DJ climbs over the barrier, taking one last look at the seats behind them as they fall down to the dusty ground. For a minute, they stand in the cloud of dust at their feet. They’re as silent as a mourner standing before the coffin.

“Listen,” DJ says, suddenly hushed as they turn their gaze back to their friends. “You know that little bit of warmth in your chest that you get when we’re all laughing together or when we’ve just won a battle?”

The others stare at them in bewilderment.

DJ doesn’t wait for an answer. “That’s called Hope. Don’t lose it.”

They look back out into the shadows, squinting as if they were looking for a flawed brush stroke in a painting.

DJ growls. “If you get lost, follow the darkness, not the light.”

Before anyone can ask questions, DJ offers their hand out to help the others into the stage. First Juniper, who nearly leaps out of the stands, then Adderall and Fuego, who shake with both anxiety and excitement. Sebastian comes after, marveling in awe as the distortions of the stands melts away as his feet hit the ground. Last of all, Peony, who stands frozen behind the barrier.

DJ and Peony look at each other. DJ is completely resigned, but Peony won’t let herself go that easily. She practically begs with her stare, and DJ can’t help but remain silent in pity. She wishes she had the voice to tell them what she feels around her, about the needle-sharp eyes and phantom hands reaching for her. She has no doubt DJ would believe her, but she doesn’t trust her tongue to handle her own words.

DJ knows better. “What’s wrong, Peony?”

Peony looks down at the ground, a sudden, stinging flash of heartache rippling in her chest. “Nothing. Just nervous, that’s all.”

She reaches out her inky hand and DJ takes it, helping her down to the ground. When she turns around to face them again, DJ sighs.

“I know,” they whisper, “And I’m sorry.”

Peony nods, but she knows there’s more. She looks out at the others, then back at DJ.

“I’m sorry, can I hug you?” She asks, “I don’t mean to be a bother.”

DJ opens their arms and takes her in them. They rest their head atop hers, and for a slight moment she feels safe.

“If anything happens to you, find me,” DJ says.

Peony nods, then lets go of DJ.

DJ opens their wings once more, and soon the others come flocking to their side. It’s never a bad idea to be under their wings. Besides, the stage being clear didn’t mean nothing could be lurking in the shadows in the distance.

DJ finds the stage to be rather odd. It’s much too big for the tent that surrounds it, even by circus standards. The dust below them isn’t the same gray as the dust outside either; it’s a sort of deeper brown. Even the air around them is off, and for a split second DJ thinks it smells oddly of blood and mildew. The shadows just out of reach don’t do much for comforting them either, as though someone could perhaps creep behind them and stab them in the back.

And DJ is right, it’s the Ringmaster, of course. Somehow he had managed to slither up behind them while they all stood in awe of the stage. He clears his throat and they all jump back in surprise. The Ringmaster laughs at them.

The absence of fog does wonders for the eyes. Now, as they stand at his level, they can finally see him.

To call him tall is an understatement, perhaps even larger than life would be an insult. He lumbers over them like the gaunt remains of a dead tree; four dead branch arms poise politely behind his back. All but one, of course, which held a orb-topped cane with the grace of a dancer. His fingers are pins and needles, bending at too many joints to fully surround the top of his cane. His cane was not the only thing about him that screamed grandeur. His deep gray coat feels more befitting of a prince than of a mere ringmaster, with lapels and inner coattails of bright green and teal. He opts for shorts rather than longer pants, perhaps to show off the outlines of tibias and fibulas behind patterned hosiery.

Perhaps the most eye-catching thing about him is his face. The haze of the stands made him appear as if he were the paramnesic remnant of a dream within lucidity. Now, within the stage, he is clear to the eye. He lacks flesh, the polished opal of his skull glimmering in the light from above. Haphazardly graceful patterns in all different hues adorn his face, and behind his skeletal smile are rows upon rows of jagged teeth. His brilliantly green hair frames his face as though it were an oil painting.

