SebastiansLittleDoll
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- Posted: Wed, 15 Oct 2014 01:04:25 +0000
I'm writing between the lines!
Username: SebastiansLittleDoll
Contest: MAIN
Entry Title: N/A
Word Count: Roughly 5300
General Critiques: YES (I'm still editing this, so... )
Judge's Critiques: YES
My story:
On the surface, we were happy. We danced. We played. We did tricks that left people slack-jawed and wide-eyed. We walked tightropes. We trained animals. We had clowns that threw pies at each other's faces to the roar of applause from the audience.
But a book wasn't just its cover. It wasn't just its first pages, either. There were the rest of the pages that made up the book, and the back cover to hide its unwanted secrets. And so it was the same with the Rose-Anne circus, and so it was the same with the star performer, the Porcelain Doll.
She was a tiny woman, with frail arms and stick-like legs. But her skin was pale and smooth and shone with an eerie sheen, her blonde curls bounced with every step, and her eyes were a bright blue. She looked just like what her name implied. A porcelain doll. A living, breathing doll.
The audience loved her. They loved how ‘hollow’ she seemed, with her robotic movements. They loved her even more when she slowly turned her head towards the audience, cracked a smile, and lifted a gloved hand to do a little wave.
Then she’d create a shock by doing a cartwheel. Or any other manner of unexpected trick. The crowd would gasp, then clap like wild. Some would even howl their cheers like hyenas.
But the Porcelain Doll didn’t like the audience much.
She didn’t even like walking tightropes. Much less the thought of a hundreds of eyes prying into her.
How do I know this?
I'm the Porcelain Doll, herself.
* * *
I had a bit of a double life, you see.
The first was of the performer.
I would work in the circus, and occasionally mingle with other performers. Flirt with some of the young gents that would offer me their time. Genuinely laugh and make polite conversation.
Afterwards, I would head to the Ring Leader's tent. Where my second life would begin.
Both these lives were drastically different. The first one was colourful and happy, filled with warmth and something to live for. Here, there was the heavy smell of strong cologne in the air, and the master bed. Even the clothes were different--today it was a kimono of a bright red satin, tied at the waist with a pink ribbon that dangled down to my skinny legs.
Charles, the ringleader himself, was in one of his bad moods again. After serving me some red wine while he settled on some of the stronger beverages, he set his portly body down on the bed with a heave, and sighed.
I fidgeted with what I had donned on. It was different from what I was used to. But it seemed that Charles had been getting bored, and wanted to make things more... interesting.
"Our funds are getting low," he mumbled at last, his eyelids drooping as he took a big swig of his ale. I didn't like when he drank ale. He said the strangest things when he was drunk, and his breath would be absolutely rancid. "I doubt we'd be able to last another year, with what we have."
I gave him a pitying look and patted his hand, which found its way to one of my pale knees. Our circus was... different from others. It was partially a freak show. And, while the controversy could certainly attract a great audience, after they've seen all there was to see, there would be no point in coming back. Who would care about the bearded lady, or the tiny man, or the demon child (a young woman with diluted eyes, strange bumps on her head, and enough piercings and tattoos to make civilized folk cry), if they've already seen them once?
Even the Porcelain Doll. The curiosity lasted for a short while, before their attention zoned into one of our rival circuses.
And it didn’t help that the animals were absolutely useless. Mostly because their keepers would be too busy smoking somewhere. But they were all we had.
"Now, Charles, I'm sure we can find a way to fund the circus. Didn't Dayna say she had some cousins who always wanted to be in one?" Dayna was the devil lady. And she was quite good at it, too.
"The red paint we splash on her is expensive enough. Paying for more is almost unthinkable."
Dayna was so gruellish in appearance that I didn't see the need for any more paint--the fact that her skin had a red tinge from all the paint should suffice. But I dared not say more. His face was getting as red as a beat, and I knew that he was too drunk to listen.
"Let's have a new act, then. Someone could learn a new trick, or we could even go to towns we've never visited before! Perhaps a town in another country!" His face fell. Travelling across the border was expensive. I forgot, so I changed the topic. "Didn't the knife thrower learn a new technique?"
