The night was shrouded in a thick fog, as if the sky had decided to weep over that forgotten corner of the world. The small town was more alive than usual, every eye fixed on the Magic Shop, the decrepit circus teetering on the brink of collapse, where magic was as real as the pain of those who performed under the tattered tent. The cold air cut to the bone, and the wind howled like a macabre symphony, echoing the anxious whispers of the audience awaiting the show to begin.

Inside one of the aging trailers, you knelt before Jungkook, brush in hand, while he sat in silence. His skin, pale as porcelain under the dim light of the lantern, contrasted sharply with the deep black you were applying around his eyes, intensifying his already shadowy gaze. Jungkook was one of the eight main attractions.

Namjoon, the master of enigmas, whose sharp mind and enigmatic smile kept the audience in constant suspense. Seokjin and Yoongi, the illusionists who manipulated reality, creating and destroying worlds with a simple gesture of their hands. Hoseok, the acrobat whose body seemed to defy gravity and death with every somersault. Jimin, the tightrope dancer, who floated between life and death with a grace that made hearts skip a beat. And Taehyung, the contortionist, whose ability to twist his body into unimaginable shapes provoked shivers and whispers of fear.

You knew each of them, their tragic stories and dark secrets they would never dare to share with the audience. They were the stars of a macabre spectacle, living each night as if it were their last, trapped in an endless dance between glory and despair. Jungkook glanced at you in the mirror, his eyes meeting yours briefly. There was a silent plea, a request for understanding that you recognized but couldn’t answer. In the Magic Shop, everyone was a prisoner of their own story, and you were no exception.