Page 6 of Maison De Fous

The entrance to the tent is perfection—dark, twisted, and unsettling, just the way I envisioned it. Black cloth hangs from the archway like decayed skin, tattered and swaying in the wind, inviting anyone who dares to step through. Jack-o’-lanterns line the path, their jagged grins lit by flickering flames, casting erratic shadows that crawl across the ground like they’re alive. Gnarled branches stretch toward the sky, draped in thick fake cobwebs that shimmer in the dim light. Above us, bats and ravens dangle, their glassy eyes gleaming, watching over everything.

A low mist creeps along the earth, swirling around plastic skeletal hands some of the cirkies stuck into the ground, clawing up from the dirt as if the dead themselves are trying to escape.

Dolly is that you?

The air smells of burning incense and damp leaves, thick with the promise of what lies ahead. It’s a beautiful, horrific sight—a glimpse of the madness that will take place under my big top.

Exactly how I like it.

Each guest is handed a plain black mask as they turn in their tickets—simple, unadorned, and entirely blank. The uniformity of the masks serves to both unify and anonymize the crowd. There’s something unsettling about the sea of identical faces, a collective facelessness that adds an extra layer of intrigue and mystery to the night.

The guests move with a blend of eagerness and anxiety, each one hiding behind their mask while their true selves remain concealed. I watch them as they filter in to the big top like little mice. A mix of those who are curious, those who are eager, and those who are already broken. Though, who they are when they arrive doesn’t matter. It’s who they’ll be when they leave my big top that really means something.

If they leave, that is.

Among the crowd, I spot a woman in a sleek black gown, her mask blending seamlessly with her attire. Her eyes dart around nervously, betraying a flicker of the apprehension beneath her confident facade. Nearby, a group of men in tailored suits, their masks matching their formal wear, laugh loudly, their voices a mixture of bravado and nervous excitement. And then there’s a lone man, draped in a tattered coat, moving with a predator’s hunger as he scans the crowd around him. What he’s looking for, I haven’t a clue, but I bet when he finds it, it will be a show worth watching.

The masks, simple as they are, are part of the game. They strip away individuality, allowing the revelers to indulge in theirdarkest cravings without fear of judgment. It’s a clever ruse, but one that I don’t entirely understand. Not anymore.

Not since Indie.

Why hide behind a mask when the real thrill is in embracing one’s true self? Yet, here they are, eagerly awaiting the night’s revelry, ready to let go of the role they play to please those around them, and immerse themselves in the chaos we’ve prepared.

As Indie approaches, my eyes are drawn to her like a moth to flame. She’s not just dressed for the night—sheownsit. The black lace corset bodysuit clings to her, revealing tantalizing glimpses of her pure skin, flecked with gold sequins that shimmer like forbidden treasures. Her thigh-high boots with towering heels add an edge of dominance, while the thick black choker with its upside-down cross declares her unapologetic power. Her mask, a black satanic goat, that conceals her scars but enhances the aura of dangerous elegance that surrounds her. With matching gloves stretching to her elbows and her long, straight hair cascading down, she looks every bit the dark queen she was born to be.

In this moment, she’s not justaqueen—she’s the queen ofmycircus, the queen they need, the queen they deserve.Myfucking queen.

“Tonight’s going to be unforgettable,” she purrs, her voice dripping with seductive confidence.

I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face as I take in the wicked gleam in her eyes. “I can already feel it,” I reply, my voice thick with possession and pride. “The crowd, the anarchy—it’s all falling into place.”

She glances around, surveying her kingdom, and it’s clear—tonight, Indie rules this world. The anticipation builds between us, the night stretching out before us like a masterpiece of mayhem. As her fingers trace up my arm to my shoulder, I know—she’smine, and together, we’re about to wreak havoc on this town.

I stand tall next to Indie, my breath catching as I take in her presence. The crowd may be lost in their masks and illusions, but they can’t miss the raw power radiating from the two of us. For tonight’s show, I’ve retired my usual clown mask, leaving it behind like an old memory. Instead, a skeletal mask covers my face—white bone etched against the blackness, hollow eyes peering through the thin slits. It’s a fitting symbol for what I’ve become: death personified, the master of this dark circus.

My suit is simple but striking—a black ringmaster jacket that fits perfectly, its tails brushing my legs with each step. My chest is bare underneath, showing not just my ink but the small round scars that prove the battles I’ve fought and won. They tell my story, reminding everyone—especially those who challenge me—that I’ve earned my place here, through pain and blood.

Indie’s fingers still rest on my shoulder, her touch electrifying, and I can feel her gaze tracing the lines of my chest. My dark queen standing beside her skeleton king. I glance down at her, our eyes meeting beneath our masks, and in this moment, there’s no doubt—this circus is ours.

The crowd, the carnage, the blood—they’ll all belong to us before the night is through.

“Lux, I need you before it all starts,” she says, her voice a mere whisper. Without waiting for a response, I guide her toward the bus, the awareness of what’s to come making my pulse quicken.

I smirk as I look back at her. Her dark eyes gleaming with mischief as she lets me lead her. “Needing me already, huh?” I tease, my voice soft but edged with confidence. “I thought you liked to save the best for last.”

She follows without hesitation, her fingers trailing down my arm as we move, her touch sending a spark through me asshe leads me to the bus. Once we’re inside, the world outside fades away. The cramped space becomes our private haven, the tension between us palpable. I turn to face her, my hands roaming over her body as if memorizing every curve and line. The mix of lace, leather, and dark desire makes her look like she was crafted from sin itself.

“Tell me what you want,” I command, my voice a dark whisper.

She shivers as my fingertips graze her inner thighs, teasing the edges of her core. “I want you,” she breathes, her voice laced with need. “I want everything you’ve got.”

I push her back onto the bed, the passion crackling between us like a live wire. Her black lace and leather bodysuit clings to her, barely hiding the softness of her skin beneath it. My hands move with precision, unclipping the bodysuit in one swift motion. The lace peels away from her body, the leather straps loosening. Her breath hitches, her body already trembling under my touch as I slide the fabric aside, revealing in the sight of her.Her pussy is coated in her own arousal, and glistening in the dim lights of the bus.

Fuck. Such a beautiful sight.

I press my fingers against her, feeling the wetness already pooling there, and teasing her. She arches beneath me, her body instinctively pressing closer, aching for more.

“Look how fucking wet you are for me, baby. Such a hungry fucking queen you are.”

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