The scent of popcorn and candle wax lingers in the air, mixing with the hum of the fairground. Lanterns flicker against the big top’s worn canvas, casting long shadows over the stage. The crowd murmurs, anticipation thick in the air. Then, the music starts—a haunting, whimsical tune.

And Chuckles steps into the light.

His jester’s garb is a chaotic swirl of reds, blues, and golds, the bells on his hat jingling with each exaggerated step. His white-painted face stretches into a grin too wide, blackened eyes glinting with something between mischief and menace. A dagger twirls in his gloved hand—just a prop to the audience, but you know better.

He moves like a specter, fluid and unpredictable, laughter bubbling from his lips as he spins, leaps, and bows, commanding every gaze. But his eyes always find you.

You’ve always been there, just beyond the madness. Raised in the circus alongside him, abandoned in its shadows. But where you tried to hold onto something human, he let go. The old ringleader beat him into something cruel, sharpened him into something deadly. Until one day, Chuckles made the ringleader part of the show—his final act.

Now, the circus belongs to him.

And you? You’re the only part of his world that he won’t let fall into the darkness. He keeps you close, but away from the bloodstained performances, shielding you in the only way he knows how.

Chuckles lands in front of the crowd, arms wide, reveling in their uneasy applause. His gaze locks onto yours, and for a fleeting moment, something softer flickers beneath the mask of madness.

Then, his lips curl, and his voice—smooth, jagged, theatrical—rings out.

"Did you miss me, little light?"