t know. Probably both. You could feel sweat starting to form in your palms and across your forehead, even though shivers crawled across your arms.

Your breaths were wet and shaky. They grew more frantic when your mouth began to tingle with excess saliva. Tears pricked at your eyes when you finally lost control of your body and felt your abdomen spasm painfully, and you emptied the contents of your stomach (blood, it was just blood) onto the puddle already beneath you.

Bile mixed with the coppery substance in your gut made your nose sting and your throat burn, and your arms became unbearably shaky. The taste of iron and the stench of organic matter only made you want to gag and purge your stomach further.

The acidity of your stomach acid only made the burning wound in your mouth unimaginably worse, and you trembled and cried out guttural gurgled sounds like a wounded animal at the sheer amount of pain you were in. Your head was buzzing like TV static at this point, peripheral vision blurred and fingertips turning numb.

When you finally finished spitting up pure blood from your stomach, a brief and dazed feeling of relief overcame you that there was no longer an uncomfortable warmth in your abdomen. But it was just that: a fleeting feeling that quickly disappeared when you heard Jester’s voice above you.

“I couldn’t resist getting a little taste of my own. Had to see for myself what those two are so enraptured by.”

Oh god. This was all real. Your tongue was gone. It was bitten off. It was just…not there anymore. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t swallow, couldn’t think or feel anything. Red was splotched on your shirt and pants, the wet spots soaking into them like freshly blooming poppies. Everything was too loud and too quiet. You were acutely aware of every sensation on and in your body yet also unable to feel anything.

You stayed on your hands and knees, watching the way the blood pooled beneath you rippled with every trickle of liquid—bile, sweat, blood, tears, you didn’t know—from your chin. The dazed and frightened and red-spattered person looking back at you in the subtle reflection was unrecognizable.

“Be still, visitor. This loss of yours isn’t permanent.”

You trembled as the violet-clad troupe member leaned over your choking form, not going down to your level, but instead making you feel even smaller than you were by looming over your vulnerable state.

“Or at least…it won’t be permanent if you prove yourself valuable enough to earn your voice back.”

Anger and adrenaline flowed through your veins upon hearing that. You felt the urge to scream and shout, to call him every curse word in the book, to yell up at him with a throat bubbling with hate that you didn’t say anything about losing your voice—no, your fucking tongue—but of course, you were too preoccupied with choking on your own blood and saliva and stomach acid. And you now no longer had the vital muscle to form the words you wanted to spit at him.

“You didn’t really think you’d be allowed to have a voice, did you? So why have a tongue when you have no need to speak?”

Oh, you didn’t know, maybe to eat? To live properly?

The feigned innocence in his voice made you want to wipe that stupid fucking grin off his face, made you want to reach a hand out and punch him as hard as you could, wring his neck, claw at his face with red-stained fingers. But you were far too weak as you were, trembling like a leaf on a sidewalk and having to support yourself while retching on your hands and knees. You could only let out strained guttural snarls that sounded more pathetic than anything else.

The air became thicker and impossible to pull into your lungs. An acrid taste had formed at the back of your tongue, though whether it was from your vomit or your dread, you no longer knew. Probably both. You looked back up to Jester, who in turn looked down at you with a brighter purple glint in his eyes. An instinctive sense of dread made your heart sink.

“Your sole purpose is to listen now. So hear my words and listen well, dear thing.”

You didn’t realize tears had started to roll down your cheeks until you felt tiny droplets of cool liquid rather than warm ones pattering against the backs of your shaking hands. Were you crying from the vomiting? From instinctual fear? You didn’t know. You doubted you ever would.

“You belong to me, to this circus, in both body and mind now. Pierrot and the others can have your heart and soul and whatever scraps are left after I’m done with you.”

Blood still freely flowed down your chin in warm and sticky rivulets as Jester moved even closer to you, black boots stepping into the puddle of red on the floor. He used a single black-clawed finger to push against your forehead and force your gaze upwards, similar to how he did it earlier with his claw beneath your chin.

“I say jump, and you say…” He laughed a sickeningly amused and wicked kind of laugh. “Well, you can’t exactly say anything anymore, can you?”

Your tears begin to flow even more, eyes stinging and face burning yet also holding back horrified shivers. Angered and pained as you were at your predicament, you were truly just afraid. Afraid of what would happen to you, to your life, to what you had built before this godforsaken hellhole of a circus had ever arrived.

