When you were young, your safir had told you stories of the Carnival of the Dragon, or Shüi xe ru Lɤxe, as they had called it. Full of both enchantment and obscurity, brilliance and secrecy, you had always wondered if the stories were true. And now, as you stand in the grayscale field with the wind murmuring through the tall, silvery grass and grasping at your hair, you know you are about to find out.
A red and white striped carnival tent stands tall at the horizon line, its silhouette still against the darkening sky. As you take an uncertain step towards it, your surroundings blur and the wind whistles in your ears. It takes a few moments for you to get your bearings, but once you do, you find that you are only a step away from the tent's entrance.
You shakily push aside the heavy flap of the tent and are greeted by bright, colourful lights and cheerful music. Out of everything you can see, you are most surprised by the rather normal-looking staff member that gives you a friendly smile.
They gesture for you to step closer, and you do, as they hold out a hand with a small envelope. It is clearly addressed to you, your name scrawled in gold lettering across the front, and it seems to shimmer as you examine it. You look back up to meet the gaze of the carny, and they seem to be telling you something; do not yet open it, you will know when it is time. Before you can ask what they mean, they vanish in the blink of an eye.
You are unable to think of what else to do except enter the park, so you tuck the envelope safely into your pocket and continue onward. You avoid speaking to anyone, content to observe.
While exploring, you have a feeling that something is a bit off. You have noticed strange details about the already strange park; animals roaming free, carnies with too many limbs, or not enough. People with blank stares and happy smiles.
From the outside, it all looks as a carnival should, but on the inside, there is an air of discomfort.
A tug on your mind causes you to turn toward a ride; a carousel. You wait in a line that moves without stopping, and as you reach the gate, you realize that no one else has gotten on. The carnie hands you a ticket, and you circle around it, looking for the perfect horse, but again, something feels off. The paintings of the carousel look a little too realistic, and the horses seem almost lifelike despite their ceramic bodies.
At the last second, you change your mind and back away; the experience of studying the carousel is enough, for now, and you hand the ticket back to the carnie. They seem to be fine with your decision, a cheerful smile plastered onto their face. You know better; their eyes sparkle with something unknown, dangerous, although they make no hostile movements toward you.
A mirror maze catches your attention, and you wander closer, letting curiosity drive you. There seems to be nothing special about it; it is as you expected. Mirrors cover every wall, ceiling to floor, some distorting your appearance. You have no fear of getting lost, however, you begin to feel pinpricks on the back of your neck. A gaze burns into your back, yet when you turn, it is only your own reflection staring back at you.
It is not until later, while you are in line for the ferris wheel, that you realize it had not been a reflection that you had seen in the mirror. You had seen yourself the right way around, as other people see you. The line is empty once more, it is your turn to get onto the ferris wheel, so you shove that thought to the side uneasily.
You glance at the carnie to thank them as they help you into the carriage and freeze; they are exactly the same person as the carnie that has helped you throughout the carnival. The ride starts to move and you open your mouth to ask them a question, but you blink and they have vanished. All you can do is wait as the ferris wheel brings you up. Expecting to be able to see the entirety of the carnival, you rest your arms on the metal bar and lean over. Instead, you continue upwards, when you are certain you should have reached the top by now.
There are clouds beneath your feet, yet no stars above your head. No other carriages are within sight. The air is still, silent, except for the small rushing of wind in your ears as your carriage lazily moves upward. The movement of the carriage and the smell of the night air is oddly relaxing; enough that you close your eyes, you almost forget where you are and what you have seen.
A hand taps your shoulder and you blink your eyes open to find yourself standing back in front of the ferris wheel, the carnie smiling at you again. Up until now, you had been ignoring the cloud of dread looming over you. It has since strengthened, and this time, you turn, and you run.
Past the rides, the animals; the aisri with two heads. There is no exit to be seen; only an endless flood of carnival tents and blankly cheerful people.
You nearly run into a young girl with deep red hair, stumbling over your own feet, and she snatches your wrist before you can fall. She is different. Her eyes sparkle. One of few to know something, one of few with a face not blank with blind sunshine. She tugs you toward a ride, and you dig your heels into the grass. The mere fact that she is conscious is unnerving, and you sense that this, too, is a trap. But her grip is strong as iron. She will not let go; she continues toward the teacups, drags you through the grass as if friction does not exist; as if you are a feather. Lighter than air.
And then you are sitting with her, in a pink teacup of her choosing. The ride spins, and she spins your cup too; faster until your surroundings blur into a whirlwind of color. It feels as if you have been spinning for days, yet you are aware that only seconds have passed; the ride slows.
The girl is gone. The carnival is empty and monochrome. Red has become black and white. Light has dimmed. You steadily step out of the teacup, less dizzy than you had expected, and make your way out of the ride enclosure. The grounds are desolate, the rides broken down beyond repair, with trash littering the dead and flattened grass
A splash of color in the corner of your eye. You turn, and a massive carnival tent pops into view. Vibrant and lifelike; the big top. With nowhere else to go, and no desire to wander the empty grounds forever, you head toward it.
The flaps sway open, somehow light enough in the breeze, and with cautious footstep, you enter. All at once you are surrounded by sound; cheers, music. A ringmaster stands at the center. With blood-red hair, they stand taller than anyone you have ever seen; the six-inch heels, extravagant outfit, and outrageous top hat only add to the effect.
They turn with a flourish and lock eyes with you. Their eyes burn with dragon-like fire, and the smile across their lips is anything but friendly. With a crook of a finger, you are directly in front of them. You glance behind you at the crowd. They are the same people with blank smiles that you had seen earlier. The ringmaster turns your gaze back to meet theirs, a finger under your chin.
They gesture to the shimmering black and gold krocian on their arm, their smile widening and splitting across their face to show razor-sharp teeth. With a start, you realize they want you to touch it, and before you can stop yourself, you do. You are not certain whether the creature is covered in feathers, fur, or scales, but you are certain that is is not as warm as you had expected. In fact, its body almost feels cold to the touch.
You are hardly aware of their touch until their claws dig into your shoulder and you are looking into the face of Death themself. Their name blooms on your tongue, forming your lips, but it never leaves.
Desius
You should have known that this is their domain. And now, as they pin you to the ground, their breath hot against your neck, you know it is too late. You are their toy, now. Trapped within their carnival, as countless others have been. And they will play with you in whichever way they choose.
With Death caressing your skin, you know you will be taken care of, even as their sharp talon draws sweet, blue blood from your veins. Even as their teeth graze your throat.
