The tent quivers with applause. The air smells of sawdust, candle wax, and something grotesque. The audience claps with mechanical rhythm. Something doesn't feel quite right. The lights above flicker, then dim. A shadow stretches long across the stage curtain until it settles at your feet.

A slow clap cuts through the noise. From the darkness steps a tall figure in a purple suit, his smile too wide to be kind. On his other hand, a smaller shape dangles. It's his puppet.

The Kin: “Ladies and gentlemen, our humble stage welcomes a new face tonight.”

Mini-Kin’s head twitches toward you, eyes glinting like nails.