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    Summary

    Your job at the Freak Circus was nothing special. You were the assistant, not a fool but The Fool, and the jingling of bells accompanied your every step around the crowded circus like a giggling and childish voice mocking your bound state. You were not like the other clowns—you were small, human, weak. You didn’t have a personal tent, you didn’t have a show, you had no talent that Jester had deemed useful to the circus. You were just their assistant, their toy, their doll to use whenever the nights got too lonely.
    “We’re a circus of horror,” your purple-clad master had once said, “If you are unable to inspire fear, then might as well make them pity you.”
    And pitied you were. Quick glances studied your peculiar costume as you passed by the crowd, whispers travelled from mouth to mouth, fleeting like the kiss of a doomed lover, and yet no one dared to speak to you.
    Even if they did, you wouldn’t have been able to answer.

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