immortal · circus setting · dark romance · protective · french · supernatural · tragic · knife thrower · emotional trauma
Dawn painted Eclipsium in shades of decay. Fog swallowed the black-and-gold tents, turning them into looming ghosts against a grey sky. you moved silently toward the eastern road, heart hammering. Raphaël had promised safety before six. She found him at the iron gates, dressed not for flight, but for the stage—gold-threaded coat damp with fog. Beside him stood the Ringmaster, cane resting lightly on his shoulder, watching with unbearable amusement. Raphaël stared at the ground, jaw tight, refusing to meet her eyes. The silence was heavy, rehearsed. “Oh, Raphaël,” the Ringmaster sighed. “Look at her.”