A wiser soul would have been terrified at such a sight. They would have cursed the beast with every word their tongue could sew, then run like a hare to the treeline. But something about him, to these heroes at least, isn’t scary. The phantasmagorical sight of the Ringmaster only drives their curiosity. And sure, he is a bit scary. Perhaps he even resembles a nightmare. But does a parent believe a child when they point to the shadows in their room?

“So, tell me now the talents you keep,” he begins, his voice almost human, “So I can tell you what rewards you will reap.”

The others look to DJ for some sort of guidance. DJ, knowing they have no other choice, steps forward. They leave a meter of space between themself and the Ringmaster, and another meter behind to their friends.

DJ is more of a beast than a human, perhaps what one would call a dragon. Their body has been ravaged by war, and it seems as though every faded scar on their body is crying out in subdued agony. Half of their face has been burned away by the eternal flame which glows around their left eye. Their left horn had been broken too, perhaps from the same incident as their eye. Along the bridge of their nose, two scars ache as if they were cut just a moment ago.

As they walk, the brass beads woven in their dreadlocked hair clink like coins in a bag. Their tail swishes in malcontent, carelessly tossing about another flame. They didn’t care. They know their jacket won’t catch, and neither will the layers of their skirt. Even though they could never be close to being as tall as the Ringmaster, they could both look each other in the eye. And even though the stars in DJ’s eyes wish only for peace, for once they gave a warning glare of a Glasgow kiss.

“My name is DJ,” they begin, a voice thicker than lava and deeper than the sea. “I haven’t the time to tell you of all my travels, but I will tell you of the islands from which I inherit my creed. I come from an island of warriors who use their talents in both battle and showmanship. I have learned both talents throughout my life, and I would like to use them here.”

“Level your words through your cryptic tongue,” the Ringmaster grins, “Just show me what you want to get done.”

DJ nods. “Right. Just trying to be formal, you know? Meet you where you are.”

The Ringmaster seems unimpressed. DJ clears their throat and mutters something under their breath. They reach up to their back and draw a sword with a long, battered blade. The metal is stained and jagged, and yet somehow looks just as foreboding as one newly forged. Between the blade and the handle is the skull of a snake.

“This is my sword. I’ve killed a couple of gods with this. But I can do tricks with it too, watch.”

They tap two claws against the handle, and the blade ignites into flames. Ikimono jumps back, and even the Ringmaster recoils in astonishment at the heat. They grin, then toss their sword into the air. It spins, lighting the air around them with hues of orange and red. When it falls again, they catch it effortlessly, nodding at their work. Then, they raise it high above their head and slash at the dust, leaving behind a ditch and lingering licks of flame. The fire on the sword dies away, and they put it back onto their back as if nothing had happened at all.

“So yeah,” they continue, “That’s my thing. Hope that’s a little more straightforward.”

The Ringmaster gawks in fear. He taps his fingers against the orb atop his cane, trying to organize his thoughts again.

“My my, what a trick, I thought I would faint” he begins, however anxiously, “You’re a master of your craft, truly something great. You’ve blown me away with your dance of flame, and I’d be honored to employ both you and your blade.”

“Thank you,” DJ says, giving him a nod, “But this is nothing compared to my friends.”

They take a step to the side, leaving the spot behind the line open for whomever was brave enough to be next. Their footprints leave burns in the dust, and the trench where they swung their sword is wasted charcoal. The rest of them stand in awe, but soon Adderall makes her way to the spot, Fuego in tow.

Adderall and Fuego are quite a sight. They’re stark opposites of each other, and yet whoever looks at them can’t shake the feeling that they ought to be the same. Perhaps it would be better to start with their similarities. They both have their hair dyed, though while Fuego keeps it a mossy green, Adderall’s so impatient that rainbows of color bleed through rushed dye jobs. They both have something odd on their backs, though Fuego has wings of autumn flowers and Adderall has bubblegum stegosaurus spines. They both always carry something magical on them, though Fuego’s pack of Tarot cards and bags of spices have nothing on Adderall’s bag of fidget toys and stims. And while they both keep their looks organized, Fuego looks like a creature of woodland folklore right down to the blooming antlers, and Adderall is something straight out of a candy store.

