The last leg of that dirty mile was taking its toll by the time the gunslinger reached the climbing hill of a meadow, her eyelids growing heavy, her legs stinging with the aches. She had come all the way from Low Estate here, by foot, wanting to be as discreet as possible. Marigold could be too easily recognisable now, so she would ride her less and less in town.

The meadows were beautiful tonight. Despite the giant tent and and its motley canvas sitting there like some sedentary beast just waiting to spring, the sky and the vision of long grass, so green, held her eyes as she gazed across at the Big Top and the silhouette of coaster and ferris wheel that was now so familiar.

Waiting for her breaths to even out, Madison slid a hand along to the holsters that hung from sharp hips, reassurance, preparation, and then continued on fowards. But she stopped before reaching the outer perimeter, and instead got down and took a seat in the lawns of grass, staring at the sky, taking the time to watch the area, to listen, to feel. The smell of too sweet fairy floss, the sparkle of rainbow lights hanging from the entrance and pavillions hard to ignore, hard to ignore the screams of giddy riders on the coaster, and the legs dangling as the wheel turned under a big dark blue veil of night.


She sat there for a good while, soaking it all in, listening hard. There was something she was noticing but she couldn't put her finger on it. Something like a clamour. Something like a yell that seemed a lot closer than the rides were to her. Getting slowly to her feet, dressed in deep tones all the better to blend in with, Madison began that leggy stride across the plain, trying to place the source of the dulled chorus coming from somewhere nearby, before letting it go as she walked straight through like any average customer, head bowed, black brim of suede hat hiding her face from recognition. Her path was smooth along the lanes of games where plastic clowns turned their faces waiting for a ping pong ball to swallow, where giant stuffed toys that looked cheap and... filthy hung from nets, where children giggled and cackled as a Show Man beckoned all to a House of Mirrors.

That's where she would go first.


She paid for a ticket and slipped it into the off-white glove of the Midway Master, stepped up and headed on through. Millions of Madisons' twisted and warped around her, down a corridor of sparkling glass. It was mesmeric and startling how cleverly, how sharply the crystal cut reflections bent and distorted ones body. The 'slinger could not help but feel a certain animosity towards every turn she took, where the mirror was clean, and a perfect reflection. Because she had the strange impression these mirrors were two way. There were eyes. They were watching. They were laughing and grinning with their serrated mouths at her being ripped apart by the glades of glass, being bent and pulled, careening like some awful spectral vision of herself. Madison wasn't looking at her doubles though; she cannily used the mirrors as rear view.

She was silently calling the nuisances out.

It was as she turned around, realising that she was at a dead end, that a mild panic began in her. But she refused to buckle to it, whatsoever, and just stared hard at each corner, to see where it gave way, where light did not dance but hinted at the opening of the corridor. Where it sparkled was where the wall of freezing reflection came together, where prisms of rainbows tricked the eye. Her breaths were coming cold and short, and her hands were freezing. She moved for where the dark seemed thicker, and gasped, as she walked right into herself - and in doing so a jagged edge cut her upper arm in the turning away. In terror, in shock, Madison stepped back, holding the scalpel-perfect tear, looking at the small trickle of blood run down along the lense of mirror, where from behind came the most awful laughter she had ever heard. Madison gave a breath, surprised at the horror of it, and turned.. walking right into herself.

She looked left, right, and realised that her bearings were off, her equilibrium giving way, as the illusion of the Mirror House warped her perception as well as her reflection.

"Goddamnit." she whispered to herself, feeling much the same worry as she had when the Angel of Truth at the tea shoppe had planted needles in her stomach, and that look in Karras' eyes; warning, fear, as he saw her grow dizzy, wavering on the spot. The fright in realising something is wrong.


Something had happened in the box of glass. There were four Madison's staring back at her, white faced and wide eyed, none of them knew any more than her, each looking more terrified than the last.

She looked down to her hip, the revolver there, and back up to the glass. Near certain that someone had pushed the glass in, that there had been an exit from the dead end but in her not looking one of the panes had been pushed, nudged, to lock her in.

There was little choice but to fire.

And then it happened.

The lights went out.

Black space all around, glistening hints of denim, of suede, of pale neck. Lifting the gun she turned her face from the other Madison in the glass to fire the gun, to shoot herself into smithereens. The glass shattered, all around, spraying over her. Maniacal laughter rang out amongst the sounds of crystal singing its death.

Madison narrowed her eyes into the dark and fired again, until there was enough space in the mirror for her to pass through, to the other side. Where there was more black space, more broken mirror. Now all around were Madison's, looking angry, looking scared. Boots broke over glass as she moved, in this diamond glittered chimerical moment, where she had no sense of time anymore, no sense of balance. It felt almost as though the floor beneath was not to be trusted; a sensation of falling, of being in space itself.

But she sobered, she would not let them win.

Another fire of glass, twice, and she moved through the next blade-sheen of a mirror, fired again and did the same. The clownish chuckles ensuing, closer and closer each time. Madison murmured beneath her breath, "lucky blue moon", and fired again, whispered it again, and moved through the next shattered remnant of reflection.

It was only as she ducked her head, turned on the spot, in an enclave, that she noticed the flickering of lights overhead. And suddenly they flashed to life once again. Except that in her rearview vision was the Straw Man. The Straw Man holding a saw.

"So I hear yer an Assistant, oh Gunslinger! Fancy partaking in a trick for me, yessssss!"


Madison gripped her gun and turned.

He was gone.

"Oh come on. Don't be so coy. Lay yourself down, pretty girl, lemme slice you open. Let me see you inside."

There he was again, just behind her right hand shoulder.

She turned around.

He was gone.


Heart a wild thrum in her ears, she leveled the gun at the reflection of him as he appeared on her left, and fired.

A high pitched squealing scream erupted, the lights gave a flicker and Madison moved. A sprint as she dodged through the maze, guided by her gut, until all she had was a single pane before her, which she kicked down and ran over the top of.

Outside the air was muggy, families were passing by smiling and laughing, and the Midway Master was smiling at her blissfully.


Madison caught her breath. Tucked her gun back behind her. Walked off the stairs and fell back into the crowd, quickly, until she was back on the meadow, her blood still a frenzied drum in her ears. She moved to her knees, shaking, and gathered herself, casting a look back over shoulder just in case.


And then she was off, headed back down the night road for the City streets, the comfort of familiar lights, of places she knew where there was no deception for as far as the eye could see, where a building was a building, a passing coach a coach. There were lies possible in anything witnessed, but here it was not confronting. Here she could trust her sight better. A sigh escaped quietly as she got amongst it. Knowing that icy maze of mirrors was behind her.