The Big Top. The Circus. Carnival of Nightmares. Home.
Hardly Sanctuary.
Krysanthe was there, flying over the crowds. Soaring dove with clipped wings.
Darkness embraced. It was time again.
Breath exhaled. Crystal wisps of frost.
Krysanthe was cold. Always so cold.
Gold dust tendrils spilled away. Fingers curled to the sides of the trapzee.
She moved as a child would at a park. Swinging. Back and forth the delicate curl and stretch of legs.
Petal bloom of mouth unfurled into smile. Innocent glory.
Blind to the past. There was only today.
Blues dipped, fallen stars from the sky.
The Light touched on Straw Man. The Palm Reader below.
They made her forget.
Spotlight brought Illusion.
Brought Moonlight.
Hushed awe caressed her as the crowd realized she was there above.
Not for much longer.
Another pump of legs. Reaching for the highest stars.
Aim to touch the sky.
Then she would dive. Suicide flight of the dove with clipped wings.
The crowd gasped. Horrified.
It was easy to see that there was no net below. The Straw Man and Palm Reader stretched forward. Eager with anticipation that tonight might be the night.
For Light to die.
Children screamed. Parents covered the eyes of their young with open mouthed horror.
This was not the family fun evening they planned.
Palm reached out. As if to plead. To beg.
Krysanthe for a moment, believed it was the end of the road.
Fingers sudden would find a thread of sanity amongst chaos.
Thick ribbon of crimson ensnared her wrist. Fingers recognized it like a lover.
Twined and twisted to it. Intimate curl of form. Sensual enrapture of body bound in material. In Silk.
Beauty in the Design.
Body caressed a brush down length of silk.
Feet finding the floor. A release of silk.
The spotlight followed while the Straw Man seethed.
Bedazzled the light by the moonstone hue of costume. The jewels at fabric, body paint on flesh.
She shimmered. She Burned in that spotlight.
Glow of a Fallen Star.
The Big Top was silent.
Dead quiet.
The hush lingered. Blues found a touch of star light.
Then thunderous applause.
Krysanthe bowed.
A roar and the lights went dead. Screams of terror once more.
The spotlight when it flickered back on was shattered.
Illumination nothing but illusion.
The Fallen Star was gone in the wake of the Straw Man's destruction.
He would devour them all.
Hardly Sanctuary.
Krysanthe was there, flying over the crowds. Soaring dove with clipped wings.
Darkness embraced. It was time again.
Breath exhaled. Crystal wisps of frost.
Krysanthe was cold. Always so cold.
Gold dust tendrils spilled away. Fingers curled to the sides of the trapzee.
She moved as a child would at a park. Swinging. Back and forth the delicate curl and stretch of legs.
Petal bloom of mouth unfurled into smile. Innocent glory.
Blind to the past. There was only today.
Blues dipped, fallen stars from the sky.
The Light touched on Straw Man. The Palm Reader below.
They made her forget.
Spotlight brought Illusion.
Brought Moonlight.
Hushed awe caressed her as the crowd realized she was there above.
Not for much longer.
Another pump of legs. Reaching for the highest stars.
Aim to touch the sky.
Then she would dive. Suicide flight of the dove with clipped wings.
The crowd gasped. Horrified.
It was easy to see that there was no net below. The Straw Man and Palm Reader stretched forward. Eager with anticipation that tonight might be the night.
For Light to die.
Children screamed. Parents covered the eyes of their young with open mouthed horror.
This was not the family fun evening they planned.
Palm reached out. As if to plead. To beg.
Krysanthe for a moment, believed it was the end of the road.
Fingers sudden would find a thread of sanity amongst chaos.
Thick ribbon of crimson ensnared her wrist. Fingers recognized it like a lover.
Twined and twisted to it. Intimate curl of form. Sensual enrapture of body bound in material. In Silk.
Beauty in the Design.
Body caressed a brush down length of silk.
Feet finding the floor. A release of silk.
The spotlight followed while the Straw Man seethed.
Bedazzled the light by the moonstone hue of costume. The jewels at fabric, body paint on flesh.
She shimmered. She Burned in that spotlight.
Glow of a Fallen Star.
The Big Top was silent.
Dead quiet.
The hush lingered. Blues found a touch of star light.
Then thunderous applause.
Krysanthe bowed.
A roar and the lights went dead. Screams of terror once more.
The spotlight when it flickered back on was shattered.
Illumination nothing but illusion.
The Fallen Star was gone in the wake of the Straw Man's destruction.
He would devour them all.