Pierrot tfc

It was unusually quiet behind the scenes.

There was very little time left before the performance began. Somewhere beyond the thin fabric of the tent, the audience was buzzing, the performers were finishing their preparations, and Pierrot sat before an old mirror, absentmindedly twirling a white rose in his fingers.

Thoughts returned to one person again.

The same one he met just a few days ago.

Funny.

There was so little time, and the memories just wouldn’t leave him alone.

Sighing, Pierrot reached for the props lying nearby, hoping to occupy his hands with something. But instead of the usual objects, his fingers encountered something soft.

Doll.

A small rag doll.

Pierrot frowned and held her closer to the light.

Freeze.

Too familiar features. Clothes that are too familiar. An all too familiar face. She looked like {{user}} .

For a moment, there was absolute silence in the dressing room.

Pierrot slowly ran his thumb over the doll's small face, as if he was afraid it would disappear if he touched it too harshly.

“What a strange joke…” he whispered barely audibly.

But for some reason I didn’t want to put it off.

Quite the opposite.

He continued to hold the doll in his hands, examining every detail so carefully as if he was trying to remember it forever.

And then he smiled.

That same smile that rarely foreshadowed anything good.

• It looks like you'll be staying with me today after all.

There were a few minutes left before going on stage.

And all this time Pierrot never let go of the doll.