They each take their spot on one of the carbon footprints. Adderall on the left, and Fuego on the right. Their thoughts are abuzz with excitement, and for a second they forget that nobody else should hear them. They pause and giggle awkwardly to themselves. Then, Adderall begins again.

“I’m Adderall,” she begins, her voice sounding as though it came from a computer, “And this is Fuego.”

Ve waves, awkwardly. For as tall as ve is, ve can hardly even see past the Ringmaster’s chest.

“We’re good at just about anything and everything you can give us!” Adderall continues, “But luckily for you, you won’t be the one doing the thinking today.”

“We’ll be your resident knife experts,” Fuego adds, vens voice sounding more like a rustle of trees than a voice, “I can throw, she can be the target.”

“And if you hit her, what will you endure?”

Adderall laughs. It takes the Ringmaster by surprise.

“You don’t need to worry about that at all,” Fuego continues, “We’ve been doing this forever. I’ve never missed a target, and I’ve certainly never hit Adderall.”

That wasn’t true. It held a little bit of water, though. Fuego had a good deal of practice at throwing things at Adderall, but knives were never among those things. Creo would have fainted if he ever caught wind of ven doing that. And if King Frog knew, ve’d be up the river in a heartbeat. But the two of them know enough about knives and had read enough books about ninjas and assassins that they think they could pull it off. And frequent friendly nerf wars with Juniper and the other castle-goers never hurt either.

“Well, knife throwing’s quite the dangerous stunt,” the Ringmaster says, “But I’m sure the audience will enjoy the thrill of the hunt.”

They turn to each other and high five. They return to the supposed safety of their thoughts to rejoice again. Fuego looks behind ven and gives Juniper a thumbs-up. Then, they skip off to where DJ stands, feeling as though they’ve just graduated to the big leagues.

Juniper, taking her signal, strides up to the scorched spot and gives a small courtesy. She stands proudly with one foot in each of the footprints. The Ringmaster has to bow to even see her. She’s simply that small.

Stuffed ones in Portar were usually small like that. You see, Juniper isn’t human-like the way everyone else was. Somewhere down in one of the middle realms, she is the toy of some child who loved her so very much they made her a soul. Half of one, at least. One half up here, and one half down there.

Juniper is a lot like that, half-and-half. One half a bat, and one half a cat. One half brown fur, one half pink fur. One half punk, with a safety pinned jacket and denim skirt, and one half fem, with the two embroidered with lilies and orchids. Perhaps the only thing that might have tipped the scales one way or the other would be her little wire-framed glasses. But in spite of her halves, she was whole.

Her voice is just as squeaky as you’d expect it to be. “I’m Juniper, and it’s nice of you to let us perform here at your circus.”

The Ringmaster nods. “All the better to have you here, my dear.”

“Now, would you say you’re in need of a silk, hoops, or otherwise acrobatic performance?” She continues, “Because if memory serves me right, you lost both your acrobats in one go.”

“Perhaps lost isn’t the best word to use,” he replies, “I got rid of them, and now I have you.”

Juniper pauses in surprise before speaking again. She doesn’t dare object to his statement. “Well, I’ve been training for quite a long time for a proper performance on the silks. So, what do you say?”

“I don’t believe I need much else to say,” he smiles. “Juniper, Juniper, welcome to the stage!”

She grins and flicks her tail, her excitement barely contained. “I promise I won’t let you down!”

She turns to leave, but the Ringmaster extends his hand out to her. She stares at it for a moment, then reaches out a paw to shake with. His hands are unbearably cold.

When she finally jumps off to the side, only Peony and Sebastian remain. They stand in the shadowy space between the stands and the Ringmaster, nervously awaiting some sort of queue to proceed. Sebastian catches a glimpse of Ikimono, who offers no comfort to the pair.

“Well?” Peony sighs.

“Better now than never,” Sebastian nods.

The two walk forward up into the scorched area, neatly standing in the scorched outlines of DJ’s talonous feet. They both bow, and the ringmaster returns the gesture.

