Page 53 of The Opening Act is Death (The Carnival of The Damned)

Fifty Five

Visha - Heart of The Carnival

To rule The Carnival, I had to break first. Now I rise; not as what they made me, but as what I’ve become.

The Carnival isn’t quiet anymore. It sings. Not with music, but with the bone-deep hum of power shifting. The velvet trembles underfoot, mirrors flicker, tents breathe. It’s not mourning now. It’s watching. Waiting. Kneeling.

I walk the blood-soaked boards of the main tent alone, not performing, not punishing. Claiming.

I’ve earned every crown carved from ash, every title whispered like a curse.

Warden. Killer. Queen of Knives.

But this… this is different. This is mine. The throne waits at the center ring, iron, roses, thorns, and it’s not empty.

It’s calling.

The Carnival folds itself around me as I sit, not in submission.

In recognition.

I feel its breath inside my chest now.

Like a second heartbeat.

Like a promise.

Like a weapon.

The scars I bear are not chains anymore. They’re keys, every one of them forged in blood and betrayal, and I don’t regret a single one.

Corvan steps through the haze, not to kneel. But to stand beside me.

No illusion this time. No mask. Just the man who chose to stay in the fire. I reach for him, not as a test, but as a vow. My fingers thread with his.

Together, we face the damned.

Together, we lead them.

The Carnival bows.

And I?

I smile, knives sheathed, but not forgotten, because I don’t need blades to rule anymore.

I am the blade.