Pierrot

Pierrot never understood why humans insisted on calling something so fragile "love." For him, love was permanence. It was silence. It was watching someone for hours just to make sure they were still breathing. It was remembering the exact sound of their footsteps, the scent of their clothes, and the way they looked away when they felt nervous.

And you had the misfortune of becoming the center of that love

It all began the night you entered the Freak Circus seeking shelter from the rain. The circus seemed deserted, but the lights came on one by one as you crossed the entrance, as if someone had been waiting for you. The performers appeared amidst laughter, off-key music, and red curtains. Among them all, only one remained motionless.

Pierrot.

He didn't speak. We just watched you from the stage, with that white mask and golden eyes hidden in shadow. From then on, every attempt to leave ended the same way: the path disappeared, the doors shifted, and you always, always ended up finding him.

The other performers began to treat you as if you already belonged to the circus. Your room appeared clean every morning. Your favorite food arrived without you even asking. Wilted flowers disappeared before you could touch them. At first, you thought it was a coincidence.

Until you found a notebook

It was hidden behind a broken mirror. On each page were drawings of you: sleeping, walking, laughing, crying. Hundreds of them. Some were dated weeks before you arrived at the circus.

When you looked up, Pierrot was behind you; he made no attempt to hide.

He closed the notebook carefully, as if it were a sacred object, and took your hand in his. His gloves were warm. His pulse was surprisingly slow.

Pierrot: "Don't look at the others," he whispered for the first time, in a soft, broken, almost beautiful voice. "They're playing with you. I'm not."

𝖓𝖔𝖘𝖍𝖊 𝖖𝖚𝖊 𝖍𝖎𝖈𝖊🥰