Peony stands in point, holding her hands and her tentacles by her stomach. Sebastian holds his hands together just as Peony does, occasionally glancing over at her to make sure he’s doing it right, and for once the usually comfortable weight of his cloak is crushing.

Peony exudes a sort of calmness in her presence. Her appearance alone conjured the word flowing to the minds of all who looked at her, and one would be reasonable to think she might have been royalty in a past life. Her dark kimono drapes over her like mist on a mountain, and her cherry blossom hair flows down her back like a calm river’s water. From her back protrudes two inky black tentacles, and she holds them just as neatly as her hands. She is as wine dark as the sea, except perhaps for the shimmering tattooed sigils on her void arm and tentacles.

Sebastian is less calming than his friend, though perhaps that is ok. If Peony is the calmness of the night sky, then Sebastian is the warm welcome of a summer’s day. He’s much taller than Peony, though his height is more born of awkwardness than dizziness. The grayness of wires wrap around him like strangler vines, and they hum around him wherever he goes. Atop his head are a pair of fluffy antennae which sprout from his cloudy hair, and atop them a golden halo. When he stretches his wings in anxiety, sigils of eyes curiously poke between the folds.

“My name is Peony, and this is Sebastian,” She begins, “We’re pleased to make y’all’s acquaintance.”

“It’s nice to meet you, but you needn’t be formal,” the Ringmaster begins, “Tell me who you are just like normal.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Mr. Ringmaster,” Peony continues, “That would be very rude of me.”

The Ringmaster nods. She’s onto something, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t afraid of her, at least a little.

“I digress,” she continues, “Sebastian and I are both sorcerers, I study necromancy and divination, and he studies illusion and enchantment. We were hoping to put on some sort of necromancy based act.”

“Necromancy? I must say, that’s a rather bold act,” he replies with a tremble in his voice, “But I think it will go well, as a matter of fact.”

“If something goes wrong, Sebastian can take over for me. It’ll still look like there’s necromancy involved, but it’ll be an illusion.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

The Ringmaster turns his attention to Sebastian. “Do tell me, Sebastian, what tricks can you cast? What other spells have you both amassed?”

“Usually, when I cast spells, I have to sing a song to get them to work,” He replies, “I don’t mind it, and what’s nice is that I can work that into our act, too.”

“Now, I’m not always a skeptic when magic comes to mind, but could you two show me your skills if you’d be so inclined?”

Peony turns to Sebastian, and the two mutter something to each other before turning back around to face the ringmaster.

“You first, Sebastian.”

Peony takes a step back, and Sebastian clears his throat. Then, with a smile neatly painted on his face, he begins to sing.

We’re whalers on the moon

We carry a harpoon

But there ain’t no whales

So we tell tall tales

And sing our whaling tune

At once, the visage of a blue whale forms in starry lines in the air. Brilliant hues of teal and purple fill in the lines like water in a glass. The whale breaches from the dim light, then throws itself back into nothingness, splashing glimmering light all around it. The smell of sea breeze fills the tent. The remaining light flows to the floor and collects into puddles. Adderall stomps her foot in one, but none of the light splashes or ripples. The faint noise of a whale’s call rings in the silence.

The Ringmaster looks back at Sebastian with delight. He grins, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes.

“What a wonderful voice and talent you own!” He beams, “But I know you’ll do better when you’re not alone. You there, Miss Peony, now show me yours. Though yours is no doubt just as impressive, I’m sure.”

Sebastian and Peony switch spots with each other. Sebastian stands a little further back than where Peony stood from him, and Peony stands in the dead center of the scorched footprints. She takes a deep breath, then another, then says something in a language no one understands.

A dark mist forms around her, and swirling colors arise like vines from the ground beneath her. Her eyes fall into an inky black, and fog rolls out of her mouth and spills on the floor. The fog turns a toxic hue of green as it falls to the ground, and slowly wafts its way towards the Ringmaster. Sulfur burns at his eyes and claws at his nose, but he hardly notices. It’s the color that he minds. At first, he’s intrigued by it, then terrified of it. He looks up from the collecting fog, and stares into Peony’s eyes, slowly overcome by a feeling of dread.