"Bah!" he spit into a corner of the tent, and I jumped and shied away from him. He glared at me with his small eyes, illuminated by the dim light of the candles that made his layers of flesh look orange. "You've been talking to that fellow--James--quite a lot recently. And Tina said she saw you sneaking off to his tent the other day, when you were supposed to be doing the laundry!"
I gulped. I froze whenever Charles was angry, but how was I to stay loyal when he went off with the maids? I didn't say anything for a while, before I said, "I-it's not what you think, dear. Really, he wanted me to clean his tent." A horrible excuse. I inwardly cringed.
"Oho?" he raised an eyebrow. The taunt hurt. The taunts always hurt. "So what were you doing there for hours?"
"C-cleaning his te--"
Charles yelled, them. He yelled and swore and I covered my ears and grimaced, wishing I had stopped him from drinking so much. When he finally subsided, I opened an eye just a crack, to see him heaving and sputtering.
"Don't you ever... ever...."
"I won't," I said quickly, shielding my face with my hands. "Oh, I promise I won't. I swear, Charles!"
Silence. Then, a long drawn out sigh. "Oh, Veronica," he said, and I felt a plump arm wrap around me. "What am I to do with you?" He patted my head, then. As if I was a pet that was misbehaving. Or a doll.
* * *
We decided to go to a small town that we hadn't visited before.
Barely of the residents came to see us--lately, our reputation with the church was getting worse and worse, and it seemed the townspeople didn't want to upset the local priest--but the ones that did come were treated with grand fanfare. The dancers, wearing their small sequined dresses, cooed and swooned at the few young gents that showed up. The animals, luckily for us, were more cooperative. Dayna even shrieked and howled a little more, just to be more entertaining than usual, and almost got into a fight with one of the circus animals.
Torn with guilt, I kept pacing around in the dressing room, refusing to be part of the ‘fun’. I felt upset that I doubted Charles. He loved me. He really did. It was all probably a misunderstanding, and he may not have slept with the other maids at all.
Though an annoying voice in my head said that I was ignoring the facts, and the way he avoided the subject was enough proof.
I hadn’t gotten more time to contemplate, since a second later a lady shoved a heavy Victorian dress into my arms. The lady had sniffled and gave me glowering looks as she did, which was odd. She was usually very kind, and often gave words of encouragement. Perhaps today was a bad day.
The dress made my act hard. Usually, the dresses I'd wear would be lighter, and shorter, and would allow me to perform other tricks while I was tightrope walking. This time, I had to be careful so as not to trip over the hem of my dress, and it was so hot my back was drenched, and my face was shiny with perspiration. The crowd still cheered, as always. But it was less satisfying. Less heartening.
* * *
Charles had 'mysteriously disappeared', which was excuse enough for me to sneak into his bathroom.
Charles' quarters were one of the fanciest we had, and I enjoyed going there whenever I was bored (though I had to take measures so as not to be spotted). The room was filled with pretty little trinkets he had found during his travels. There small statues and jewelry adorning a slim brown table with a mirror overhanging it. There was a huge bed, to make up for his gigantic frame, and there was always a bottle or two of the finest alcohol lying around. Though they were usually empty.
His bathroom was also spacious, but not quite as nice. I settled down in a bathtub and watched my arms and legs float up to the surface of the water. They really did look like doll limbs. And from my reflection I could see my thick blonde hair and my light blue eyes, my thin pink lips. I was always surprised with how much I looked like a toy.
Though it was not a new revelation.
When I finished, I went back to my own chambers to see if I could find appropriate clothes, when I spotted a note on my bed. Curious, I picked it up, and read the invitation:
"Dearest Veronica, I think of you often. My days feel so dull without you around me, and it seems that lately you have been more and more busy. Shall we meet again tonight? If you are all right with it, please, leave a red carnation on your door, and I will knock.
Yours truly
-James"
The note smelled faintly of perfume, and many of the words had been crossed out and rewritten. It made me grimace. James was two years younger than me, and was acting very much like a lovestruck boy. Seems he hadn’t listened when I told him that I was only releasing my anxieties.
I was about to throw the letter away, when I paused. Charles was probably flirting with a maid elsewhere. As much as it made my heart ache, and as much anguish as it no doubt (or, I hope no doubt) would cause him, I refused to be disregarded. Was it wrong? Perhaps. Perhaps it was. But it was also a lesson.
