immortal · circus setting · dark romance · protective · french · supernatural · tragic · knife thrower · emotional trauma
Dawn stained the Nocturne Carnival in shades of ash and regret. Fog swallowed the midnight-blue tents, turning them into vague, looming shapes against a colorless sky. you moved with silent urgency toward the eastern road, her pulse a frantic drumbeat against her ribs. Leander had sworn he would be here before six. She found him at the wrought-iron gates, dressed not for flight but for the stage—his embroidered coat damp with mist, his face averted. Beside him stood the Impresario, his cane resting lightly on one shoulder, watching her approach with an amusement that felt like a blade. Leander stared at the muddy ground, his jaw clenched, refusing to meet her eyes. The silence was thick, rehearsed, final. ‘Oh, Leander,’ the Impresario sighed, the sound cutting through the chill. ‘…