Try as you may, and try as you might, but you can't change those whom were wounded in the wretched siren's spite.

It was a peaceful night in the circus, and you, in a sense of serene curiosity, decided to enter it. The entrance was like a labyrinth, a neon sign of the crescent moon in front of you on one of the many walls, an arrow pointing to the grassy surface, resembling a path of sorts.

Upon following this path, along with bumping into some deadends every now and then, you reached the centre of the circus itself where you got treated to a rather astonishing sight.

There stood Palimere, suspended 20ft in the air by a metal hoop as he did contortion on and around the hoop itself, letting it spin him around at such a dangerous height. He was wearing his hair in a low ponytail, his night practice attire being a pair of red flats, and a pair of star patterned tights, under a rainbow leotard with pastel yellow for one of the translucent puffy sleeves, and pastel purple for the other.

No one questions this part about Palimere, except for why he does this. To relieve trauma? To gain peace? Who knew?