Rows upon rows of crimson velvet seats. Empty, vast, and an unoccupied balcony with no siren to sing her tune. It reeked of potential and greener pastures, and just about a few rows back from the stage sat the ringmaster of Cirque des Reves with his knees locked together and his chin resting easily in the palm of his hand. He was no doubt a very handsome man, even in shadow. He was beyond pleased, fancifully dreaming of the grand opening.
The traveling troupe had found its permanent home at last. Tickets were quite readily sold out, people would be coming from all over the world to experience the dream. His dream. “Vera-Jayne, be a dear and give your uncle a preview of what’s to come, if you please?” Percival Walden said, his eyes of gold were brimming with anticipation.
Vera-Jayne Walden stood at the center of the stage, nodding obediently while giving him a most courteous bow. She rose only slightly from her pose and spun around gracefully with her arm artfully extended. A breath, just as gentle as the colorful dust that escaped her lips, blossomed into a grandiose performance. There were performers, instruments of entertainment and wild animals. She had generated a circus within a circus. Noise, music that caused ticklish vibrations to rock the body made the illusion seem so much realer.
He had almost forgotten that the magic she had inherited from his side of the family was purely illusory. There was nothing solid about her little gimmick, but it was fairly enchanting. Still very much so, he hadn’t even brushed the bangs from his eyes, and what could have been considered an appreciative smile turned sour when her niece turned down the vivid lighting and left the spotlight to linger over one star in particular.
“Can I see Jesse, Uncle Percy?” she asked.
She fashioned the ‘Jester’ with his lithe frame, detailed him to his most accurate height with all his elegant features entact. That fiery hair was already a dead giveaway. Percival both loathed the perfection and treasured it. His fourteen year old niece had not seen him as often as she liked and he knew that was the reason for the fat frown on her face. She was not permitted to initiate any sleepovers, she was not permitted to lure him away to skip stones after curfew or pursue anything that could rip him away from the circus. Their time together became rather limited in recent times.
He had explained to her more than once how she and her friend were simply too old to share a bed, that because they were on their way to becoming young adults; they had to become more independent rather than dependent on each other. But his excuses were far more questionable than he described them to be.
Percival had other reasons for restricting their visits, and the time Jesse normally would have spent with Vera-Jayne had been used to engage in taboo practices with the caretaker himself. But he hid his envy under the pretense of wisdom, reminding Vera-Jayne that she was a girl and Jesse was a boy. That combination could very well cause accidents, especially if curious enough. But she begged, begged, and begged. Promised every second nothing would come of that. But her vows fell on deaf ears.
“I want to see Jesse,” she said firmly, just a moment before going down a small set of stairs near the proscenium and lingering by the tip of the front row. When he proceeded to ignore what he mistakenly thought was a tantrum, he learned quickly that the walls around him only started to cave in and every performer and member of the audience reared their ugly heads with all eyes dead set on Percival. Before everything could crash around him and crush his bones into powder, the imagery she had projected through her magic vanished like a dying star. She could never touch him, she could never hurt her family. She just wanted to see her best friend. But the act alone was enough to shake his composure, for he left his seat to slap her square on the cheek. The instant she fell, he lowered himself to her level and slapped her again and again and again.
Why couldn’t she leave well enough alone?
Wc: 705
