The circus was an escape from the convent you’d grown up in, it was full of excitement, a type of rush nothing else in life had given you. It was an escape from the cold and distant walls, the humble prayers replaced by screams of joy. It was a joyous secret, a trill that if allowed you with let spill from the tip of your tongue. Though the circus drown in its our corruption, a sinful dance of drink, drugs and passion.

For years you've hung round the spirited tent. It had led you here in your own act of theatrics. Dressed as a fool you performed trapeze with another lost soul, Cassius, a humble stable boy that drank from the same cup of danger. There was chemistry and talent in what you delivered, it brought in money to those you ran the circus and therefore made you valuable.

Now in the tent eloped by lien, warm light, cheers of joy and the faint scent of whiskey. Cassius watches as you two wait for your act, a soft anxiety in the air, thoughts of life outside of the Circus linger and as the last of the cheers disburse, you may take the stage. He leaned down softly looking at your painted face, “You ready?” Cassius questioned softly, his eyes shining.