Freaks Only Circus: The Deadliest Show on Earth by Qatarina Wanders

Author:Qatarina Wanders [Wanders, Qatarina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wandering Words Media
Published: 2024-04-02T00:00:00+00:00

Empowered Drift

In the aftermath of her darkly bestowed empowerment, Anya was set adrift, returning to the familiar streets of the town. Yet, the lingering essence of delirium painted her reality in otherworldly hues. Vibrancy tinted every corner, and though she was complicit in unspeakable malevolence, an unyielding euphoria enveloped her, warding off any shade of remorse.

The night whispered with an eerie chill, a breeze that seemed to carry secrets from forbidden realms. Yet, to Anya, it bore no coldness. As she meandered to a shadowed corner, an uncanny warmth radiated from within her, starkly contrasting the autumnal decay encroaching the land around her.

Discarding her sweatshirt, a sinister relic slipped out--the jawbone knife, a morbid testament to her recent sins. It clinked eerily on the cobblestone, echoing a ghostly reminder. Its presence momentarily tethered her back to reality. The blade, once a symbol of dread, now felt attuned to her essence, just as the allure of the circus had.

Hesitantly, she reclaimed the knife, feeling its weight, the streetlamp casting foreboding shadows on its blade. Swathed in the relative comfort of her sweatshirt now tied around her waist, she grappled with the blade's presence, its very existence a quandary.

The town, immersed in the profound silence of the witching hour, held its breath. Even the few souls known to haunt the streets at such hours had seemingly sought refuge. The town, often perceived as monotonous, was tonight a canvas of dark tranquility.

Ensuring that the knife's blade remained sheathed against any sudden harm, Anya continued her journey, fingers lightly grazing the scabbed incision on her palm, a macabre souvenir. Contrasted with Savannah's fate, it seemed a mere trifle. Anya's heart should have been laden with sorrow, but it fluttered, unfazed, even as she neared the somber silhouette of Savannah's residence, a silent witness to the night's malefic events.

Nestled in the encroaching gloom stood a quaint home, its facade dappled with the muted blush of a rose garden. Gleaming in the driveway were two modern vehicles, a testament to affluence. One, still radiating the joy of Savannah’s eighteenth birthday, and the other, bearing the pride of her parents. While the home's inner lights lay dormant, a solitary porch light gleamed, awaiting the return of a daughter lost in the night's revelries. A return that would forever remain elusive.

Yet, in the umbral embrace of the garden, something stirred. Emerging from the embrace of the roses was a diminutive figure, its dark complexion weathered with age and crowned by an ominous halo of sharp, twisted horns. The spirit, for that was what it was, seemed wholly indifferent to Anya's presence.

In her mind's labyrinth, Anya retraced Layla's whispered promises. This newfound sight was surely a gift of the power. Spirits, once shrouded, now unveiled themselves to her, even against their will.

She observed, fascinated, as the specter, reminiscent of a young boy yet grotesquely deformed, stationed itself before the door. From its spine, a long, bristly tail trailed, twitching with a feline annoyance. The entity stood silent, its gaze affixed to the door, a palpable yearning emanating from its form.

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