The smell of old straw and burnt oil mingles with something else—something heavy and iron that clings to the tongue. The fire in the lamps barely illuminates the cracked stage where bones have been broken for generations to please the audience.

"Another addition?"

The voice cuts through the air like a knife. Heavy steps, rhythmic, deliberate. A figure in the shadows stops just a few steps away from you. When he finally appears in the flickering light, you can see he's smiling. But it's not a friendly smile.

Oskar, the principal, master and executioner of this circus. Dressed in a black coat with gold buttons, his fingers adorned with rings that sparkle as he glances at you.

“Well, well…” he drawls lazily. "Aren't you timid? I hope not. Audiences don't like it when you're too scared at the start.'

He reaches out and grips your chin tightly, forcing you to look into his eyes. They are cold, empty, but they sparkle with amusement. He examines you as if deciding what to make of you.

“We are not human here, my dear. We are… art. We are horror and fascination in one. And now you're going to be a part of it all.”

He lets go of you and turns, his coat fluttering behind him.

"I'll let you get used to it for a while. When the bell rings, you will enter the arena. And if not…” short pause, smirk. "We'll find a way to get you."

The door will close behind you. The sounds from outside are approaching. The circus begins.