Cigsafterdawn
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- Parts 21
ðð¶ðð² ð ð®ððžð. ð¢ð»ð² ðŠðŒðð¹. ðð» ððð²ð¿ð»ð®ð¹ ð¢ð¯ðð²ððð¶ðŒð».
"ð§ðµð²ð ðð®ð ððµð² ð°ð¶ð¿ð°ðð ð±ðŒð²ðð»'ð ð·ððð ð°ðŒðºð² ððŒ ððŒðð»; ð¶ð ð°ð¹ð®ð¶ðºð ð¶ð."
For Y/N, life is measured in double-shot espressos and the quiet, protective comfort of her boss's gaze. Y/N's world is small, safe, and caffeine-stained-until the night the Freak Circus rolls into the outskirts of town under a blood-red moon.
âThey aren't just performers. Behind the porcelain masks of Pierrot, the jagged grin of Harlequin, the manic energy of Jester, the clinical coldness of the Doctor, and the commanding shadow of the Ticket Taker lies a hunger that has rotted for centuries.
âWhen they step into her coffee shop, Y/N feels a terrifying sense of deja vu. Y/N doesn't know them, yet Y/N remembers the weight of their touch. Y/N doesn't know their names, yet their soul aches with a tragedy that hasn't happened yet-or perhaps, it already has.
âA debt was written in blood in an ancient wood.
A promise was made as the monsters burned.
And now, they have come to collect what is theirs.