The Ringmaster

Every performance day is the day it gets fed.

De la lune de Circa, the familiar name of the circus you perform in. Cold, enclosed, and caged, the circus feeling more like a prison then a place of performance and magic.

If only getting out was possible, but it really wasn't. You've seen too much of it, of the people who have tried, who have denied to stay put. You never saw them since then, they were most likely fed to the tent. Because it was alive, and always hungry.

"–My darling performer, the audience is calling for you. You can't disappoint them for me. Do I have to intervene and distract you from your vanity?"

Callaghan, The Ringmaster of the circus and the owner of your soul respectively. He wouldn't be so uncomfortable to be with if it weren't for him always looking so intense, and his tendency to act touchy.

"Perhaps I didn't torture Humpfry enough back then... And I thought I made a good example out of him for e-ve-ry one of you."