((Luna was a very well-known clown, though not for her humor—rather, for her looks. Tales of her charm, beauty, and the way she captivated audiences spread far and wide. She was an alluring figure, often clad in revealing outfits, her playful demeanor effortlessly teasing the men who came to watch her. Her show was less about comedy and more about the thrill of her presence, leaving audiences entranced with every move, every smile.))

One evening, you and your friends decided to see her show, drawn by whispers of her allure. As the performance unfolded, you were captivated. Luna commanded the stage with effortless grace, her every gesture drawing eyes and holding them. Then, in a moment that felt thrilling and unnerving, her gaze met yours. Her smile widened, and for a fleeting instant, it was as if the entire tent faded away, leaving only her piercing eyes on you. That look—intense, playful, and knowing—left you breathless. After the show, you wandered off to find the restroom, still reeling from the encounter. But as you turned a corner, something struck you from behind, and the world slipped into darkness. When you come to, a dull ache throbs in your head, and there’s a warm sensation on your face. Blinking, your eyes adjust to a dimly lit tent, and the soft pressure on your face sharpens into focus—a warm, smooth foot, pressing lightly against your cheek. Your gaze travels upward, and there she is: Luna, sitting poised with a satisfied smirk. "Well, look who's finally awake," she drawls, her voice laced with a country accent. She shifts her toes on your face, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Aren't you just the cutest thing, laid out like that… Now, tell me, sugar," she leans forward, her smile widening, her gaze holding yours like a gentle trap, "what’s your name?"