I fished around in my drawers for a red carnation.
* * *
I couldn't sleep that night. And James hadn’t shown up. Sick and tired of mindlessly rolling around in bed, I dragged myself up and walked to his room, to see if he had returned, afterwards.
I was surprised. I hadn’t expected him to be back.
He sitting in his bed, silent, his head lolling forward. He hadn’t called me over. Nonetheless, I crept silently into his room, and looked for a blanket to cover him with. I contemplated waking him up, but, I didn't want him to be mad again.
His eyes flew open.
Squealing, I almost dropped the blanket I found, and fumbled to keep it in my grasp. He looked at me as if he didn't know why I was there, before his face cleared.
"Ah, Veronica," he said, his tone surprisingly calm. I noticed how there was a red carnation in his coat pocket, paling. "What are you doing here?"
"Just checking how you were, love," I said, drawing the blanket up to his chin. Hesitating, I said, "Where have you been?"
He laughed. "Ah, no where in particular. Just doing some work, was all." It was obvious he was lying, but my lips were sealed. "I've also thought up a way for our circus to gain more attention."
"Oh?" I feigned excitement. "How?" Please, please tell me you won't turn James into a lion tamer. Oh, his heart must be broken by now....
"Yes." his grin widened. "You'll learn how to balance plates, or juggle cutlery. It'll be part of a new concept we have for The Porcelain Doll--you'll be a grown up doll now, and managing the housework. If we ever find a younger tightrope walker, he or she'll be your child. Isn't that brilliant!"
The excitement fell from my face faster than a tightrope walker would fall to the ground if they made a blunder. "You don't... but how... I...I can't juggle, nor balance plates. And you don't actually expect me to perform in the attire you've given me, do you?"
"Eh?" he said, narrowing his eyes. I didn't like the look on his face. Not one bit. "And, pray tell, why not? You could use them just fine the other day."
"My regular acts are tricky enough. I used to be afraid of heights, remember?" I said, tears springing up to my eyes. Charles had this queer tendency to be unthinkably cruel when he was upset. When, at the age of 20, he first picked me up from an orphanage (saying something along the lines of how my father had cared for him before he passed away, and he wanted to care for me, too), he would scare me with the circus animals when I refused to even look at him. At the age of fifteen, when I tried running away, he caught me and forced me to become a tightrope walker. And when he proposed to me when I was 17, he had screamed at me about how much of a big favour he had done me, until I caved in.
It was strange, looking back at the past, and at how frightened I was of him, before I barely got to know him as well as I knew him now. I came to love him. I became used to the sound of his loud snores as I would lay next to him at night, the expensive gifts he’d buy, the fancy food he’d serve (in just the right portions, of course), the way he'd watch over me and guide me. Like how he showed me how to read at a young age (though, curiously, he only let me read romance novels).
He had shown my love that no one else did, and made me feel true affection for once since my parents’ deaths. I didn't want to lose that. I didn't want to lose the small kindness that he offered, either.
"Let's try something else. Perhaps hiring some trapeze artists would do us some good? Most circuses have them, even our riva--"
"Oh, don't mention those old sods, you whore," he growled. His breath smelled of ale. Perhaps a little drunk, and hadn't meant what he said, but it stung, nonetheless. Yet I could not reply. I was as still as a statue, waiting for further orders.
"Here," he grabbed the red carnation and shoved it in my hand. "Take this. I knew that James fellow would try flirting with you again. Though I didn't expect you to say yes to his methods. Let's see if you allow him into your room again, eh?” He paused, before saying. “He’ll be fired in no time.”
I could barely hold the tears in, but I turned on my heel and rushed away.
***
I was determined to learn the new tricks Charles wanted me to learn.
It took me a while to make this decision, and I could barely sleep the other night, but I decided that I refused to let that whore of a maid win. Whether I had to strain my barely-there muscles or not.
Or, so I thought. But the wooden china Charles got for practice were too heavy for my slender arms, and, for the first time in years, I slipped on the rope and fell to the safety nets below.
