Alden's fingers brushed against the brittle edges of an old parchment. The library was dim, the air thick with the scent of mold and secrets. Every document he touched felt like a whisper from the past—disjointed reports, fragmented confessions, pages stained with ink and something darker.
Vanishing performers. Tragedies without cause. Rumors of a legacy too cursed to name.
Then, he saw it.
A photograph. Faded, curled at the edges. A circus tent, blurred as though the image itself refused to remain clear. It unsettled him. The longer he stared, the more his thoughts trembled. It was like the photograph was watching him back.
He didn't know how long he stood there.
By the time he returned to his study, night had swallowed the sky. The silence felt alive. His desk—strewn with papers, books, and half-finished glasses of scotch—offered no comfort. The weight of what he had uncovered pressed against his chest like a phantom hand.
This circus… this woman… Livia.
The pieces didn't just fit together. They clicked too perfectly. Too deliberately. Like a trap that had been waiting for him.
That's when the invitation arrived.
An envelope. Heavy. Bound with deep red wax, sealed with a sigil he did not recognize. The message was brief, its elegance unmistakable:
An exclusive gathering. An intimate audience with Lady Livia, where the boundaries of reality blur.
No explanation. No sender.
He didn't hesitate.
The next evening, Alden stood at the edge of the circus grounds.
The elite were already arriving—aristocrats, socialites, people of influence who rarely shared the same room. They moved with ease, unaware they were stepping into something far older than entertainment.
The music floated through the air, soft and haunting. Strings and wind, twisted into a tune that danced just shy of dissonance.
He walked among them, feeling out of place and yet... strangely chosen.
The performers were unlike anything he'd ever seen. Their bodies twisted in impossible ways. Their eyes gleamed with silent understanding. Their smiles didn't reach their eyes.
And then, there she was.
Livia.
She stood beneath a spotlight that didn't exist, draped in shadow and grace. Regal. Otherworldly. She didn't speak, but her eyes never left his. That gaze—so still, so ancient—wrapped around him like a chain made of silk and ice.
She wasn't a performer.
She wasn't even human.
After the show, he returned to his study, the circus echoing behind his eyes.
The documents he'd gathered were scattered across his desk—clippings, letters, journal pages. All connected. All leading back to her. To it. The truth wasn't hiding. It was calling.
One letter caught his eye. The handwriting—elegant, hauntingly familiar.
The bridge to the dreaming world... Sacrifices to be made... A memory that never fades.
His hand trembled as he turned the page.
That night, the dream came.
No—it wasn't a dream. It felt real.
Livia stood before him, pale and flawless beneath a moon that never moved. The world around them was frozen, endless white stretching to a silent horizon.
Her voice was soft, but it shattered something in him.
"This is where I rot, Alden," she whispered. "This is where I am forgotten."
He woke gasping, drenched in sweat. His heart slammed against his ribs. The dream clung to him like frostbite.
She wasn't just a woman. Not just a myth.
She was a presence that shouldn't exist.
And yet, he couldn't stop.
He kept reading. Kept searching. The deeper he dug, the more he realized he wasn't just uncovering secrets—he was becoming part of them.
Livia had told him once, her voice like velvet over a knife:
"I exist here, inside the circus. But beyond it... I rot."
What did it mean?
What was she really?
And more importantly... what had he become by seeking her?
Alden had crossed a threshold. The kind you don't come back from.
Now, the question wasn't whether he could escape.
It was whether he wanted to.
Because obsession has no bottom.
And the circus?
The circus had no end.