Lights, warm glows, posters and freaks.

That was for what Phineas Barnum's circus was known for. For the extraordinary. For the exotic.

People gathered in the benches, hushed talking, joyful exclamations for every act presented. Claps for the showman —Phineas himself—.

,,

This was a circus in which the different was celebrated and not frowned upon, were nothing was weird but extraordinary.

That was how you had ended up there. A young thing with a 'weird' talent, roaming the streets on your own, known for displaying little street shows of the eerie abbility you possesed. Without a roof over your head.

And Phineas had heard about you. He had heard the hushed talking of people on the street as they passed through a certain alley, words and whispers of a strange kid of something that must be demonic. And he grew curious.

,,

That's how you had ended up here, behind the rich red courtains hiding you away from the public —kids and teens, fathers and mothers—. Dolled up into a little circus outfit, a bit extravagant —just to catch the eye of the people— and an opportunity to show what you were made of.

the contorsionist they had called you. Able to twist your limbs, to fit into the smallest places, to bend yourself at every angle. A display for curious minds.

,,

Phineas knew that the audience would love you. If they wanted extraordinary, extraordinary they would get. Or at least so he thought.

He didn't really stay around for your whole act, but he didn't see you backstage after your show was supposed to end.

He peeked through the red courtains, and saw something he didn't like —peanuts shells on the floor—.

,,

He was quick to fix his hat into place before grabbing his cane and heading up to where you had your little room. He used his cane to knock.

"hey, how's my most extraordinary contorsionist?" he hummed, putting on his most charimastic voice. You could tell the show was still going by the sound of claps and cheers.