Carnival of Truths

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This is a work of fiction. Characters are just that: Characters. Actors. 

If you are easily triggered, sensitive, or intolerant of heavy themes, please leave this book.

Some things do not change, don't alter, remain static, metal rods deeply rooted in solid ground

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Some things do not change, don't alter, remain static, metal rods deeply rooted in solid ground. Some realities share the same aspect: no matter how much wind blows, no matter how strong the storm, they are never carried away.

There may occur a change of entourage, parameter, propinquities but patterns of luck will never falter, for they are in a marriage that was baptized with a vow of eternity.

So no matter how far you flee, what country you choose to start over in, those patterns would follow, would present themselves in different shapes, of course, for the sake of adaptation and customization to the ethics of the foreign place, but still, they would exist; very much alive and just as sorrowful.

But you were aware, very much aware, that you chose to deceive the environment, act smart. So, in the same place, you remained but dressed in different customs, believing that all you needed was heavy face paint and colorful fabrics, and up, the parameters would lose you among the crowds and neon lights.

See, you are one smart individual who always uses logic against and in the midst of chaos, always finds doors that others were too blind to notice, and that was exactly your biggest prowess and vital flaw.

No make-up has ever changed features, and no gowns have ever reshaped a body.

And you learned this brutal truth the very hard way: surrounded by people, you mastered the art of lying right to their faces, in a case so sad that the smile you always hid your fangs behind couldn't help and wouldn't be justified, for that matter.

But the tear that ran down your pale cheeks did. It became the shield you hid behind, and you weren't sure if you should be grateful or that also was unfit for the place and the event.

When Jungkook held your cold and shivering hand between his, he didn't expect it to be trembling, and in a moment of sheer confusion, he blamed it on the dropping temperatures and turned the heater on full blast. In that same moment of confusion that brought a fog of suffocation into the car, and while he wondered if the tears were because of his glacial state that refused to show emotion, that sucked the breath from his lungs and made him blue and purple, much like a corpse, or if the reason for his condition was what made you so compassionate, you wished for nothing more than to open the passenger door and run, run run, far away from him, from the world, from yourself, before the car could start moving and you would lose this golden opportunity.

"I'm all right. It's been three years now. It's time I let her sleep in peace. No need to cry, hmm?"

Three years.

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