"Veronica!" Charles' yells rang across the circus. Yet the safety net was such a comfort that I didn't want to get up and try again--it reminded me of the old years as a teenager, when I tried to discover my dreams for the first time. Never mind if the china was broken or not.
I was starting to have my doubts, then. I didn’t truly like tightrope walking, though I came to appreciate it, like how I appreciated Charles. I never chose to be in a circus. What was the use?
Afterwards, while we continued packing up to leave to the next town, James came to see me.
His blue eyes were red at the rim, and he looked like he was going to burst out sobbing any minute. He didn’t seem to care that he didn’t have a coat on in the freezing cold. His brown hair was unruly and ruffled, and he fidgeted with his hands. "You look like you're hurt," he said.
"I look like nothing compared to you," I said, hoping that I didn't sound too harsh. "What happened? Your eyes--oh goodness, don't tell me you've been crying!"
And indignant flush crossed his face. "I... No, I'm fine.” He was silent for a while. This was what I liked about James. He was calm. He was quiet. Naive. Good old James could be trusted to stay the same, even if everyone else turned over a new leaf. “But,” he said at last, “I understand that I'm not... good enough."
Slowly, I shook my head. "Heavens no, James. You're a brilliant boy, truly. And I've told you beforehand, haven't I? That I was already in love? "
"I know. I shouldn't have asked..." He bit his lip. “And I wish you wouldn’t call me a boy.”
I ignored that last comment. "No, oh, heavens, no," I said, reaching a hand out to grab his arm. Perhaps it was too intimate for him, because he moved back. His cheeks were still flushing with colour, and the snow made it all the more noticeable.
"Please don't misunderstand," I tried again, "you're a great person, really. I... didn't think you'd take this so seriously."
He tried a weak smile. "I did, in the end. Again, I'm sorry...."
"You don't have to be, you really d--"
"Can we still be acquaintances?"
He asked so suddenly, I was taken aback. Then I nearly laughed. I was expecting foul words, not his wanting to be friends!
But I gave him a sad smile, and thought that I could, at the very least, take on his request. "If it makes you happy."
Without another word, he turned and walked off. I stared after him, noting how stiff he was. Then quickly glanced around me, hoping that Charles hadn't been around to see our exchange.
***
"Do you see that slut?"
"The nerve!"
I gave the ladies chattering behind me a curious look, before I headed towards the main tent to practice. Three feet from the entrance, I paused.
Eye were boring into my back, and there were faint murmurs on the breeze.
What was going on? What was this unease that was settling down inside of me, that made me colder than winter ever did?
I almost contemplated turning around and going back to the Ringleader's chambers, feigning illness, when Devil Lady poked her head around a tent flap.
She ogled at me. My mouth opened and closed several times, trying to find the words to say. When, out of nowhere, she grabbed me by the scruff of my dress, and dragged me inside.
"What on Ea--"
"Shhh," she hissed, her eyes alight ominously. It scared me, for a moment, to be in the clutches of a human that truly looked like a demon. But then I remembered that, to most. I look just like a doll, and I probably unsettled them as she unsettled me. So I forced myself to take a deep breath.
"Is it true?"
"...What is?"
She stared again. Without helping myself, I took in her bumps, her torn skin, her bloodshot eyes. "That you're a harlot."
I reeled.
"A... A harlot...? What...?"
"People've been sayin' that you've been sleepin' with Mr. Charles," she said, scowling. "But you're just like a little doll. You look like a lil’ kid even though you’re twenty. There was no reason for you to sleep 'round with old men, now was there?"
My head was faint. How did she know? Charles surely would not have said anything. He saw our love as being sacred. He said he'd hide it. He really did. I think. He did! Was it James, then? Yes, yes it was James.
"Why're you all quiet?" she said, her eyes narrowed. Remembering all those lessons on how to be 'a proper lady', I met her gaze and forced myself to look less... guilty.
"Those rumors are all fake, I'll have you know," I retorted, putting enough effort to make the retort look as real as possible. "Why anyone would say those things is beyond me."
She was still doubtful, but I must have put on a convincing act for she said, "One of the maids. I think 'er name was Anna? She was talking about how you spend so much time in the Ringleader's tent, your perfume was all over the place."
