Hanging in the Stars

Chapter Four

Would the feeling of false freedom satisfy your deepest wounds? 

He didn't mean to hurt her. He didn't mean for the tents to burn down. But behind him were two tents on fire underneath the once beautifully painted blue night sky, now turned gray from smoke.

It was an inexplicable feeling on stage. He aimed to at least control everyone's view for a moment but could only rearrange Beatrice's perception. The first time he failed himself in years, the way his illusions didn't tend to his instructions was worrisome. It was what they feared.

"Are you ok?" He bent down to meet his sisters' eyes, brushing off any dirt and debris that had fallen on their shoulders. Idelle and Maeve, both only twelve with the image of their father practically running towards his deathbed in the fire, Nikolas wanted to take it away. He wanted to tell them that he knew for certain that their father was completely fine, but he saw his arm get burned and he wasn't sure if got out safely. "Idelle?"

He looked over at her, waiting for her to tell him anything in sign language. Meanwhile, Maeve stared out to the edge of the woods, silent with thoughts that ran mountains.

"I think they did it." There was only spite in Maeve's tone. "Those selfish freaks, I told you not to talk to them anymore Nikolas!" She ran a hand through her blonde hair, hair which was not only covered in paint in glitter but also dust and ashes.

Nikolas stood straight and followed his sister's eyes.

"I saw Beatrice walk out of the tents much earlier than everyone did," she reasoned. "Ask Ida, she's the one who pointed it out." Maeve began stomping out of space they had found safe enough for the three of them, walking straight into the thicket of trees.

"Maeve, don't!" he yelled. Nikolas took his sister's arm before Idelle kicked the back of his leg. "Idelle!"

"Leave her be," she signed. "She can take care of herself more than you can."

He bent down to meet her eyes again and pressed his hands on her shoulders, "She can take care of herself," he said. "But we put everyone in that show at risk, they're out to get any of us."

Idelle rolled her eyes, pushing her brother away. "I'll just join her then," she signed and walked in the direction her sister went, but thankfully, he stopped her before she stepped foot between the trees.

"You're staying here."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Out on the silent streets of the mountainside of Vegas, Rosalind kept underneath her hood. She didn't know how far she wandered, or how she had ventured this deep into the mountainside, but street lamps flickered and she was nothing but afraid. The roads were cobbled and very few people walked around in the cold atmosphere. The silence bothered her. It was always rustling and busy where she lived, and walking alone in the dark after a failed performance by her competitors only attracted many dangers. "Where the hell are you, Beatrice?" she muttered, watching her words fog up before her. If it wasn't the middle of November, she would've been more grateful.

"A bit late for a walk, don't you think?" A young gentleman exclaimed, holding a bag of groceries.

"A bit late for grocery shopping?" Rosalind kept her hands in her pockets, reaching for the safety ring Beatrice gave her a few years back when she joined the circus.

The gentleman laughed, tipping his hat, and headed his way without another word. It gave her some reassurance. And so she kept walking. She took a few rights and lefts, attempting to figure a way out through the small town she found herself in. She was being followed the entire time, of course, she felt it, and saw it too through the rare reflection in store glass windows, and puddles.

"I'm quite surprised you followed me this long." She spun on the heel of her shoe. No one was there. No one was in sight, at least. She could see her breath in the cold air -- shaky and unsure. She walked a few steps forward, drawing her hand out from the pocket of her coat with the ring comfortably resting on her index finger. It was a flower-carved ring, exceptionally beautiful.

And behind the cowardly coroner, this stranger hid in, Rosalind grabbed the hat they wore and tore a slit through it. She heard him wince before he stepped out of the alley with dirty blonde hair with a clear mark of a hat previously worn, and a pale cheek grazed with blood. Rosalind couldn't help but keep a smug expression.

"How far have you traveled just to speak to me again, Carter?" She found her eyes lingering on the wound on his skin. 

He wiped off the blood on his cheek and looked at Rosalind. "For the record, you were the one not answering my letters. Could've prevented this whole situation."

She rolled her eyes, "Oh, wipe that grin off your face. What are you doing here?"

"Still with Lyla?"

"None of your business. "

He kept his head low and eyes his hat, beckoning for her to return it to him. Carter Benvolio was a childhood friend. Someone who she was close with. Someone who she could confide in. Now he strays along alleyways she could never find, in another place and time where they never met. A stranger she could recognize anywhere and everywhere. 

She handed Carter back his hand, reluctantly bringing her hands back in her pockets as she slowly faces the other direction. She stopped answering his letters for multiple reasons. She couldn't bare to read forward as she watched her best friend change from afar. She couldn't bare to watch as ignored her requests, as he didn't respond to a handful of hers. Her implications while he rambled on about an engagement to another woman in his new home. He had turned into someone entirely different, the idealist dreamer she knew was lost and wounded in falsities. What ever happened back in London, she didn't care to know anymore, it was business she didn't want to know of. 

"Do you know where I can take a ride back to the city?"

She was back on the sidewalk and Carter followed her from behind, a chill breeze passing by. "Yes, but unfortunately for you, everything is closed at this time." He caught up to her pace.  "Fortunately, however, I know someone who owns an inn here, and you can stay there for the night. We can catch up and play our version of chess again just like old times." It was a suggestion accompanied by a soft and endearing smile, held back by the withering pain behind his eyes.

"Never mind that, I can just walk back." She really did not want to talk to him.

Then he caved in. "Rosa, I don't understand-"

A little girl sat on the sidewalk, head buried in her hands.

It was Maeve.

She was crying. 

A/N

OHMYGOD I CHECKED IT AND THE LAST I UPDATED WAS LAST FEBRUARY??! NO WAY, STOP. ok i'll update at least once a week -- if I don't, yell at me to do so