Circus of Silence

Her Own Devices

~*~

A strange draw comes from the smoke filled tent of mirrors.

A pull, almost, a tug.

A call, a song.

You enter the hall of mirrors.

And the faces that stare back at you are not your own.

~*~

              The Granddaughter was different, come breakfast time. She still had that aimlessness to her step, the same furrowed, confused brows and wanness to her face and cheeks, but something in her bright blue eyes was different. Something stolen had been found, something she'd lost in Whisper's own tent.

Her attention found Whisper first. Whisper, whom she hadn't even noticed, despite her thirst. The girl was slipping. She was slipping, her identity dripping. Like a melting Popsicle, it landed in a pool at her feet to be forgotten, left to evaporate in the summer sun. Whisper needed a way to communicate, before all was done.

She glared at Shula, who came in behind her- the man who had helped dim her existence down to almost nothing. Mute and Silent, illiterate and invisible. She'd kill him, if he'd stay quiet for a moment or two to let her. She'd kill him and inside she'd be laughing as those stolen memories held on tight. How to read, how to write- the dancing mute's only delight.

He slid into the seat next to her, humming softly to keep her at bay. Rosalind sat across from him, reaching over and taking hold of the teapot in her shaking hands, claiming herself the first cup of the day. Her eyes encircled everyone. They jumped from carny to carny, Other to Other and those who could still call themself relatively normal. Her eyes landed on Whisper the longest... and then dropped to her brother.

"Stripes," she breathed, blinking blindly at the beast. Shula's humming hibernated, and he went to whistling instead. His song was steady, almost sorry-sounding.

Her brother's ears perked up. Other than during their performances, this was the only time he as ever allowed outside his enclosure. His tail beat on the floor.

Rosalind's mouth popped open as her focus fell from the feline and frolicked for the Silent Girl. She mouthed the name the carnies had given her. Whis-per. Whis-per. Whis-per. And she had thought she'd found a cure. Rosalind's hands were shaking, her teacup rattling and fingers quaking. Whisper. Whisper. Whisper.

The teacup fell, china clattering across the tablecloth. One particularly large shard landed on Whisper's plate. She'd been hoping for bacon and eggs with a single square of date... but it seemed her meal would come a little late. Rosalind Maybrush was screaming now- at her, at her brother, at Shula and the legless lady and creepy crown and Hairy Harry and everyone around. Whisper could have sworn her tiger-brother actually frowned.

She hung her head as Rosalind turned, and Rosalind fled.

As the Witch herself, stepped in in her stead.

"Shula, I'll need you to come with me," she said.

~*~

               She was walking back to her tent when Shula joined her without her consent. He fell into step beside her. "Whisper," he hissed as she and her brother picked up their paces in a desperate attempt to get away. To lock themselves in their tent and prepare for Opening Day. The snake-charmer whistled sharply, staying Whisper's silencing hand before it could shush Shula. She stopped alongside her brother. The two of them looked at one another. As a tiger, her brother had no eyebrows, but the two of them gave an identical look of intense exasperation.