Your vision started to blur even worse than before, though you knew it wasn’t entirely from your tears. How much blood had you lost at this point? There was already a grimy puddle formed beneath your hands…

You felt the storyteller’s claw move from the top of your head back to beneath your jaw, maintaining your face’s upward tilted position. A borderline offensive attempt at comfort or consolation. Or perhaps—and more likely—just a thinly veiled display of his power over you.

“There, there. Your words won’t be lost forever. We monsters have our own remedies for things like this. The marvels of medicine, hm?”

His words brought no relief. If anything, they felt painfully hollow as you began to get dizzy. How the hell would you ever recover from something like this? How were you going to eat, drink, speak, live? He had effectively defanged and declawed you like a troublesome pet. Your breath trembled as you thought about what it would be like for him to break you in like he were taming a wild animal. A stray.

That’s all you were now. A beast to be bound and broken and subdued.

You couldn’t ever hope to be physically strong enough to fight against these creatures. Deep down in your heart, you knew that to be true. All you could ever hope to use was your voice, your ability to reason, your words and persuasion. But now all of those things were taken from you.

No. Not taken. In your stupidity, you had willingly given them to the circus, to him.

You knew it couldn’t have been this easy to join the circus with your own conditions and demands. You should have known this violet-eyed fuck would add a condition of his own. Yet you lowered your guard anyway.

He didn’t lie to you or trick you. He did no more than you let him do.

An ugly and broken sound came from your throat then, nearly making you choke on blood and saliva. The noises produced from your mouth sounded foreign now, and you clenched your hands into fists at your own stupidity and naivety.

The Jester gripped your blood and tear-stained chin—slightly gentler this time—and turned your face side to side like he was examining a piece of meat at a market for purchase. The deep red fluid on your chin had begun to trickle onto his black glove, but he paid it no mind.

“I’ll have the Doctor tend to you, yes? This amount of blood loss can’t be good for you. We need you in good shape, after all.”

You watched as he removed his hold on your jaw, bringing his hand close to his face. In a single motion, his long purple tongue slid out of his mouth and between his fingers, effectively yet sickeningly cleaning your blood from between them. Your stomach began to churn again. A breathy and fearful sound escaped from your lungs and past your red-stained lips.

“Consider this your initiation, dear thing. Your signature on the contract…And your payment confirmation.”

That’s right. The contract. The paper was still sitting on the surface of the desk, untouched and unsigned. Just as you suspected. This was all just a performance, a false sense of formality to get you to lower your guard. You had nearly forgotten that human methods of bonds and contracts likely held no meaning for beasts.

You watched with rapidly fading sight and weakened limbs as the Jester’s purple tongue slid past his opened teeth again to lick up your blood that had smeared on his mask’s chin. His grin widened as though he thoroughly enjoyed the taste.

It was the last thing you saw before everything started to go dark. Just as your arms lost their strength and you limply laid on the ground in a puddle of your own blood and bile and filth, you could hear that damned voice chuckling again.

“Welcome to your new life in the circus, MC.”

≫ Now, before anyone says anything, I know that Jester likely wouldn’t directly hurt the MC in the main game canon. But in the context of the AU fic I’m writing it makes more sense I PROMISE

≫ But if you’re not interested in that, then you can imagine this oneshot to be interpreted through a lens in which Jester is fed up with the MC’s nonsense with Pierrot and Harlequin. In this way, it’s a sort of final decision to allow the reader to join the circus—but not as an equal. Think of it as like when a parent takes a toy that two children squabble over.

≫ Would the MC ever gain respect as a human being from him? Would they ever see the circus as a home and gradually come to view it as where they belong? Would they earn their voice back and become an equal? Would they rebel and fight against their situation? I’ll leave that up to your interpretation, lovely reader.

≫ Title for this work is from “The Point of No Return” from The Phantom of the Opera! I listened to it nonstop while writing this. I also listened to Beethoven’s 7th Symphony, 2nd Movement: Allegretto!

(Specifically the Ultrakill version hehe)

≫ This work was made without the use of any AI. Please do not scrape any text from this post to feed into any character-based AI or other LLM. If you’re going to anyway, don’t tell me about it.