Page 37 of The Opening Act is Death
“We don’t have much time.” I draw my knives again, but this time I don’t move alone. Together, we step into the swirling chaos of two halves of a whole, fierce and fragile, bound by blood and something deeper. The Carnival may demand cruelty, but in this moment, mercy is our rebellion and our salvation.
Fifty Two
Carnival Interlude IV: The Breath Beneath the Velvet
The Carnival waits. It breathes beneath rotting canvas and rusted iron, its pulse a slow, sinister heartbeat tangled in whispers. It knows her, the Queen of Knives, how she trembles on the edge of mercy and madness. It feels his presence, the Escapist, a flicker of light too fragile to last.
The tents shudder, the mirrors ripple, as the beast stirs, hungry and unforgiving. It wants blood, demands sacrifice, hungers for chaos. But something new coils beneath the velvet folds, a thread of mercy woven into the darkness, a crack in the endless night.
The Carnival watches, waiting, for the moment the warden falls, or rises.
And in that breath, everything changes.
Fifty Three
Corvan - The Last Illusion
The stage is set to crumble beneath the weight of truth and magic.
I step into the spotlight. The stage breathes beneath my feet, worn boards whispering stories of countless deceptions. Smoke unfurls like midnight serpents, curling and twisting with a life of their own, wrapping the stage in a hazy veil where reality frays at the edges. Mirrors hang like fractured stars, their reflections jagged and shifting. I catch glimpses of myself, fragmented, distorted; a man divided between the mask he wears and the soul he hides. With trembling hands, I release the first trick: a cascade of shimmering light that bursts into floating shards, each piece catching a memory, a fear, a broken truth. They dance in the air, fragile and flickering a kaleidoscope of moments I’ve buried deep. The illusion warps. Faces from my past flicker into view: a mother’s distant gaze, a father’s heavy silence, and the shadows of mistakes that haunt me still. The crowd fades.
Only Visha remains, her silhouette sharp against the smoky backdrop. She steps forward, her presence steady and fierce,knives gleaming in the dim light, yet softened by the flicker of something vulnerable in her eyes. Our eyes lock, no masks. No pretense. Together, we weave the next act, a dance of blades and light, danger and grace entwined in a fragile ballet. She moves with the deadly elegance of a queen, and I follow, the echo of our past pain pulsing between us. Her fingers find mine, firm, unyielding, a silent promise amidst the chaos.
The shards of my shattered reflections swirl around us, but in this moment, the fractured pieces begin to align. The final illusion isn’t about escape. It’s about truth, and the courage to face it, together. The crowd holds its breath, and so do I.
Fifty Four
After the Last Illusion — A Quiet Conversation With Corvan
The applause fades into the shadows. The stage is bathed in dim light, smoke curling like whispered secrets around us. We stand side by side, breathless, raw; the echo of the performance still thrumming beneath our skin.
Corvan breaks the silence first, voice low and rough:
“That was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Not the trick, but being… myself.”
I glance at him, the flicker of pain and relief tangled in his eyes.
“You don’t have to hide anymore,” I say softly, “Not here. Not with me.”
He shakes his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips.
“Sometimes I wonder if I’m too broken to be fixed. Too shattered to be whole.”
I reach out, brushing a loose strand of hair from his face.
“Broken isn’t the end. It’s just… the start of something new, and you’re not alone anymore.” He breathes it in, the weight of those words settling like a balm.
“But The Carnival…” he whispers, voice laced with uncertainty.
“It’s still waiting to tear us apart.”
I tighten my grip on his hand, knives sheathed but ready.
“Let it try, because whatever comes, we face it together.”
His gaze holds mine, fierce, hopeful, fragile. In that quiet moment, beneath the fractured mirrors and fading lights, we make a silent vow to fight for The Carnival,
for each other, and for the fragile thread of mercy weaving through the darkness.