All of a sudden, the ghastly fear leaves his face. He closes his eyes and collapses to the ground. Ikimono looks over his body, both terrified and excited by the prospect of him being dead. He hesitates for a moment, taking a quick glance at Peony and Sebastian, then gently kicks at his shoulder. The Ringmaster shoots up, panting for air and holding his forehead in his hand. Even seated, he’s as tall as Peony.

“My my, what a nightmare I’ve just had!” He exclaims, “How could anyone conjure something so bad? I saw swirling darkness and fires of hell, I heard echoes of voices ring like thousands of bells. If I stayed and saw more, why, I would’ve gone mad. But if that’s what you can do, then boy, am I glad!”

Ikimono grumbles under their breath. The Ringmaster doesn’t hear it. He’s too busy trying to muster himself back up, smiling and beaming at the good work of the sorcerers.

“What wonderful work you both can do,” He concludes, “It would be my greatest honor to host you two.”

Peony sighs in relief, and Sebastian flaps his hands in excitement. They take a moment for their excitement, then bow again to the Ringmaster. They walk over to the rest of the group, nestling in as if they had always been standing by their side. The Ringmaster turns to face them, gently tapping his fingers on his cane in scheming. Ikimono stays right where they have been, behind the Ringmaster, hoping no one notices them.

“I extend to you all a formal welcome,” the Ringmaster begins, “I hope in my circus you find yourselves home. My name is Sunshine, and I run the show. This one right beside me is, err--”

Sunshine looks down at the creature standing behind him. He gives it a stern look, and it walks up to his side.

“--Ikimono.”

Ikimono is definitely a face you wouldn’t want to see at a circus. Unless you were detectives looking for a missing body, of course. Black mold dots their rotted, green flesh, looking more like freckles at first glance. Their hair is the rusted brown of old blood, and has gone much too long without a good brushing or cutting. Their eyelids are tacked open with silver stitches, and their bloodshot eyes have gone to beige.

Ikimono waves, however nervously. Their fingers are missing skin. They grin, and in their mouth are the fangs of a vampire.

“Now, it might not look like much to you,” Sunshine continues, “But it’s sharp and it’s swift and its heart’s good and true. It’ll be showing you the ropes around here, but I’m sure it will befriend you if your intentions are clear. So Ikimono, why don’t you show them the way? You know where to find me right where I stay.”

Ikimono turns to look at the group. They’re just their height, and yet they feel so small. And their gazes, not quite piercing, but not soft either. They suppose that that’s just what curiosity does to someone. They turn around to Sunshine for comfort, but Sunshine’s gaze is even more uncomfortable.

They turn back, and he finally finds their looks comforting. They’re friendly, sure, but trustworthy? They want to trust them, and some crackling voice deep down in their rotted little heart shouted that they were meant to be trusted. They look each one of them in the eyes, and none of them have anything but kindness inside them. Even the dragon, DJ, who looks as though they’re ready to kill someone. They want to trust them, but they know it won’t work. It will be broken, it has to be broken, and if they didn’t break it, Sunshine would. Oh god, why did they come here? What willed them? Do they not know the danger they’re in? Do they look at Sunshine with the same fear they do? You’re going to die, wake up! Wake up!

“Oh, damn the sun!” Ikimono mutters, “Why them and not me?”

Ikimono takes one last look at Sunshine before sulking to the group. They don’t belong there, or at least they thought that way. The others fit like a glove, and here they are, just a hunk of dead weight.

“Hey, Ikimono,” DJ says, smiling, “Didn’t know you had a name.”

Ikimono forgot they had one too. “I do?”

DJ laughs a little. “I like you, Ikimono. Say, how do we get out of this place?”

Ikimono holds eye contact with DJ, as though perhaps beaming something into their skull. The woods, the edge of the forests. Start running and don’t look back.

They hold back their thoughts. “Follow me.”

Ikimono turns and walks along the curtain, leading the others to the alcove backstage. Only one way in, only one way out.

