Page 52 of The Opening Act is Death (The Carnival of The Damned)

Fifty Four

After the Last Illusion — A Quiet Conversation With Corvan

The applause fades into the shadows. The stage is bathed in dim light, smoke curling like whispered secrets around us. We stand side by side, breathless, raw; the echo of the performance still thrumming beneath our skin.

Corvan breaks the silence first, voice low and rough:

“That was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Not the trick, but being… myself.”

I glance at him, the flicker of pain and relief tangled in his eyes.

“You don’t have to hide anymore,” I say softly, “Not here. Not with me.”

He shakes his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

“Sometimes I wonder if I’m too broken to be fixed. Too shattered to be whole.”

I reach out, brushing a loose strand of hair from his face.

“Broken isn’t the end. It’s just… the start of something new, and you’re not alone anymore.” He breathes it in, the weight of those words settling like a balm.

“But The Carnival…” he whispers, voice laced with uncertainty.

“It’s still waiting to tear us apart.”

I tighten my grip on his hand, knives sheathed but ready.

“Let it try, because whatever comes, we face it together.”

His gaze holds mine, fierce, hopeful, fragile. In that quiet moment, beneath the fractured mirrors and fading lights, we make a silent vow to fight for The Carnival,

for each other, and for the fragile thread of mercy weaving through the darkness.