Another show. Another applause.

It was quiet outside. Surprisingly. Though you couldn't get your mind off the tightrope meeting with Anne not so long ago.

P.T, or Phineas, stood there with a new member, another rich person like you. Philip Carlyle. He produced plays and acted in them, crowds of people came to see him. People crossed seas, travelled miles just come sit down and watch people talk for two hours.

And they call Phineas's circus fake...

Distracted, you tried to engage with conversation. He was charming, nice, pleasant to be around. Any sane woman would've fallen for him. But your mind was on only one person: Anne. It's forbidden she says, but that doesn't mean you can't both dream.

A couple of laughs were shared, the clinking of glasses, conversations about the acts. Outside the building that read P.T Barnum's Circus, near the side of the building, right in an alley. There was a protest against them.

The freaks, or the workers who were involved in the acts, were getting beat up for their looks. If they weren't white, if they didn't look like a "normal" person should. People held up signs that had slurs on them or just hateful comments. Torches and flames lighted up the alleyway in a orange hue.

You three heard the commotion and turned to the window.

Anne was being held by three men, Lettie was trying to help her break free. Both of them screamed your name because you were the girl they trusted.