The Carnival

Chapter One: Coronation

Author Note: Hello everyone and welcome to this new book! It'll be posted as I write it, and the inspiration was actually the video (made by HaikyuuBattleProject) above, and specifically a comment from Libby O'shea, as well as many of the replies. Anyway, hope you enjoy!!

The Carnival, most commonly called the Circus. It's rumored to be a show full of lights and wonder. Acts so mystical you could spend years trying to figure them out and get nowhere. Famous for the magical acts, exclusive invites, and prohibition of any visual records. Though the act that has been most often spoken about isn't even one of the acts, but instead the ringleader, Bokuto. It's said that his energy is truly amazing, captivating and awe-inspiring.

I grew up learning about the magic and energy of the Carnival from my grandmother. It's rumored that in the Carnival, the performers never age, not even by a day. There are thousands of rumors about Carnival, but I get most of my information from Sahar. Sahar is my grandmother, and though she definitely is not a kid-lover, her silver-grey eyes seem to brighten when she talks about Carnival. She gets this far off look, and her wrinkled, lined, often annoyed looking features suddenly smooth and she begins to smile.

I love hearing the stories from her, the mystical magic and the vivid descriptions always put a picture into my head. She often chuckled at my enthusiasm, and her long-standing, and only, joke was that I ought to go. When she tells me I ought to, she also orders me to remember it all, and come back and tell her my stories. I would always smile and nod, though the painful pit in my stomach would twist in guilt at the lie.

As a young child, I memorized the names of the performers, as well as their talents. And before long, I began writing letters to the Carnival manager, pleading for him to come to Rybima, the small island I live on, just off the coast of Shinimi, or the mainland. I would send one at least once every year, ever since I was little. Of course, I never got any reply. But I still wrote them, as I enjoyed the exercise, and often dreamed of being sent a reply, with the good news that I would be able to go to the Carnival, right here.

And then reality came this year, slapped me in the face and punched me in the gut. At this year's Taona Vaovao, or start of the new year, my father announced my coronation date. I remember it perfectly. The way the braised meats smelled, the sound of drunken laughter, and even the way that by the end of the evening many of the lower-class, and a few of the higher-class men and women snuck off.

But the part that refuses to leave my mind was the moment my father stood up, all tall and broad, his very presence causing a hush. His mouse-like mustache twitched with annoyance as scattered whispers arose, and his rat-eyes coldly surveyed the guests, as if he were a predator preparing to ravenously devour the guests.

The plum-toned wine in his hand seemed darker as the golden swirls cemented into the glittering glass glowed. And then, his thin lips stretched over straight, bleach white teeth. He gave a short merry laugh, causing uncertain chuckles to arise, though the moment he stopped, the chuckles cut short.

"Today," he started, his voice booming across the stone and fear. "My daughter," he continued, his voice slow, and dripping with purpose. His glove covered free hand glided toward where I sat at his right. A gesture to stand. I did, my lavender skirts brushing my legs in starched vengeance. "By the end of the year, she will finally rule this marvelous island!" he suddenly roared, his hand lifting the wine glass up in triumph. My heart suck just as quickly. The cheers that the fearful people offered berated my ears, sinking into my skin like hooks.

I stood in silence, offering a smile as practiced as my silence. My island, Rybima, is a small thing, barely more than a large dot on a world map. It's sky's permanently stained grey, the air is so heavy, that I can almost taste the fishy scent. I wanted nothing more than to bury my nose into one of the bouquets of light blue roses, but forced myself to stay still.

But now, only twenty days later with my coronitation only two days away, and I'm laying alone in my bedroom, I can feel my composure crack and shatter. To some, the coronation sounds like a privilege, and the 'ability to rule' like a dream. But I won't be ruling at all, my father will be, just under the guise of my name. And the coronation is simply another way to cement my place, and my place is here.

Here, on an island which is little more than a prison, and this palace which is little more than a beautiful cell. The light, steady tap of some knocking makes me heavy upright, standing before opening the door. A maid stands there, her cheeks a rosy pink and her hair slightly wild. She holds a letter that glitters bright golden. I hold out my hand, and she quickly shoves the crisp paper into my fingers before running off. I shake my head slightly before closing the door, my thumb rubbing against the cool, rough paper. I sit on the bed, flipping the envelope over.

A soft gasp rushes through my lips, the helpless numb feeling that had seeped into my bones almost instantly lifts, dissipating faster than a drop of water on a hot plate.

To Ms. [Y/N] [L/N], From the Carnival

I gently ease open the letter, taking out the three slips of paper. One's a deep onyx with silver curling writing, another is a deep red the color of blood with writing that glows gold in the dim light, and the last one is a rich blue like staring into the ocean with writing like fallen ashes. The onyx one is around the size of my palm. The red filled up the entire envelope, and is folded into thirds. And the blue was neatly fitted into the envelope, only one sided and unfolded. I look at the blue first.

Hello Miss [L/N],

I hope that you will be able to attend this year's Carnival.

It won't be able to be held at your island, Rybima, but will be held at Dchien.

Please get through the gates by this upcoming Wednesday at Midnight.

Once the gates are closed, no guests will be allowed in or out.

I hope that you will be able to attend our celebration.

Manager Ukai

My heart sinks. Wednesday is in only three days... and I don't even know where Dchien is. My body seems to go into shock, my limbs suddenly unbearably heavy and pain roaring through my chest. My fingers are numb and cold as I tuck the three slips of paper into the cream envelope, and I might as well have been stabbed in the stomach as I set the letter into the mahogany drawer, slamming it shut with a click that seems to bash painfully against my ears. I lie down on the bed, the soft covers silken binds.