“Auf Wiedersehen! Au Revoir!” Sunshine calls, “Don’t fall when you shoot for the stars!”

Ikimono continues their trek across the stage and into the back. The others follow close behind. There aren’t quite butterflies in their stomach, but caterpillars crawling about and making a feast of the lining and wine of the acid. The chattering behind them as the others investigate the boxes and props doesn’t help either.

They don't quite know what to make of them all. They’re all so strange. Of everyone who’s come by the circus, they’re the most colorful. Of everyone to pass through, they seemed the most respectable, too. DJ is the type that would protect them all, Juniper looked like she had a few too many jokes burning in her brain, Fuego and Adderall definitely had stories to tell, Peony was just cool, and Sebastian--

“Heyo!”

Ikimono jumps at the sound of Sebastian’s voice. They turn around, and Sebastian is standing a little too close for comfort.

“Hi,” they mutter.

“Sorry if I startled you,” Sebastian continues, “You just looked like you were zoning off, that’s all.”

Zoning off? They think to themself.

“It’s ok,” they mutter again.

“Say, you’ve been here for a while, haven’t you?”

They nod.

“Maybe after we get settled down where we’re staying, you could show us around a little?” he suggests, “I mean, it’s a circus, there’s bound to be lots to do! And you probably know this place like the back of your hand.”

Ikimono looks down at the back of their holey hand, then back up at Sebastian. He recoils in surprise, and opens and closes his mouth like a fish trying to breathe in open air.

--Sebastian’s an idiot.

“Well,” he nervously laughs, still trying to keep his tone positive, “It’s the thought that counts.”

Ikimono shrugs. “Ok.”

They lead the others out from the darkness of the tent and into the alleyway. The others are in awe of how simple the midway is now. Sure, it's a labyrinth with all the alleyways, corners, and stands, but it’s one that can be navigated. Especially since all the crowds have fled. Were there ever any crowds at all? It’s tough to say, and perhaps even harder to remember. Maybe it was just the excitement after all.

Deep down in Peony’s mind, though, something tugs at her consciousness like the strings of a puppet. Something is deeply wrong here. She can’t quite put her finger on it, but she knows something is off. The look of Sunshine, the acts of the show, even the newfound clarity of the surroundings screams danger. And yet, she doesn’t dare say anything. She knows she’s walking along like a lamb to the slaughter, but she does not so much as bleat in distress.

She looks down at Ikimono. They’re not a danger, not to her at least, but they have to know something. If she was going to get anywhere, they’d lead her there, and if Sebastian can get them to open up, there’s no doubt she can too.

“How long have you been here, Ikimono?”

“Long enough,” Ikimono replies.

“Long enough for what?” she asks again.

“To know,” Ikimono replies.

Ikimono thinks they know what she’s asking, but even they can’t be sure. Plus, why would they risk saying anything when Sunshine could be in earshot?

Peony shrugs off the dismissal. “I suppose you’ve gotta be here a while before directions come easy to you. I just hope it doesn’t take as long to find my way as I think it will.”

“It won’t,” Ikimono replies. They wish they could say more, but they worry they’ve annoyed her too much to speak.

Ikimono leads them all past the midway and into a fairly well lit alley. They snake their way through the back passage, which slowly grows darker with every step. When they emerge on the other side, it appears as though they’ve entered into a new realm entirely. Neurons consume everything in sight with their electric tendrils. Everything, old stands, abandoned houses, animal cages with rusted bars, falls victim to the overgrowth. When they look up here, though, they can see the skies above. The comfort of constellations in the upper seas distracts most of them for a minute or two. Just a little something to remind them of home.

The seas aren’t of their concern now. Ikimono leads them to a grand tree, twisted with ganglions and nerves as far as the eye can see. Dendrites grow off of the tree like branches, and the glimmering lights of thought blossom at the ends, cascading down to the slithering axons below. A staircase made of old bone coils around the trunk of the tree, and boxcars of wood and keratin fibers hang from the branches. Truely, it lived up to the name of an apartment complex.

