On January ninth, 1996, a boy with an odd skeleton was unfortunately born into existence. With his homeless mother in need of cash, and too terrified to look at the child she gave birth too, she sold him to 'Mr. Father's Family of Freaks'; a popular circus show that obsesses over real-born monsters. This boy, born with no worth, sold into labor, and raised as a show, was taught that he was the mis-creation of man. He gives children nightmares, and make women scream, and never once was he told that it wasn't his fault. His name, is Cousin Ignominy. The clown with a deformed body. Bexley Valentino, an innocent seventeen year old, who doesn't believe in monsters, realizes just how important of a man Cousin Ignominy is. After seeing his show, and wallowing in her broken heart for the clown, she soon finds herself trying to break him out. She wants to show him how important it is to feel. How important it is to admire the world, but it doesn't take long for her to realize maybe he was locked up for a reason. ~~~ "You don't kill. You don't kill. You don't kill. If you learn that, you will remember where your morals stand. Hit them, bite them, burn them alive, but don't kill. Don't you ever go that low."

He's like a machine. He hates to be touched. He hates anything to be non-sanitized. He can't stand human emotion. He fakes a personality, just to seem okay. He hates technology, but is nothing without it. He's a professor to the class, but supposed to be a student. He teaches the same thing everyday, but was meant to be there only to learn. And then he loses control, unable to be a machine any longer, he begins to realize worshiping technology is nothing but a curse. He holds the life of an introvert, the life of a mad man, and he admits to it. All of it. ~~ "You're useless. Nothing but a controlled soul in a shell of a body." "Then just label me a machine, there is nothing more insane than that."

"If they aren't pretty when they are dead, then why bother keeping the bodies in my cemetery? Just burn them. Burn all of them, and give me the charming ones." I laughed at how psychotic he sounded; or even how psychotic he was."You're young, why do you even own your own cemetery? That can't even be legal." "Why bother concerning yourself over my affairs? This cemetery-" he quickly corrected himself, "My cemetery is the most luxurious and ravishing of them all." He bent down, and began to whisper in my ear, "And I know, that you, my lamb, understand my funeral style, don't you?"