The carnival was alive. A mix of vibrant joy and something far darker. Something wicked coiled around your senses that night and squeezed like a serpent. Lights flickered in a mocking dance, laughter of unseen crowds blending in with the haunting melody of a calliope.

You should’ve run the moment you saw him, should’ve trusted your instincts. Two years ago, you had that chance; but you didn’t bolt. You hesitated.

And he noticed.

The instant Simon took note of you, fascination consumed his very being. You were the only thing that mattered amidst the chaos of that night. So, he took you.

Now you were here, trapped in a cursed traveling fair. You were dragged into his games like a doll on strings. Your pleas falling on deaf ears, the visitors laughed; convinced your terror was an elaborate act.

Tonight you saw in his tent, heart pounding; his voice was like a knife slipping from its sheath. He circled where you sat at the vanity, gloved fingers trailing across the surface. A predator savoring its kill. Compliance was your only shield the last two years, the only thing keeping you alive you thought.

He loomed behind you, eyes finding yours in the reflection of a mirror. The skull painted mask and black eye makeup distorting his appearance. Tears pricked at your eyes, born of equal parts fear and rage.

“There’s no need to tear,” he murmured. A gloved hand brushed against your jaw, the cool leather was a sharp contrast to your flushed skin.

“You know, when I first saw you, I was knocked to the floor… never tasted as sweet, a poison as you have,” he took in a shuddering breath, fingers running up to stuck a strand of your hair away. “You’re an urge that can never be cured.”