Page 11 of The Opening Act is Death
Not bleeding.
Not dying.
Just… dancing.
With me.
I wake up, gasping, hand still curled around something soft, a rose.
Blooming. Again.
Sixteen
Corvan - The Show That Should’ve Killed Me
My illusion turns violent, she stops it. Not with mercy but control.
The crowd didn’t know what they were about to see. Hell, I didn’t either. Something in me had snapped open that morning; like a rib cracking to expose the heart beneath. I hadn’t eaten, nor had I slept. The Carnival’s air felt thicker, heavier, as if it knew I was coming undone. Maybe it was always waiting for this.
I stepped on stage with no mask. No props and no pretense. Just me and the ghosts. I whispered the spell without thinking, and the mirrors rose like tombstones behind me. Tall, jagged, ruthless. They shimmered, then stilled, each one reflecting not the crowd, but pieces of myself I’d buried too deep.
One held my mother’s hollow stare. Another, the girl I couldn’t save, body bloated with river water, and then came another. Worse than the rest, Visha, walked away from mewithout looking back. Each mirror pulsed like a heartbeat. Each one cracked like guilt made physical. The illusion wasn’t an illusion anymore. It was bleeding.
The crowd shifted and the woman began to cry quietly. A man fell to his knees, choking on air. One person laughed, sharp and hysterical, until they collapsed into silence. I didn’t stop, Icouldn’tstop. This wasn’t for them. It was forher.
I wasn’t sure when I picked up the shard of glass, it glittered in my palm, still humming with magic. With memory, with failure, I pressed it against my chest, above the heart that had forgotten how to feel anything but regret. The Carnival demanded sacrifice and I was ready to bleed.
“Corvan.” Her voice was not loud, but it struck like thunder. Visha stood just beyond the shattered light, back lit in flame-red shadows. She didn’t run, didn’t shout. Just walked forward unafraid of the wreckage I had become. I hadn’t summoned her, shechoseto step into this. Her hand wrapped around my wrist before the shard could pierce my skin. Her touch wasn’t gentle, but a command. Iron wrapped in silk.
I froze, not because she stopped me, but because shesawme. Her other hand came to my face, tilting it toward her. And for a moment, I forgot everything but the way she looked at me. Not with pity, not with fear, but with fire. Controlled, hungry, and human.
“You don’t get to die for your sins,” she said.
“Youlivewith them. That’s the trick.” Her fingers were stained with ash and rosewater. She smelled like blood remembered and roses that never bloomed. I didn’t drop the shard, she took it from me. And for the first time in years, I wanted someone to.
“You could’ve let me finish it,” I whispered.
“I wanted to see if you’d beg,” she said, voice a low purr.
“You didn’t. That’s why I stepped in.” she continued.
“And if I had?” I stare at her.
“Then I’d have let The Carnival take you.” Her lips barely moved. I laughed, or maybe I began to sob. I couldn’t tell anymore.
“You think I did this forthem?” I asked, voice shaking. “This wasn’t a show. This was…”
“Truth,” she said, cutting me off. “Too much of it.” She dropped the mirror shard between us. It hit the wood with a soft click, my blood still painted its edge.
“You wanted them to understand you. But Corvan…” She stepped in closer, eyes burning into mine. “Ialready do.”
Silence fell between us, not empty but heavy and charged. I wanted to touch her, to ask her why she came, and to ask what she saw in me that made her stay. But Visha doesn’t give answers, she gives warnings. She givespermission, and tonight she gave me mercy dressed up as control. She turned, walking away from the broken stage, leaving the audience to their silence and me to the heat still clinging to my skin where she touched me.
The Carnival didn’t devour me tonight.
Because she claimed me first.
Seventeen
