The rain fell without restraint on the blackened cobblestones, hammering the roofs and narrow alleys of the city. The air was thick with the smell of metal, coal, and gasoline fumes. Every drop that struck his raincoat seemed to leave a mark on his skin and his soul, a reminder that this world was not made to be endured, let alone loved. Pedestrians hurried by, masked, their empty gazes sliding over tarnished shop windows and rusted lampposts. No one smiled here, or at least, no one showed it. Masks had replaced faces long ago, and those who dared to venture out without one quickly vanished into oblivion.
Theo moved with a measured step, his boots echoing on the wet stone, his hood plastered to his skull by the rain. He laughed sometimes, a dry, sharp laugh, ironic and cruel, that sought no one but echoed in the night. It was a laugh of defense, one that masked invisible scars, losses he could not name. He had severed all attachments, because no presence could survive the storm he dragged behind him. His dark eyes slid over the blurred silhouettes of the passersby, devouring the details, noting every flinch, every hesitation, every weakness.
The circus stood in the center of the city, imposing and grotesque, with its torn tents and flickering lights that tried to conceal the darkness of its activities. Spectators arrived in small groups, masked themselves, coming to seek a moment of escape, a thrill to replace the monotony of their broken existences. But inside, Theo knew cruelty was never far away. Behind every painted smile, every burst of light, hid a cold, simple truth: death could strike at any moment, and no one was spared.
He crossed into the main tent, the wooden planks creaking under his feet. The smells of leather, dried blood, and hot wax greeted him, and he breathed in deeply, as if steeling himself for what he was about to see. Strange performers, grotesque or sublimely unsettling, executed acts that seemed both alive and dead, prisoners of an endless spectacle. Acrobats launched themselves from taut ropes, their bodies defying gravity and logic, while hybrid creatures, part animal, part human, prowled the aisles, watching the crowd with eerily human eyes.
Theo sat in the shadows, his hands clasped on his knees, silent, letting his eyes scrutinize every movement. His laugh resurfaced, lower this time, a murmur almost imperceptible, because he knew something no one else did: here, everyone wore a mask, but some masks weren't just façades—they were prisons. There were buried secrets, hidden intentions, fragilities concealed beneath forced smiles and bursts of laughter.
And then, he felt the tension shift. A figure in the crowd drew his attention. A young woman, also masked, but her eyes didn't lie. There was something in her, a fragile yet piercing light, that unsettled him as much as it fascinated him. She didn't know yet that every interaction here could be a dance with death, that every exchanged smile could be the last thing she ever saw.
Theo finally stood, leaving the shadow of his seat behind, and walked slowly toward the center of the tent. The night had not yet revealed all its horrors, and he knew this circus was only the first chapter of a world where cruelty was the only constant. His hands trembled slightly, a mix of anticipation and painful memories. Because here, as in life, nothing was free, and every laugh, every tear, every step could carry a price.
He observed the audience, the performers, the masks, and smiled. Not a warm smile, not a smile of consolation. A cold, sharp smile that knew all of this was merely the surface of an infinite darkness. And somewhere, in the back of his mind, Theo knew that tonight, something was going to change. A flame was about to be lit, fragile, ephemeral… but enough to upheave the entire circus..