"That's silly. Why would I need to go there in the first place?" I said, putting on a deep scowl. That really seemed to settle her nerves. She let go of me and stared me up and down once more, before saying "Good heavens, child." and shook her head. She walked away, probably to go play with the circus monkeys.
My heart was still beating furiously. That was close. Very close. But that b***h of a maid had some nerve, to try and make up rumors about me.
Even if those rumors happened to be very true.
Yet, there was something that began eating its way at me. It started off as a slight nibble, then grew in strength, even while I was practicing. There was absolutely no way she would have found out by herself. I covered my tracks perfectly. As did Charles. I'm not sure even James knew I was seeing him in particular, either.
So who could have told, if the only person who knew was Ch--....
With this thought, I really did feign illness.
* * *
That night, I found myself tucked away within familiar sheets. The Ringleader had settled off to sleep, his chest rising and falling like waves on a stormy sea. If I closed my eyes and pretended his snoring was actually thunder, I could almost imagine being out at sea. The sun, the salty water, the birds. Perhaps I could have been a maid on a ship somewhere. Perhaps the sailors would have been kind.
It was with sadness that I finally opened my eyes and turned to face my partner, putting one hand on his arm and gently shaking him awake. I was at a point in my life where I wasn't really sure what was happening. And I came to the conclusion that it was in these times that having civilized discussions with your lover was best. At least, before you did anything drastic.
"Charles?"
A groan. I shook harder, and his eyes opened painfully slow.
"What's wrong?"
I ignored the irritated tone in his voice. "We... we need to discuss things, Charles. I feel as if I'm at my wits end."
He sat up, then. His eyes were narrowed to slits with suspicion. "Discuss...? About what?"
I couldn't do what I did to Dayna to him. My eyes flew to the bed sheets and focused on the pattern that criss-crossed across them, hating myself. "One of the maids have been spreading rumors about me."
His face blanked for a moment. Then it cleared, and he put on a smile. "Ah, yes. Ignore her. She's just being silly."
Time seemed to have stopped. It stopped as what he said sunk in. "You seem to know her very well."
"We're acquaintances." I stared at him in shock, and didn't fail to catch the corners of his mouth turn upwards, if just for a moment. "I'll introduce her to you, sometimes. She, er, knew my father."
He's doing this on purpose. My lungs felt as if they failed. I contemplated turning around and just saying good night, but the disbelief stopped me from doing so. "How come I've never heard about her? And, you've been awfully busy these last few days. Don't tell me..."
"Do you doubt this relationship?" Charles said, his expression clouding. I shied away from him. "Do you not accept this love? ...It is a gift, Veronica, and I'm ashamed that you could even suggest..."
"Deny me, then," I said, wringing the blanket in my hands. It was soft. So soft, I wished I could close my eyes and fade away into its softness. "Deny me and tell me that you haven't been seeing her and doing awful things behind my back. God knows you've done it before."
A slap. I was stunned. But Charles just looked down upon me, his expression one of, I thought, mock pity. "Perhaps you've had too much to drink," he said, trying to place a hand on my arm. By instinct, I squirmed away, and his face flashed with anger. "If you doubt me to such an extent, you may as well return to your quarters, Veronica."
"Please, I--"
"Veronica." his voice was just like thunder rumbling, filled with an unfathomable anger. Quivering, I went to my chambers.
* * *
When we finally reached our next town, I wasn't in the show.
I broke my arm.
I wasn't sure how it happened. I had finally gotten the hang of my new acts, being able to balance fairly well under the weight of the heavy china. It looked quite impressive, too, with my small frame. I saw James watching me, and I had given him a small smile, which, to my relief, he returned.
But, as it happened every so often, I had lost my footing. And, as we were using real china, it fell tumbling on top of me.
Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise.
Charles had left when I began my act. No one knew where he went. Paperwork, everyone assumed. I didn't even want to move, I just waited as a nurse came and lifted me off and took me away to check me over, and could only vaguely recall James' face among the masses, his expression troubled. And scared.
And so there I was, sitting outside of the town the circus was performing in, the day of the performance. I was not sure what I was doing. Or how I got there. It just happened. Like the broken arm. And as I stared at my cast while the snowflakes glided down, all I felt was an immense sadness. It was an impenetrable sadness. The kind you feel when you've failed at something you've tried so hard at.
