Page 32 of The Opening Act is Death
We were meant to burn.
But as her grip tightens, fierce and unyielding, I feel something fierce ignite inside me, not hope. Not redemption. But defiance.
The Carnival may be crumbling, but we are still here. Still fighting, still alive.
And that might just be enough.
Forty
Visha - The Curtain Falls Like a Body
One last bow. One last kill. One last kiss.
The Carnival is burning, not just the wood and canvas, but the very soul that clawed its way through the darkness with me. Flames curl like fingers around the ropes and rigging, hungry for the life it once held. The scent of smoke and charred velvet thickens the air, filling my lungs with bitter memories. I stand alone in the center ring, the ground beneath my feet softening, smoldering, collapsing like the pieces of my fractured heart. My knives are heavy in my hands, no longer tools of control, but weapons of raw defiance.
I move.
Slow at first, each step a mournful echo in the hollow space. Then faster, sharper; a dance fueled by rage and grief, every motion a slash through the shadows that haunt me. I’m cutting through more than air. I’m cutting through the years of silence, betrayal, and scars hidden beneath velvet and blood. The fire reflects in my eyes, wild and unrelenting. I spin, blades flashinglike silver lightning, each strike a scream I’ve kept bottled deep inside.
The audience of ghosts stares silently. Their eyes are empty, but I can feel their judgment, their hunger for the queen they never wanted to see broken. Tears sting the corners of my eyes, but I don’t stop. I won’t stop.
Because this dance is my last confession, my final rebellion. A song of destruction and survival intertwined. The flames lick my skin but I burn with something fiercer; a fury born from all I’ve lost and all I refuse to surrender.
Then I feel him…Corvan. Not as a spectator, but as a lifeline thrown in the storm.
His hands find mine, steadying and warm, reminding me I’m not alone in this burning ruin. Our bodies collide, desperate and urgent. His lips crash against mine, a wild, fierce promise. A vow to survive the ashes together.
One last kiss.
One last bow.
And I let the curtain fall, heavy and final like a body collapsing into shadow.
Forty One
Corvan - After the Applause
The Carnival is dead. Or maybe it’s waiting. But she’s still with me.
The silence is suffocating. No music to fill the void. No cheers, no gasps. Just the crackle of dying flames and the weight of everything lost. I hold Visha close, as her breath comes fast, ragged, raw. Her skin is warm beneath my fingers, but I can feel the tremble of everything she’s holding back. The smell of smoke clings to her hair, the faint metallic tang of blood still fresh on her skin. The ground beneath us feels hollow, like we’re standing on the bones of a dream. But she is real…Here.
Her fingers grip my shirt like a lifeline, and I know, she needs me as much as I need her. The Carnival may be dead, or maybe it’s just waiting — patient, dangerous, like a beast gathering strength beneath the ashes. We are the last act, the final illusion. Two broken souls stitched together by fire and blood and something fragile and fierce. And somehow, that is enough.
Forty Two
Carnival Interlude — The Carnival’s Last Whisper
The Carnival does not bleed, it does not break. It waits, beneath ash and bone, beneath fire and ruin.
“She is the breath between flames,”the shadows murmur,
“The edge of the blade that never dulls.”
Velvet ropes twist like veins, tightening, pulling, a heartbeat echoing through cracked mirrors and shattered glass. The smoke carries her voice, faint, fractured, and raw:
“I am not done. Not yet. The stage still waits.”
Ghost laughter curls around the tents, a thousand voices rising and falling like a tide of forgotten sins.