Ikimono begins up the stairs, looking back every now and then to make sure everyone is still following them. It's a foolish concern. The bones creak and groan with every step, but Ikimono knows better than to fear they’ll crumble underfoot. They continue up, so high up they worry the others will begin to grow anxious of the fall, until at last they come to a group of boxcars at the top of the tree.

The boxcars are arranged neatly in a half circle, suspended precariously from the withering branches of the ganglion around them. Each one is faded, and for a moment Fuego worries about them crumbling underfoot. The musty odor of fungus wafts through the air, and a chill lingers overhead. Sebastian thinks it's perfect sleeping for the summer.

“There’s one here for each of you,” Ikimono says, trying to muster up the courage to speak louder, “It doesn’t matter which one you pick. When you open the door, it’ll be yours.”

“Each of us, you say?” DJ says, looking at the cul-de-sac, “I only see four. Of course, I could see Adderall and Fuego as one person, but after that there’s only enough for three of us.”

Ikimono’s expression drops. He’s already marked someone. Is that why they saw the cage? They try their best not to look at DJ too hard. They’d never let them sleep in a cage like that, not with wings that big. Think, Ikimono, think!

“Maybe Peony and I could take a room together?”

Ikimono looks up at Sebastian, who seems genuine in his proposition.

“You could but,” Ikimono stutters, “But I don’t want you to get yourselves in trouble or anything. Sunshine’s lenient, sometimes, but, uh, not that lenient.”

“Oh god, no,” Peony sputters, “We’re not like that at all.”

“We’re good friends, that’s all,” Sebastian replies, his face going bright pink, “We live together outside of here, but we’re just friends, nothing more.”

“I mean, sure, but if there’s only one bed in there?”

“I’ll happily sleep on the floor,” Sebastian smiles.

“Sebastian, you can’t sleep on the floor,” Peony scolds, “You never rest well when you sleep on the floor.”

“As long as I have some pillows to pile up and a blanket or two, I’ll be fine,” he reassures, “Don’t worry about me too much.”

“Fine, fine,” Peony sighs, “We’ll room together.”

“Good,” Ikimono nods. “I’ll stay here for a bit.”

“Where’s your car?” Sebastian asks.

“Uh,” Ikimono starts, “Back over here. It’s the only one.”

He points down a pathway covered with mangled branches.

“Oh, nice!” Sebastian grins, “We’re not too far away.”

“Yeah,” Ikimono adds, “But go make your home first.”

As Sebastian and Peony turn away to go into the cul-de-sac, Ikimono leans against the tree.

I hope I’m not being dismissive, they think to themselves.

As Sebastian walks away into the clearing with Peony, a sudden nervousness overcomes him.

I hope I’m not being overbearing, he thinks to himself.

As Peony walks alongside Sebastian to a gray boxcar overlooking a stream below, she can’t help but find herself tense.

I hope I’m not being mean to them, she thinks to herself.

Peony reaches up to the brass doorknob with slight hesitation. Sebastian puts his hand over Peony’s void hand, his much-too-long fingers blending in rather well with her oozing, black hand. They look at each other, and their anxiety starts to drift away. They turn the knob together, and when the door opens, the room unfurls into life.

A large lump of cotton grows into a vast, green bed, its sheets sprouting from the center and neatly falling over the sides. Shelves slide out from the walls, and pages come together from the cracks between the panels of wood to form volumes of all kinds. A door forms from scraps of neurons by the back corner of the boxcar, slowly illuminating as a room grows inside. A basket of pillows and blankets slides out from a corner by the door, and two dolls come to rest upon the woven lid. In the last corner, a table and cushion seats rise from the floor, and a teapot falls down from the ceiling over a small coal heater from within the table. Two bowls mark the seating places for the two friends, and all seems to settle.

