Marl's battered body crumpled on the cold stone floor, his dark hair matted with dirt and sweat.
As he gazed up at the manhole cover scraping open, a sense of dread washed over him.
The boots that appeared at the edge of the hole belonged to those he had once called friends, even family.
"Hey, Marl, you're not funny anymore," one of them said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're more like a court jester...without the court."
With a swift motion, they tossed him down into the darkness.
Marl's eyes widened as he fell, his arms and legs flailing wildly.
He tried to shout back a retort, but his mouth was too swollen, his lips cracked and bleeding.
A muffled groan escaped his lips as he desperately reached out, fingers grasping for something, anything, to break his fall.
But there was nothing.
Only the darkness, and the sound of his own ragged breathing.
And then, the manhole cover scraped shut, plunging him into an inky blackness that seemed to swallow him whole.
As Marl's world went dark, he felt a single, searing thought: What have I done to deserve this?
The question echoed in his mind like a mantra, fueling a burning sense of betrayal and anger that threatened to consume him.
But as the darkness deepened, Marl's thoughts grew cloudy, and he couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of a long, desperate fall...
A decent-sized crowd was gathering in the vibrant circus tent, its colorful stripes and swirling patterns adding to the excitement.
People were taking their seats, chatting with each other in anticipation of the show.
A curvy woman, dressed in a bright red and white striped vendor's uniform, was busy selling snacks and beverages to the eager audience.
Her long, curly brown hair was tied back in a ponytail, and a warm smile spread across her face as she handed out fluffy cotton candy and cold drinks.
The smell of popcorn and sugar wafted through the air, teasing the crowd's taste buds as they waited for the performance to begin.
The circus tent was abuzz with anticipation as people filed in, their faces aglow with excitement.
The curvaceous woman, resplendent in a fitted corset and flowing skirt, moved with practiced ease, doling out steaming cups of spiced cider and baskets of freshly popped popcorn.
The scent of sugar and salt wafted through the air, mingling with the earthy smell of the canvas tent.
As she worked, the woman's bright smile and infectious laughter drew in the crowd, who eagerly pressed coins into her hand.
The clinking of metal on metal, the rustle of fabric, and the murmur of conversation created a lively atmosphere.
The sound of calliope music drifted through the tent, the lively tune played on a vintage organ, adding to the sense of wonder. The crowd's chatter grew more animated,
Random Guy B, sitting a few rows behind, chimed in,
"I know, right? I loved watching Borko's shows last year! and the lovely Margaret is here again,
he turns to look at the curvatures woman selling snacks
Random Guy A's eyes widened in mock horror as he turned around,
"Not this again! You're gonna bankrupt yourself flirting with the snack vendor!"
He chuckled, shaking his head.
"You almost spent your whole paycheck on cotton candy and funnel cakes last
time, didn't you?"
The curvaceous woman, Margaret, as if she overheard the teasing and playfully winked at Random Guy B, who grinned sheepishly.
"Shh, guys! The show's about to start!"
their little sister whispered, tugging on both Random Guy A and B's sleeves. They turned to see her eyes shining with excitement, her finger pressed to her lips.
Just as she hushed them, the lights in the tent dimmed, and a spotlight shone on the center ring.
A well-fed, round man with a goatee and pointed shoes strode in, wearing a bright red fez hat adorned with feathers and sequins.
He carried a staff topped with a rat skull, its bony sockets seeming to leer at the crowd.
The man's booming voice echoed through the tent, "Ladies and Gentlemen of all ages, welcome to my circus! My name is Milo Rweser Borko, the ringmaster, and we are honored that we may perform again in this town again.
But to continue to deliver top-notch performances, a gesture of goodwill is needed... from the audience, of course!" He smiled, his eyes glinting with a hint of mischief, as he gazed out at the crowd.
As if on cue, a blonde-haired young man, dressed in a crisp white shirt with billowy sleeves, tight-fitting breeches, and shiny black boots, emerged from the shadows.
He wore a charming smile on his face and held a ornate basket adorned with ribbons and bells. The young man began to make his way through the crowd, the basket held out invitingly...
The young man's smile remained as he wove through the rows, his basket collecting coins and trinkets from the audience.
"Contribute to the art of wonder, good people!"
he called out, his voice cheerful.
"Your generosity will fuel the magic of the night!"
As the basket made its way back to the center ring, the young man walked up to Milo Rweser Borko and handed him the basket. Rweser smiled, his eyes twinkling with showmanship.
With a flourish, he dipped his hand into the basket and said,
"And now, the generosity of the audience shall vanish... into thin air!"
With a wave of his hand and a puff of smoke, the coins and trinkets disappeared from the basket. The audience gasped in amazement, and Rweser's booming laughter echoed through the tent...
...Rweser's booming laughter echoed through the tent. Just as it faded away, a voice shouted from the crowd, "Whose performing first?
Is it Nauq?, Hilda? or..." The audience murmured in anticipation, their curiosity piqued.
Rweser said with a sly grin, "You'll find out eventually..." He turned and walked off, the young man who had collected the donations falling into step beside him, the empty basket slung over his arm. Together, they disappeared into the shadows.
Backstage, the atmosphere was a whirlwind of activity.
Costumed performers scurried about, their elaborate attire a testament to the show's grandeur.
Makeup artists touched up last-minute details, while stagehands bustled about, ensuring every prop was in its place.
The scent of greasepaint and makeup mingled with the smell of rigging and machinery.
Borko strode through the chaos, his presence commanding attention.
He turned to Bon, who stood by the wings, looking concerned.
"Bon, where are your brothers?"
Bon's character smile faltered before he replied,
"Roaming the town, don't worry, they'll be back soon."
Borko's expression turned serious, but then he relaxed.
"The set is ready, go call Lady Dandi to prepare herself."
Bon's face faltered, and he coughed.
"Ahh, we might have a problem." Borko's eyebrows rose in inquiry.
"What problem?"
Bon hesitated.
"I think it's best you heard it from the problem itself."