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The Carnival: illusory, fleeting, mad, eccentric, enigmatic, something that some would consider “a lost dream that you almost seem to recall on your fingertips but never being able to do so”.
Void Puppet was somewhere in the Carnival, within their performing tent, to be precise.
It was cheery and mad outside. The parade filled with mindless bunny mascots, screaming "We love Hamel, We love Hamel!" Indeed, they did, they all did, a constant chant that filled areas of the Carnival every now and then.Misery Puppet was probably somewhere around not too far off.
Today, for now, he is having a moment all to himself in an area within the Carnival's performing tent. Although a silent desire tells if only it wasn't so.
If he was alone, he'd like for someone to be alone as well with him.
-
The room wisped with a subtle yet enchanting perfume, gently spreading around with grace. It was Void Puppet's perfume—light, woody, mellow, a hint of vanilla and the smell of luxury, as he embraced the scent that enveloped the room.
He began to stare at his very reflection in front of the mirror, the hazy vintage lights framed around it lightening up his face just by a bit.
A dull-eyed Void Puppet meets him, his short brown hair reflecting from those hazy lights. His simple-striped vest and puffed sleeves that are being secured with the arm belts he has wrapped around, those two golden brooches that lightly dangle, exuding timeless elegance.
An elegance that he is accustomed to.
On the vanity table of his own, the perfume sits idly, its label worn out. The liquid gold in the perfume is nearing little.
It's one of his favorites. He doesn't know where he got it (or came from).
He wishes he knew what perfume scent she’d like for him before it runs out.
He’d wear it every single day if he could.
Asides from his perfume lies a spot for hanging the brooch he frequently wears, a few differently designed golden rings unlike the one he is wearing at the very moment, and his hat at the farther side of the table.
Void Puppet had a preference for gold colored jewelry. Silver did not make him stand out, rather, it unfortunately blended in with the outfit he wore. Gold suited him best.
If he got a lover, would they be more so attracted to silver than gold?
That would be interesting to see. Contrasting with one another, yet pairing so well together. The idea sounds so pleasant.
Anything that was silver would immediately lead his mind back to them if that were to be the case.
A notebook and an elegant fountain pen lies on the table, which consist of his documented thoughts and—
Longings.
Longings he has yet to say.
He wants to.
He knows though, this love, from a puppet who considered to no longer feel, no longer finds meaning anything—
This love he holds quietly, is absurd.
Because he is protecting her. Someone falling in love with the one they're supposed to protect?
Why?
Why did he consider her as the meaning he sought out for so long in the illusory world they were encapsulated in?
Why did he, despite “disregarding” those feelings, could not help to look at her with so much love and adoration for every time she danced to peel away the sorrows on the stage?
The stage which was witnessed by corruptors,
Like… himself?
For how he looks, a person would assume he was not one, though it is obvious.
He isn't human, he is a puppet. A puppet corruptor in the Carnival.
A puppet and a human wouldn't go well together.
…She—
She seemed so… out of reach.
…
Hm, now that he thinks about it, for an average-sized looking table, it held his necessary essentials well.
Yes, even the bittersweet and numbing times he felt on this very table. He feels a lot yet feels so empty at the same time, it's strange to him.
His emotions, hidden beneath a facade he potrays to those in the Carnival as someone who has long lost the ability to feel in a world that hardens the outer shell of those living in it.
Hardening the shells of those who feel emotions so deeply.
'So tortorous' he thought.
...
He decided to reminisce just for awhile—not too long, not too little, dwelling on the little fragments of him that made who he is in what the people of no meaning called "nothing".
He does various performances for the audience when the time requires him to step onto the stage: impressive cardistry enough to amaze the corrupt audience, tricks involving his sceptre as he bedazzles the stage with alluring fire
And…
Performances that involve him and her; Hamel.
He didn't specialize in dancing.
Hamel though, is.
A great, legendary dancer, as those in Syndicate, Eastside, and other parts of Discity would say.
They didn't perform together frequently, for most of the time most performances are performed solo, barely collaborative.
He never told a soul, keeping this from Hamel, but whenever they performed together, specifically dancing with each other:
He loved it.
Especially if he was with Hamel.
Her guidance as they danced together was gentle, never harsh, never hasty.
As though they were not in the Carnival, no. They were in their own world.
A place for Void Puppet and Hamel only; so quiet and serene.
The thought of him being the one leading Hamel in the dance makes his chest stir even more with those confusing feelings he pretends he does not notice.
…
Blue flowers lay, 3 or 5 flowers at best.
It was similar to her; Illusory and will disappear like a dream after you wake. He took those with him.
Because—
If he can not be more than Protector and Dancer with her, please, may something here remind him of the one he yearns for.
That something which will soothe the lingering ache in his “heart”.
Despite him not having one, the ache hurts so much.
So, so much.