Circus of Silence

The Veil is Lifted

~*~

Singing proud that horrid song

The Witch lets you know your decision was wrong

You're pulled apart

And glued together

With some evil power

Straight from the nether

~*~

                 Whisper walked, then Whisper wobbled when willowy wrists wrenched unwillingly back, back towards the Carousel. She'd been walking. She'd been wandering like she always did, aimlessly ailing, agonizing about everything in someone else's skin. In her old age, Whisper had acquired a heart of tin.

But tin didn't beat so quickly as her heart did now. Normal legs didn't move with the speed of a plough. Moving. Not moving. Making haste by these means was not at all soothing. It reminded her strangely, somehow of-

Shula.

Teeth gritting, Whisper gave a silent scream. A groan. A growl. With claws she didn't have, she groped at lamp posts, rides, benches and people who vanished into thin air. Into a cloud of sparks, of ash that fluttered away in the wind. Just like her brother had, before all that was left of Whisper and Rosalind's hearts had thinned.

Poof.

Everyone was gone.

And the secret Silent Girl of the Circus Everlasting was alone again.

Alone in time, and space, and motion.

She was a snowflake in a winter's storm she hadn't felt, hadn't experienced in over half a century. She was the racing notes of a song whose tune had been forgotten long ago. She was a war. She was a train. She was a shooting star.

She was alone.

And she was helpless.

Hopeless.

She was alone and under a witch's control. What a fool she had been, to befriend the young woman who so owned her soul!

She wondered if that had been Rosalind's goal.

Reddish hair rippled forward in curls that weren't hers. It beat cheeks that were tanned and weren't quite so mature as her frail, fleshless features. Ones that should have been wrinkled, should have been old, if only all those decades ago, she hadn't been so bold.

If only her free will hadn't been traded and sold. If she'd guarded her poor brother like silver and gold.

Rides whizzed past her. The sweet scents of caramel and candy-coating, delight and despair attacked her nostrils as nostol neared, then slipped away in the chant of the Carousel.

Whirling, twirling, screaming silently as the Carousel horses did not, Whisper came face-to-face with a carny she must have forgot. He dressed in a way she assumed must be modern: blue coat, blue hat, boots tall as long stockings. She'd never seen him before in her walkings.

Rosalind usually claimed souls at the end of the night, just as the sun rose signalling the Circus's close and the poor folks left behind finally realized their plight.

And yet this young man, to her knowledge, had never entered her sight.

A carny.

He had to be- with eyes of gold and a gaping mouth that displayed canine teeth that were just a pinch too long to be coincidental. No unfortunate mutation had given him those. No sad, ugly mother-

But someone Other.

A witch.

And of those, Whisper only knew one.

Though, truth be told, she didn't expect to find her here, clothed in the body of the girl she wore when the Circus closed. She didn't expect to find Harrison there, either. Especially not in the Circus-psychic costume he did so despise. But why on earth had Rosalind shed her disguise?

The Witch stepped forward, something strange painted on her prim, proper face. Fireworks exploded from layers of lace. She said nothing, just frowned at her with such sweet, sweet sympathy painting her rosy lips.

She looked to Harrison, eyes gleaming under his circlet of colourful stars. They left his eyes as her thoughts bombarded him again and again and again. Who. What. Where. When.

Why.

Why had they brought him here, this man who looked so like her-

So like Whisper did, right now. The melody Rosalind had made her gave her red hair, softly curling down her back. Given her freckles and brown eyes that shone golden. And yet... it wasn't that similarity that had her so beholden.

It was... a face from the past. Gone. Lost. Unremembered. This face, though dear, belonged to a ghast.

And yet...

And yet his ears twitched at the sight of her, those gold eyes growing wide. His very hair seemed to stand on end as he rose from his chair and moved closer, closer, leaving Rosalind- who his attention had been fixed on before- behind.

Lips parted, revealing those white, shining fangs.

Tears had troubled her long ago, but those days had gone. These days, she felt nothing. Felt numb. But when he moved towards her- when Rosalind began peeling off the layers upon layers of caked deception from her visage- a silent sob sprung from her. Then a name that fought very hard to come free before a name much louder than 'Whisper' glided past his lips.

~*~

For a tick, you stand in stunned silence

As the passersby gape at you

The old Witch is gone, replaced

By the angel you saw so long ago

On her arm is the redhead you assume is her beau

She laughs at you as tears tumble from forget-me-not eyes

~*~