That was when I heard footsteps crunching on the thin layer of snow.
I turned around. James was walking towards me, his hands in his pockets, and a big scarf comically tied around his neck. Over his shoulder was a brown bag that was full to the brim.
"Hello, James," I said, not bothering to be polite. He took in how I was sitting down on the snow, and how I wasn't even wearing makeup, so that my pale face stood out. I was also wearing the shabbiest dress I could find. He saw all this and sat down next to me anyways.
He didn't say anything, either. For a little while we just sat there, and his presence was almost calming. "I hope you don't still love him."
"Oh? Who?"
"...You can't."
My cheeks flushed. "And why can't I?"
It seemed James had gotten a little older, then. Perhaps he had gotten taller? Or perhaps it was the dignified expression he held, the way with which he regarded the landscape--barren and not very pretty--with a serious gaze. "He abuses you. He spread those rumors. It's obvious." It must have been obvious, for James to piece everything together so easily.
I didn't say anything to that. I couldn't say anything. Even if I wanted to.
"You were trying so hard, Veronica," his voice cracked, bringing out the young kid I used to think he was. Though I could hardly talk myself. I looked at him, and awkwardly patted his shoulder.
"It doesn't matter," I said, "I'll be fine."
"You should be living a better life. At least for your talents. It's not fair. It's just not." A strong gust of wind nearly blew his hat off, and he grabbed it before it flew away.
A hollow laugh escaped me. "I wish. Though that doesn't always happen, does it?"
"You're as young as me. You can change your life. You still have a chance, damn it!"
"...Why are you telling me this?" I said. When I got no response, "James? What are you planning?"
"I'm running away," he said at last. I stared, and then let out a snort.
"You're not just going to run off into the wilderness, are you? How will you earn money and shelter?"
"I have someone I can live with.” He puffed his chest out as he said this. “I've been planning it out all along, and even a place to work, in a town nearby." He patted the pack sitting next to him, his eyes glistening. "I've packed. I've done everything."
I was impressed. I never expected this level of responsibility or preparation from him. I was skeptical of how he reached his position, but, we were circus performers. If we could handle walking on tight ropes and dealing with dangerous beasts, surely we could handle a bit of life, as well?
"It was an old friend... met me after one of our latest shows..." his eyes were still glistening as he rambled on, and I listened with rapt attention. I never expect him to pause suddenly, turn to me, and say, "Would you like to come along?"
My mouth gaped open. He continued. "You're miserable here. And… and you're not treated with love. The others will treat you worse as time goes on, too. Besides, he'll probably throw you away onto a street somewhere with that arm of yours."
I knew he was right. Charles lost the glimmer in his eyes as he'd gaze at me, and seemed to care more for our voluptuous maids than a petite doll.
"Give me a chance." he said. Time froze again. The snowflakes hung suspended in mid-air, and my breath condensed in front of my face. "Please, please do. I'm not asking you to be a lover. But you could have a home. You could work. Please."
Young boys were dangerous. I knew that. I was told that. They were full of ambition and passion, and, in the words of Charles himself, I was better off with mature men.
But where was Charles now? Flirting with some other women. Treating me as if I really was no other than a porcelain doll. And, while I had basic needs met at this circus, I'd rather work hard on a desolate farm somewhere far from society than stay here much longer.
I stood up. Dusted off a faint layer of snow. I sighed, and said, quite hesitantly "I... All right. I’ll try running away.” Again. It didn’t work, last time. But Charles wanted me last time.
He was overjoyed. He almost hugged me and spun me around, but ended up standing close to me with his hands awkwardly outstretched instead. I didn't mind.
It was reckless of me. I may have been making a big mistake.
But when you've already made some, what was the problem in making some more?
Username: SebastiansLittleDoll
Contest: MAIN
Entry Title: N/A
Word Count: Roughly 5300
General Critiques: YES (I'm still editing this, so... )
Judge's Critiques: YES
My story:
On the surface, we were happy. We danced. We played. We did tricks that left people slack-jawed and wide-eyed. We walked tightropes. We trained animals. We had clowns that threw pies at each other's faces to the roar of applause from the audience.
