The Circus

"Tis a pity," they used to whisper. "Lost his son before the wee thing could waddle, tragic I must say." They would shake their heads, long locks and beads from masks would bounce before them.
"They were careless," others would mutter. "Letting him play in the woods, alone! Can you believe such a thing," they would scoff, clinking wine glasses and eating crackers.
Of course, they would never dare say these things in front of the general, for he would throw a fit. After his son was taken, he stabbed his best man with a fork. A scar still adorns his hand, with a scowl the match.
Right before the war ended, the generals son was taken. Right before the war ended, a circus began. Right before the war ended, a prophecy was made.