She picked up the corset from the ground and walked in front of me. Something was in front of me, covered in black silk. She pulled the cloth away, and underneath were three mirrors. One large one was in the center, and two smaller ones on the sides.
My reflection stared back at me. Bare chest, red skirt clinging to my hips, socks halfway down my legs. My hair was a tangled mess of braids hanging over my shoulders, and my makeup was smeared by tears.
“Why?” I choked out. “Why are you doing this?”
She stood beside me, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. “Some dolls need to be taught a lesson before they truly belong here.”
She turned and walked away.
In front, in the mirror, I could only see her black dress trailing behind her and the neat ponytail swinging at the back of her head.
I kept staring at myself until the tears came again.
I thought I had already reached hell, but I was wrong. This was worse.
This was who I was now: a broken, miserable doll made for him to own.
My head dropped, pride falling with it. I remembered what it meant to live in the House of Clowns. How they stripped you piece by piece until there was nothing left but painted faces and false smiles. You didn’t live for yourself anymore. You lived for the show. And the one who owned it.
And now, the same place took a different name. He was the ringmaster of the lost.
Circo de Perdutti.The Circus of the Lost.
I don’t know how long I had been down here. Time slipped away from me. All I knew was that my body had gone numb. My arms burned, my legs were numb, every muscle stretched until I felt like I was coming apart.
My chest hurt too, a dull pain that throbbed with each breath. I felt sorry for myself, and I hated that I did.
The door creaked open. A rush of cold air swept over my skin, and my nipples hardened from the chill.
Each step that followed, I could hear as an echo through the room. Metal was clicking, wood groaning under his weight, until I saw him in the mirror. He moved closer.
He wore black leather pants, his upper body naked. Muscles shifted under his skin with each step, covered in tattoos and scars. His face was still painted in black and white, still like a skull. His hair was slicked back, wet, and streaks of black paintdripped down his neck and shoulders like it was melting.
“Oh, Dolly,” he shouted with a high-pitched, crazy laugh. “I’m back.”
He dropped a length of chain.
His eyes looked darker now, matching the monster inside him. The smile that followed sent a shiver down my spine. I hated how, even knowing what he was, my body still reacted. Still begged.
“Oh, what do we have here?” he said, dragging his gaze from my face down to my legs.
He took the end of the chain and pressed it against my stomach. Slowly, he slid it upward, winding it across my breasts, circling my nipples before pulling it back with a grin.
“Why?” I whimpered, my voice trembling. “Why are you doing this?”
He didn’t answer.
He moved behind me, dragging the metal chain across the floor. I could see him in the mirror, his painted face over my shoulder.
His eyes locked on mine.
The chain slipped from his hand, crashing to the floor. His palms found my hips, and roughly he dragged them upward, over my ribs, until they cupped my breasts.
His breath hit the side of my neck.
His lips brushed my ear when he whispered, “If you want something, you have to know if it’s truly what you want.”
He parted my legs with his knee and pressed me hard against him.
