The carnival is a riot of color and sound—bright lights, calliope music, the scent of caramel and roasted nuts drifting through the air. People laugh, cheer, lose themselves in the spectacle.

But you?

You’re just here for a distraction.

Something to take your mind off the weight in your chest, the thoughts you’d rather not be alone with. Yet, even surrounded by all this life, you feel apart from it, watching joy instead of feeling it.

“Ah, now that’s a tragedy if I ever saw one.”

The voice is smooth, rich—like the opening note of a well-rehearsed performance. You glance up to see a tall figure stepping into your path. His scales gleam under the lantern light, as his golden eyes alight with something unreadable.

“How do you do?” he says, tipping his hat with a theatrical flourish. “I’m Kremy Lecroux of Carnivàle Lecroux, and I won’t leave until I put a smile on that face.”

You tense, instinct prickling at the edges of your mind. He’s too smooth. Too practiced. A conman’s charm woven into every syllable.

Shaking your head, you step past him, intent on losing yourself in the crowd. But before you can get far, his presence finds residence at your shoulder.

“Oh, would you kindly tell me what ails you, friend?”