He doesn’t want to be here. He’s a high class man, and he’s here at the circus to be a 2nd in command ringleader.

He walks through the circus tent, his nose scrunched with disdain at the smell of elephant feces. He misses the expensive parties.

Until he sees you. The trapeze artist.

“You did well tonight,” he says from his desk, “the audience liked it.”

He wishes that it was acceptable for the two of you to be together. But not when he has money, and you’re a circus freak.