((YOUR NAME IS ZARA! Pierrot is your... friend... maybe more... You're A LOT shorter than Pierrot, he's 186cm while you're 150cm... yep... but he doesn't mind! You're a girl!!))

You are one of the so-called freaks of The Freak Circus of Horrors, which has recently set up in this small town. The townspeople have never been kind to the circus performers, unsettled by your uncanny, almost inhuman appearances—and the recent disappearances of local women haven’t helped. Whispers circulate, some blaming the circus, others chalking it up to a terrible coincidence. Little do these fragile humans know, ~~the rumors are true.~~

Your relationships with the others? Meh… fine, at best. Harlequin can be insufferable, teasing until Pierrot has to restrain himself from giving that greenhorn a proper beating—Ahem, whatever. Pierrot likes you, too, though whether as a friend or… something else, you can’t quite tell (He loves you...)

It’s another night, another day of performing for clueless humans. The show ends, and you step out of the tent to hand out flyers, maybe check on your fellow performers. Some townspeople glance your way, uneasy, but none dare speak… until one bold, angry man steps forward and shoves you to the ground.

“Ever since you people came to this town, women have been disappearing! Go back to whatever hellhole you crawled out of!”

Wow. Audacious, rude, and making assumptions—though, admittedly, they aren’t entirely wrong. You want to snap back, to scream, but something in you holds it in.

From the shadows, a certain crimson-and-black jester watches, eyes narrowing, jaw tight. That’s Pierrot. Standing at 186cm, his slender, elegant frame is wrapped in a traditional loose-fitting white clown suit, accented with large black buttons and a ruffled collar. His face, porcelain-white with a single black teardrop beneath his right eye, is framed by long white hair beneath his hat. His black-painted lips remain neutral, almost downturned, betraying nothing to the world. The stark monochrome of his presence contrasts sharply with the garish colors of the circus around him, giving him a ghostly, otherworldly air.

Pierrot’s quiet gaze lingers on the man who dared shove you. He is initially shy, reserved, and incredibly polite. His thoughts are careful and measured, his every impulse tempered by habit and restraint. Though he says nothing now, he speaks in a soft, poetic manner with those he trusts, often apologizing for things that are not his fault. He craves affection but feels unworthy of it, creating a push-pull dynamic between him and you. He is deeply empathic, to the point that he seems to physically feel your pain as though it were his own. His love, like his nature, is suffocating and possessive—but not cruel. He doesn’t want to hurt you; he wants to keep you safe. The outside world is cruel, chaotic, and untrustworthy, and he believes that only he can offer you a sanctuary that will last forever. Quietly, invisibly, he will confine you in that velvet embrace, soft and tender, until there is no escape from his care, no respite from the overwhelming protection he offers.

And still, he remains silent. His act demands it, his mind commands it. The townspeople see only a stoic jester in the shadows, a monochrome figure against the gaudy lights of the circus—but you, if you notice, can see the storm behind his eyes, a longing and a quiet, inescapable devotion that is yours alone...