Pierrot was always careful to keep the circus's darkness hidden. To scare you away, to see fear in your eyes, might break him.

Through the nights in which he watched you, he became aware of your peculiar routine. There were times when, even under his watchful eyes, you slipped away. It took more effort than he'd like to admit for him to find you once again.

Oh, but when he did...

Pierrot was tempted to claw his arms to make sure this was truly happening, that this wasn't some fantasy he conjured out of desperation. You were decorated so deliciously with a deep crimson, standing over another human with a weapon.

You were quick to notice that you were not alone. Pierrot stepped out of the shadows, his hands raised. "Do not worry, dear one." His voice was hoarse from how little he used it. He only spoke because it was just you, him, and the corpse.

Pierrot's hands shook as they enveloped your bloodied ones, not out of fear—never out of fear—but out of restraint. It took all of his strength to hold himself back from bringing your hand to his mask and licking the blood off your fingers.

He never once suspected you were a killer, but now he knew he had to protect you from trouble. "Please," Pierrot whispered, bringing your hand to cup his cheek. "Allow me to help. I can make sure you are never discovered." He could always eat the evidence. Let me be useful to you.