Circus of Silence

Smoke and Mirrors

~*~

You push and you shove,

because  the popcorn tastes like a gift from above.

You catch a whiff of candy-coated apple from the stand next door.

And suddenly the popcorn is a bore.

~*~

               Her touch did not silence animals, but her brother did not even try to complain when she held him to tight. Couldn't complain. A deep silence blanketed the Circus Everlasting. But for once, Whisper wasn't afraid of it lasting. Harrison Wallis could hear her thoughts, hear her laughter.  The Witch had tried to steal her voice. Her beloved Granddaughter had given it back. Even if it had been her brother she'd tried to attack.

"She's not going to hurt him," Harrison said for all to hear. It seemed the most talented of the Marquee had accepted his tier. "Whisper, it's okay, she understands she..." 

She was still looking in that mirror. Still gaping at the full-length reflection of the four of them as they truly were. Or as they truly should have been. At Harrison, tall and straight-backed, cool and logical despite his shock. Rosalind, her hands ruffling the pleats of her black dress, golden-brown hair dark in the dim light of the room. Whisper, looking exactly the same as she had fifty years ago... just like her brother.

The boy hugged her back in the reflection, his messy, orange mop of hair crooked under her chin. He was shaking, just like the furry mass that clung to her in reality.

"A boy, Rosalind," Harrison said softly. "See? He's her little brother."

Rosalind was still aside, watching with her quivering lip. Harrison could hear her too, he'd told her. That was why he was so sure she wouldn't kill her brother. Whisper asked him a second time with her eyes, just to make sure nothing had changed. Rosalind Maybrush did seem a little deranged.

Trust me, begged the boy. I can fix this. Either that, or this would be a total miss. Rosalind was a witch now, and there was no telling what she might do next.

"What is his name?" Rosalind requested, her tone flat as the glass.

Harrison frowned, looking to her brother as he appeared in the mirror. Speckles instead of stripes, small and spindly, though in Whisper's arms, he was strong. She stroked her hand along his spine. So hard to believe, that this is mine. In the mirror, her nameless brother was mouthing something- mouthing it in a way that Whisper had, long ago. When she still hoped her sound would one day show.

"No one knows," Harrison interpreted. "No one remembers his name anymore."

"Not her?"

"She does not even remember her own," Harrison hummed, "but the others call her Whisper, because that was the last noise she ever made. The last time she ever opened her mouth and preformed the magic of twisting air into sound and sound into music. Just a whisper- and now, even a whisper is too much to ask." He looked over at her as he said that, taking the words from her eyes like no one else could. Rosalind had done this to him. She'd given him this beautiful, terrible curse. But why? It couldn't have been for her. Maybe it was something left over- something Shula or the old Witch hadn't been able to touch- some bit of the old Rosalind protecting Whisper's brother, the big ball of fur.

...Could Harrison hear him? Whisper looked up, her brother groaning silently beneath her.

The boy tugged up his suspenders, striped shirt straightening. He shook his head. "No, I'm sorry... he's..." 

Not human. He was going to say 'not human'. Whisper scowled. 

"I'm sorry! God, Whisper, that's not what I meant. I mean... when I try... everything seems... loose. There's human there, sure, but mostly..." Mostly tiger. Whisper's heart clenched in her chest. The Witch had told her it was for the best. He'd never be a boy again. It was better not to play pretend.

But in the mirror, her brother stared back. Her brother as he was supposed to be- hands instead of paws and small feet. Nails instead of claws. Baby teeth- not fangs.

Rosalind was white, contrasting sharply to the mourning gown she'd made too tight. "You're losing him. After fifty years... why now?"

The boy in the mirror was mouthing something, shapes that Whisper's lips barely remembered to make themselves. Like her, he hadn't spoken in fifty years. Like her, he'd been Other for fifty years. How could he remember his words? The tiger's tufted tail hit her. Harrison and Rosalind turned around.

"What is he saying?" Harrison asked, leaning to see him better.

Whisper wondered if the reflection would speak while the tiger growled when the Circus sound returned. When the- CAROUSEL. CAROU-SEL. CAROU-SEL. That was what he said. Whisper's realization sent Harrison's hands to his head. He covered his ears, though that wouldn't help. The new Marquee boy let out a yelp.

"God, Whisper! That hurts!"

"What, what hurts?" Rosalind asked. Concern crept into her voice. Harrison told her that she needed to fix the Carousel. She needed to fix the Carousel and start the Forever Song again. That would be a start.

"She thinks it's your best chance at getting things back to normal before something awful happens," he explained, pausing, so he could hear the rest of Whisper's thoughts. "And maybe... maybe better. If you can make it so I can hear Stripes, I might be able to tell you how to fix him."

Rosalind nodded and she crouched down in front of them. She offered a hand. "You can't Silence me anymore, I don't think. It's okay." Whisper took her hand, though hers was still dirty and peppered with itty bitty grains of sand. She used her other hand to scratch her brother behind the ear. She was merely ruffling his hair, in the mirror.

The little boy reflected back at them blinked his golden eyes, and then he tried to speak silently again- repeating, over and over again, a name that Whisper couldn't make sense of. One that once must have been hers. His eyes weren't that colour before, she didn't think. And his teeth's tips were not so pointy. But it was him all right, it was him. The arm still slung around the tiger tightened.

"I'm sorry," Rosalind professed, "for all I've done- and then some." She let out a sigh, the smoke and mist on the floor passing them by. She seemed to notice this and sucked in a breath, causing the murk of the room to split, rippling and radiating 'round Rosalind. Another beat, another breath sent the smoke slamming into the witch.

When the smoke broke and the clouds faded away, Rosalind rose, wringing the mourning black from her gown. The mist lingered, swirling around in her skirt like a misty morning and leaving the mourning behind.

 "I... I don't know what got into me there," she started again, stroking shining snout. "Virus or sickness or curse like you said, I'm pretty sure every bit of it is out. I swear I'll make this up to you." 

The black dripped from the lacy hem of her skirt, pooling in a puddle beneath her shoes. Soon, the sludge slogged away, leaving Rosalind free of her blues.

~*~

You have no money left.

Unless you mean to resort to theft.

Of food, you are forever bereft.

That is, until Hecate appears in a puff of smoke.

She offers you a deal.

~*~