Ornate

Chapter 5

Valeria, November 1840

Through the great halls of the castle, with each passing person, the Romantica Ballerinas conjured the aura of their dance. Their soft and refined gestures were prestigious, and their siren-aid gaze was promiscuous.

The skirts to their glittering leotards was an iridescent night, bouncing with every decadent leap. Each performance ended with a grand bow, but for the supreme Lord of Valeria, he received the deepest arabesque penchée.

Their commendable performance, however, was simply ignored. For Lord Stymeign veined no desire towards their artistic and seductive display.

The southernmost halls were no longer deserted, for the prodigy of entertainment had come to town; Eylenis Masque Circus. The Ma Sique's paraded in unparalleled and peculiar performances and movements. There was a silver luster emanating from their stunts, crossovers, accessorized personas, and mounting creativity.

The Caravan entrusted their feet to a God who's gravity knew no bound. They fiddled with light-hearted nature across mid air. A cataclysm of energy and release churned at the manipulation of Genevieve's Deceptive Art, an illusionists whose composition is of the greatest art form. A great ring of fire, blue like the descending depths of a lake, lapsed in its creator's steps.

All of which existed within the circus wore a vexing silver— some so reflective they were ashen white— and a royal blue that never disrespected its crown. There was a great vanity in Elyenis's Ma Sique's.

When guests were about the castle, Stymeign could not bear being anything more than his role; Valeria's greatest detective, not Valeria's greatest enthusiast. To Stymeign, the circus was nothing more than a dying rodent licking a water closet's gutter; repulsive.

Nevertheless, he remained stoic in their presence. The response was necessary if Stymeign was to withstand matters that resembled the very heart of the circus; Elyenis's Ringmaster, a hindering plague to Stymeign's brain.

Aside from composing himself, Stymeign found the Queen had a growing sense of attachment to the circus monkey's presence when he came to town. An attachment that she's now checked in, in Valeria's time of need. So for his Queen's sake and happiness, he complied with all mannerisms provided to mankind.

Now, in the Queen's commons room, Stymeign stood around a circular table. Maps of Valeria, its old and present day geography, and detailed constellations were strewn about the table in a disharmonized manner. Stymeign was only allowed a glance before the darkness of a shadow lapsed the perimeter of the room and washed over him.

"Peeking before the performance, My Lord?"

What was often not seen, could be sensed. The depths of a greedy smile was felt over Stymeign's shoulders. If not for his familiarity with the Ringmaster's resonant voice, Stymeign would have shot the fiend down, simply because of the bitter annoyance that always lingered with him.

"What are your intentions?" Stymeign waved a cautious hand over the table.

"Await Valeria's Queen and you shall see," the Ringmaster's statement was velvety and sly.

Irritability in unrest, Stymeign turned to finally face the man.

"We are not props in your circus, Mongrel. Lay your foundation, but provoke me to anger with your illusions and I will pry your heart out. No mishaps will surface before the Queen."

"Tell me, My Lord, have you ever considered written work? My various encounters with your words sway my creative soul. Poetry, My Lord! That is your forte."

The blue in Stymeign's eyes rattled as he watched the man with distaste. The glittering silver in the Ringmaster's vest sung in sparkles as he moved. The Ringmaster, Mongrel, walked and spoke in the art of his great performances. It was as if his act, onstage or not, followed him wherever he flowed. The great narration that was his word filled the room like the rays of a setting sun.