Page 16 of The Opening Act is Death
“There was once a boy with hands like smoke and a smile that meant nothing but hurt. I told myself I didn’t care. That he was just another ghost wearing a pretty illusion. But he watched me dance. And didn’t look away. He should’ve. I don’t know if he’s the same boy anymore. Or if I am the same girl. But I wonder… if he hears The Carnival the same way I do. And if he’s afraid of what it’s starting to say.”
She wrote this before. Before she let the man crawl away, before she let me live in her gaze too long. She wrote this about me, or maybe about the ghost I’m becoming. The paper twists in myclenched fist as I exhale through a raw throat. My chest feels crushed beneath the weight of every unspoken word between us. Because this is bigger than her, bigger than me.
It’s The Carnival, and it’s hungry. Its promise to shape us into monsters, into weapons, into nothing. Behind me, a mirror creaks.
I spin.
No reflection.
Only black, gaping void.
The glass refuses to show me the fractured pieces of who I am. Or maybe it’s showing me the truth, I’m breaking.Fracturing.Falling into something dark and unknown. Someone Visha might fear, or worse; someone she might finally need. A sharp wind cuts through the hall, snuffing out the candle. The darkness surges, alive and ravenous. From the silence, The Carnival whispers, not with words, but a hunger that gnaws at my bones.
It wants blood.
It wants pain.
It wants everything we tried to bury.
And then, a tremor. A flicker of doubt, the walls close in. The shadows press too close.
What if I’m not strong enough?
What if I’m already lost?
The thought claws at my mind, raw and terrible. But I swallow it down and breathe in the cold. I fold the page, the paper biting cold against my skin. I shove it deep into my coat and turn away. The velvet curtains close behind me like a tomb.
Let it come for me. Let it come for both of us.
If The Carnival wants a war, it will get one.
I won’t be its puppet anymore.
I’ll be the blade that cuts the strings.
Twenty Two
Visha - The Carnival Eats Its Young
One of our own broke the rules. The words echo through me like a knife twisting in a wound I thought had long since healed. But scars don’t fade here. They only deepen. I feel the weight of The Carnival’s eyes, hundreds of unseen gazes burning through the smoke, watching, waiting, hungry.
This place isn’t a sanctuary.
It’s a crucible.
Forged in blood, fire, and broken dreams.
And I am itswarden.
Itsexecutioner.
The knives at my fingertips gleam cold in the dim light, extensions of my will, sharp as the promises I can no longer keep. Because beneath the mask, beneath the dance of death and control, there’s a girl buried alive. The girl who was abandoned, who learned too young that mercy is a poison disguised as kindness. Who learned that pain is the only truth The Carnival respects. I walk these cursed grounds, every step heavy with the weight of sacrifice, of loyalty betrayed and innocence lost. I findthem where they think no one will see, eyes wide and wild with panic. But also, definitely burning with something that once was hope.
They don’t understand.
They never do.
That here, in this twisted sanctuary, love and cruelty are two sides of the same blade. That The Carnival demands devotion so fierce it consumes everything, even the hearts of those who lead it. My breath catches, a storm of fury and sorrow crashing through me. Because I am the blade that cuts out the rot, even if it means cutting myself. The knives flash as I step closer. The silence between us crackles with unspoken fear. I see the tremor in their hands. The way their gaze flickers, not away from me, but beyond me, searching for an escape that doesn’t exist.
