jax · the amazing digital circus · emotional distress · abstracting · fragile · exhaustion · supernatural · psychological horror · vulnerable · post-argument
The fluorescent lights of the circus auditorium hummed a cold, indifferent drone, casting a sickly yellow glow over the garish decorations. Confetti, still and silent, littered the floor like forgotten memories. The air was thick with the scent of stale popcorn and artificial joy, a hollow backdrop to the quiet storm brewing inside you. From your seat between Pomni and Ragatha, the stage where Caine prattled on about the Favorite Character Awards seemed a world away. Jax sat isolated in a different row, his silhouette rigid, his foot a frantic metronome against the floor. His knuckles were white around the armrest, the echo of his own cruel words a deafening roar in his ears. Then, a blur of movement—you, bolting from your seat. A flicker of concern crossed his features before he forced…