Contract
I stepped through the entrance, the fabric of the tent brushing against my skin, cool and strange, like it didn’t belong to the world I knew. The air inside was thick with the scent of incense and something sweeter, almost sickly. The dim glow of lanterns flickered along the edges of the vast space, casting shadows that twisted and danced in ways that defied logic.
The circus was larger than it seemed from the outside, endless almost. Tents of all shapes and sizes spiraled outward, connected by a labyrinth of lantern-lit paths. Shadows danced along the canvas walls, distorted figures that seemed to move out of sync with the flickering flames.
I followed him, unable to resist. My legs moved on their own, carrying me deeper into the maze of wonders. Carnival games lined the path, but they weren’t like anything I’d seen before. A fortune teller’s booth glimmered with shards of mirrors, each reflecting a version of me that didn’t feel quite right. A carousel spun silently, its wooden horses painted with unnervingly lifelike expressions—some joyful, some terrified.
“Lost, are we?” His voice was soft, almost soothing, but there was an edge to it, like it held a secret. "You're not the first to wander here, and you won't be the last."
The ringmaster watched me closely, his pale face half-lit by the glow of a nearby lantern. Up close, his features seemed...off. Too smooth, like a porcelain mask just shy of cracking. His smile, wide and patient, never quite reached his glittering eyes.
"Curious one, aren't you?" His voice was honeyed, pleasant—but there was something coiled beneath it. "We don't often receive visitors... uninvited."
The ringmaster remained at my side, gliding more than walking. When he finally spoke, it was soft, almost kind.
“You feel it, don’t you? The pull?”
I swallowed hard. "What is this place, really? I don’t... I don’t belong here."
He tilted his head, the mask tilting ever so slightly with the motion. "This is The Circus. And it finds those who need to be found." He paused, his head lowering, as if considering something. "Or perhaps, it finds those who are already lost."
He gave a knowing smile, hands folding behind his back. " You stumbled into our little corner of the world for a reason. The Circus does not reveal itself to just anyone. It seeks... kindred spirits."
The words sent a shiver down my spine, but I couldn't bring myself to speak. I wanted to ask how, why, and what any of this meant, but the air felt thick, like a spell was woven into every corner of the tent, clouding my thoughts and swallowing my questions before they could escape my lips.
"And what reason would I have to be here?" I whispered.
He leaned closer, voice barely a breath. "What is it you're running from?"
My stomach twisted. Running? No, I was lost. I wasn’t—
But then the memories came unbidden: the ache of before. The arguments. The feeling of being trapped. The life I had been so desperate to escape, even if I hadn't admitted it yet.
"I..."
"Ah," he said gently. "You see? The Menagerie does not take those who are content. It calls the restless... the forgotten... the ones who seek something more."
Inside, the circus sprawled like a dream—a bizarre, unsettling vision that seemed to stretch infinitely in every direction. The ground was covered in a rich, crimson carpet that seemed to pulse faintly underfoot, as though it had a heartbeat of its own. The faint strains of the eerie music grew louder, mixing with distant laughter and the sounds of performers practicing—somewhere, a sharp crack of a whip echoed, and a low, mournful trumpet filled the air with melancholy.
Around me, the performers moved in strange, fluid ways. A contortionist twisted and bent, her limbs folding in impossible directions as she slipped silently between the shadows. Acrobats spun in mid-air, their bodies defying gravity as they hung effortlessly from ropes suspended high above. But their faces—those faces—I couldn’t see them clearly, not at first. It was as if they were blurred, indistinct, their features shifting every time I tried to focus.
“Not all who enter leave,” he added, as though reading my mind. “But some find… what they need.”
His cryptic words only deepened the unease gnawing at the edges of my thoughts, but before I could respond, he turned and gestured for me to follow. I did, though every instinct in me screamed to run, to turn back to the safety of the forest I had come from. But there was something… magnetic about this place. Something that held me in place, anchored me to the circus.
We moved deeper into the maze of performers and strange, shimmering tents. I caught glimpses of bizarre sights: a fire-breather with an eerie, luminous glow surrounding him, a dwarf clown with the smile of a predator, and a tall, skeletal woman who swept past me, her eyes black holes of emptiness. I wanted to ask them questions, to know who they were, what they wanted, but each face seemed… wrong. They seemed like they weren’t real, like they were fading in and out of existence.
“You see,” the ringmaster said softly, “there is always a price for wandering into the unknown. You’ve crossed the threshold, and now… you must decide. Will you become part of the show, or will you leave, knowing that the forest has never truly let you go?”
I didn't know what he meant. My heart was pounding, and every instinct was telling me to run—yet a strange part of me wanted to stay, to see what other secrets this place held. But I knew one thing for certain: leaving now might mean something far worse than staying.
He extended his hand. This time, a parchment materialized in his palm, its edges gilded, the ink shimmering gold. The words seemed to shift as I tried to focus on them.
"In exchange for sanctuary, awe, and purpose within the Midnight Menagerie, the undersigned pledges a performance of their truest self. For the duration of their stay, they shall belong wholly to the spectacle."
No end date. No escape clause.
I looked up sharply. "And if I refuse?"
The shadows deepened. For the first time, his smile faltered.
"..Emilia..what a nice name."
He muttered as he looked at the paper with his sharp eyes.
"Refusal is a choice, of course," he said softly. "But the Circus has seen you now. You carry its mark. Walk away, and it will follow... lingering... until you return."
The parchment shifted, and suddenly my name was written there, faint but waiting. The ink seemed to ripple, hungry.