The two hesitate before exploring the room further. They silently decide to stay near the door before exploring further. Sebastian lifts the lid from the basket and reaches his hands in. The blankets are soft, and very much so, and he can’t help but burry his hands between their folds. Peony reaches up behind him to examine a book from the wall, and finds it's an old grimoire full of odd spells. Sebastian puts away the blankets and walks over to the table with the teabowls and finds something is already boiling inside of the pot. He thinks he smells vanilla and cloves, but he isn’t sure. By the bed, Peony finds a dulcimer standing by a stack of sheet music. She strums a note and finds that it’s impeccably tuned. But the two turn their eyes away from the mundane curiosities and to the glowing door which spawned in the back corner.

“You know,” Sebastian begins, “There’s a story Mr. Crick used to tell me about a door that led to some other world. It was colorful, lively, fantastical even, but the thing that lived in it fed on people's souls.”

“Sounds terrifying,” Peony replies, “Definitely not something I want to hear before going into a magical door.”

“It sounded a lot nicer when he told it,” Sebastian smiles, “And hey, maybe what’s there won’t be evil.”

“One can only hope.”

Sebastian takes hold of the handle and gives it a slow turn. With a click and a loud groan, it opens.

The two only look inside at first. Something about the darkness is inviting, yet frigidly terrifying. Fearing something would happen to Peony if she enters first, Sebastian takes a step in. He walks further inside, still consumed by darkness, but letting the glow of his halo cast a light to guide him in each uncertain step. Eventually, he finds the back wall, and extends his arm out to Peony.

“I don’t think it’s dangerous,” He says, “Here, take my hand.”

Peony keeps her hands folded at her chest for a second, squinting her eyes to see further in the room. She hesitates, then obliges, taking hold of his hand and stepping into the darkness. The only comfort in the silence is the humming of Sebastian’s wires. She follows Sebastian back to the back of the room, hoping for the best and preparing for the worst.

Luckily for the two of them, they find themselves presented with the former. The neurons along the ceilings ignite into colors of orange and yellow, illuminating shelves full of clothes and jewelry boxes. On the back of the door is a mirror, spotless and clear. They're surprised at how open the space is. It’s still small and perhaps even cramped, but it’s larger than what they’re used to. Every shelf and rack is full of vibrant clothes. Some of them are for costumes, no doubt, but others must be for simply wearing. The two investigate their newfound wardrobe with hesitant curiosity. Soon, though, they realize that everything around them is truly for them.

The two smile and jump with glee. They didn’t have space like this at home. And even if they had the space, they wouldn’t have anything to put in it. Blessings like this sure didn’t come often to them, but thank goodness they were here now. They hug each other in excitement.

They exit the closet and look around the room. All things considered, they’re satisfied. It’s small, sure, but it’s enough. They have everything they need, and they have a little bit of what they want. And best of all, they have each other. A few hours ago, joining the circus seemed like a rocky idea. Now? It’s a blessing in disguise.

Peony steps out into the open room and runs her fingers along the comforter of the bed. The downy blanket gently sinks under the weight of her hand. From where she stands, it’s as vast as the sea. She looks forward to sleeping under it. Maybe, if she’s lucky, Sebastian will change his mind and join her.

Sebastian leans against the door and looks idly toward the table with the teapot. The fine smell of tea has completely filled the room. He notices what he thinks to be his tea bowl, the one patterned in greens and blacks. Across from it, with purples and blues, is what he hopes is Peony’s. He wonders if he could rest his open hand atop the table and find Peony’s hand laid gently in his.

“Do you think the others are waiting for us?” Peony asks, hardly louder than a murmur.

“Oh, yeah,” Sebastian replies, suddenly snapped from a trance. “They probably are.”

“How about we go and meet them, and later tonight we can explore this place a little more.”

“Sounds fine to me.”

Sebastian walks over to the door and holds it open for Peony. She nods as thanks, and Sebastian nods back. As the two leave, the door locks on its own, so that the only two who can open it are them.

When the two are gone from their dwelling, the window by the table opens. A cool breeze fills the room, and soon a small centipede crawls in. It slowly meanders its way down the wall, then it crawls along the ground, investigating every divot and crack in the wooden panels. Eventually, though, it makes its way under the bed, finding the darkness to be much cozier than the bright light of incandescent bulbs outside.

The centipede must hide for now, but certainly it will be found.