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Traduzione storia Bienvenue à Palais des Merveilles

Ecco per voi la sinossi e il primo capitolo tradotti da me della storia Bienvenue à Palais des Merveilles di _Charlotte_Black_
Se volete far tradurre anche la vostra storia, date un'occhiata al capitolo Servizio Traduzioni!

Sinossi: Circus performers from all over the world are coming together under the same flag to create the most striking spectacle in living memory, and to save a bankrupt circus. But what lies behind these costumes? 

Love, addiction, betrayal and madness. Nothing is as it appears. Between those colorful tents lie tragic stories, murders, monsters and magic

Primo capitolo:
A rascal clown

With bold and insolent grimace, 
Love laughingly bestrides 
The bare skull of the Human Race, 
And, as enthroned he rides, 
Blows bubbles from his rosy cheek 
Which soar into the sky 
As if, beyond the blue, to seek 
The other worlds on high. 
They ride with wondrous verve at first, 
Reflect the sunny beams, 
Then spit their flimsy souls, to burst 
And fade like golden dreams. 
I hear the skull at each renewal 
Expostulate aghast — 
"This game, ridiculous and cruel — 
When will it end at last? 
For what your cruel mouthpiece drains 
And scatters, sud by sud, 
Monstrous Assassin! is my brains, 
My substance, and my blood.

~Charles Baudelaire

Smoke came out copiously from the mouth and the nostrils of Charles, diaphanous like blood from an open wound, by hiding his face in a white cloud, and as the words of the poem he had just recited destroyed his mood, lightened the weight of opium his soul.
He glanced at the young girl who lay asleep on his chest.
Could not tell if she was asleep lulled by the sweet, crazy words enclosed in Flowers of Evil or if the opium was just too strong for her.
The blonde haired girl was moving in his sleep.
The scarlet lipstick smeared on her cheek and under the lower lip along with the tears tattooed under his left eye, remembered the face of a fairground clown. You could almost think that resembled Charles, but it was just another little mindless whore that he had picked up from the street, hoping to fill its empty, it was finally revealed for what it was.
As indeed it happened continuously.
Charles stood up, putting the girl's head on the fresh spring grass and after picking up his opium pipe and yet another empty bottle of absinthe semi staggered his way, leaving behind that last disappointment.

... the screams that came from the circus traveling were probably hear from the suburb close. 
-This time I swear, the kill of barrel! where is that wretch of a French clown? drinking absinthe and poison the mind with the words of that cursed Baudelaire? I will kill him, I will really kill him this time, also if it was the last thing I do! - Charles opening the door of the marquee main accompanied by a hint of opium, while the lovely music of a carillion invaded the environment and the smell of tobacco fills the air. Lips were red for his clownish trick, and for the lipstick of blonde. Stood out on the skin covered with waxed white, together in the eyes rigged such as those of a mime, black in despair. The bristly reddish hair were full of white petals and sprigs Bramble and white and red costume was dirty of dark soil. 
No one of his worst morning , however. 
Christophe, the strongman , as well as director of the circus Palais Des merveilles lifted the young to the vaporous collar costume and looked at him badly. -You silly idiot! where you were finished? Between an hour we have the matinée. Go to give you a cleaned, before I will kill you.- and with this went muttering curses in English to half voice. Charles is held barely from laughing in his face and nodded behind him. Now not took more seriously those threats. He knew that the strongman had the heart of gold and he had a tragic story behind that had brought there where it was. He won't never threatened really, it was to stay in the character. The other hypothesis that he flashed in that moment in mind was to be too busted to realize that maybe that day he was serious. Shook his head, shrugged his shoulders and went to his tent. A tub, full of hot boiling water and red petals he was waiting for. Chantal, the acrobat,  was sitting on his canopy bed ready for the matinée, the dark braids that fell on a suit equally dark and adhering, her  barefoot feet and fingerless gloves too large for its little delicate hands. Charles said between himself that prepare was useless as it had been every week in those last three years. They were call traveling circus and yet they lived in that quiet country by an infinite time. No one show. everyone was found employment and maintained as better could, who in luxury, who not. In the circus Palais, however, no one was left to himself. Every week Christophe tried to put on a matinée, that most of the time jumped, and would have had to serve to keep unit company, which unfortunately being without engagements, it was intended to melt. Whenever that thought touched the mind of Charles, he felt the need for send him away with one of its flaws. It is held in order to respect Chantal, from do something very stupid, and shaking his head how to make fly out bad thoughts the approached, kneeling before she and taking her hands between his.
-Madmoiselle
He gave her a kiss on the hand and stood with his head down, leaning against her, inhaling her sweet scent of vanilla.
The girl sank her slender fingers through his hair, driving a few sprigs and few petals, and looked at him with love.
-How was your night? Judging by the smell that brings on you and all this mud would say not too well mh? -
Her indecipherable accent was music to the tired ears of the boy, who smiled.
-On stripped, will I take a bath, and I'll help you prepare for the matinée.-
Chantal was immensely fascinated by Charles's scares, as well as his burns and his scratches. 
Whenever she bathed him, she focused on the network of signs of the past and she passed hours to follow him with her fingers, until she get to the oldest, which was a few, fearsome centimeters from the heart.
That day, however, she was concentrated on his face, in one of the rare moments when it was crossed by an unconscious smile.
She gently passed his hand through the boy's hair, as he leaned against the edge of the tub she returned to wrap himself in his usual veil of shadow and recited poems in a low voice.
"Mon dieu, how much I love him."