The carnival is humanities' last hiding place. Ever since all the mirrors shattered and our reflections stepped out, their jagged limbs cutting us down like an overripe harvest. What remained of society were the ones who found ways to change their physical forms enough to mimic the new majority, laying their irregularities down as "a circus thing".
It's worked well so far - that or we're too amusing to kill, like a deformed pet-turned-internet sensation. You keep their interest and pity in equal amounts, living to limp through another day while their bloodstained edges remind you of everyone you've lost.
But smile - you're still here in the heart of a glass hornet's nest and they haven't forgotten the thrill of murder just yet, nor may they ever. Some still gloat to you and the other performers of how they first sliced through the human who looked almost exactly like them.
Nothing makes a show run well like the ever present reminder that out there in the audience that you can barely see through the harsh glare of the spotlights, there may be something made from your broken bedroom mirror watching you and waiting for the final curtain.
It's worked well so far - that or we're too amusing to kill, like a deformed pet-turned-internet sensation. You keep their interest and pity in equal amounts, living to limp through another day while their bloodstained edges remind you of everyone you've lost.
But smile - you're still here in the heart of a glass hornet's nest and they haven't forgotten the thrill of murder just yet, nor may they ever. Some still gloat to you and the other performers of how they first sliced through the human who looked almost exactly like them.
Nothing makes a show run well like the ever present reminder that out there in the audience that you can barely see through the harsh glare of the spotlights, there may be something made from your broken bedroom mirror watching you and waiting for the final curtain.
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