But a book wasn't just its cover. It wasn't just its first pages, either. There were the rest of the pages that made up the book, and the back cover to hide its unwanted secrets. And so it was the same with the Rose-Anne circus, and so it was the same with the star performer, the Porcelain Doll.
She was a tiny woman, with frail arms and stick-like legs. But her skin was pale and smooth and shone with an eerie sheen, her blonde curls bounced with every step, and her eyes were a bright blue. She looked just like what her name implied. A porcelain doll. A living, breathing doll.
The audience loved her. They loved how ‘hollow’ she seemed, with her robotic movements. They loved her even more when she slowly turned her head towards the audience, cracked a smile, and lifted a gloved hand to do a little wave.
Then she’d create a shock by doing a cartwheel. Or any other manner of unexpected trick. The crowd would gasp, then clap like wild. Some would even howl their cheers like hyenas.
But the Porcelain Doll didn’t like the audience much.
She didn’t even like walking tightropes. Much less the thought of a hundreds of eyes prying into her.
How do I know this?
I'm the Porcelain Doll, herself.
* * *
I had a bit of a double life, you see.
The first was of the performer.
I would work in the circus, and occasionally mingle with other performers. Flirt with some of the young gents that would offer me their time. Genuinely laugh and make polite conversation.
Afterwards, I would head to the Ring Leader's tent. Where my second life would begin.
Both these lives were drastically different. The first one was colourful and happy, filled with warmth and something to live for. Here, there was the heavy smell of strong cologne in the air, and the master bed. Even the clothes were different--today it was a kimono of a bright red satin, tied at the waist with a pink ribbon that dangled down to my skinny legs.
Charles, the ringleader himself, was in one of his bad moods again. After serving me some red wine while he settled on some of the stronger beverages, he set his portly body down on the bed with a heave, and sighed.
I fidgeted with what I had donned on. It was different from what I was used to. But it seemed that Charles had been getting bored, and wanted to make things more... interesting.
"Our funds are getting low," he mumbled at last, his eyelids drooping as he took a big swig of his ale. I didn't like when he drank ale. He said the strangest things when he was drunk, and his breath would be absolutely rancid. "I doubt we'd be able to last another year, with what we have."
I gave him a pitying look and patted his hand, which found its way to one of my pale knees. Our circus was... different from others. It was partially a freak show. And, while the controversy could certainly attract a great audience, after they've seen all there was to see, there would be no point in coming back. Who would care about the bearded lady, or the tiny man, or the demon child (a young woman with diluted eyes, strange bumps on her head, and enough piercings and tattoos to make civilized folk cry), if they've already seen them once?
Even the Porcelain Doll. The curiosity lasted for a short while, before their attention zoned into one of our rival circuses.
And it didn’t help that the animals were absolutely useless. Mostly because their keepers would be too busy smoking somewhere. But they were all we had.
"Now, Charles, I'm sure we can find a way to fund the circus. Didn't Dayna say she had some cousins who always wanted to be in one?" Dayna was the devil lady. And she was quite good at it, too.
"The red paint we splash on her is expensive enough. Paying for more is almost unthinkable."
Dayna was so gruellish in appearance that I didn't see the need for any more paint--the fact that her skin had a red tinge from all the paint should suffice. But I dared not say more. His face was getting as red as a beat, and I knew that he was too drunk to listen.
"Let's have a new act, then. Someone could learn a new trick, or we could even go to towns we've never visited before! Perhaps a town in another country!" His face fell. Travelling across the border was expensive. I forgot, so I changed the topic. "Didn't the knife thrower learn a new technique?"
"Bah!" he spit into a corner of the tent, and I jumped and shied away from him. He glared at me with his small eyes, illuminated by the dim light of the candles that made his layers of flesh look orange. "You've been talking to that fellow--James--quite a lot recently. And Tina said she saw you sneaking off to his tent the other day, when you were supposed to be doing the laundry!"
I gulped. I froze whenever Charles was angry, but how was I to stay loyal when he went off with the maids? I didn't say anything for a while, before I said, "I-it's not what you think, dear. Really, he wanted me to clean his tent." A horrible excuse. I inwardly cringed.
"Oho?" he raised an eyebrow. The taunt hurt. The taunts always hurt. "So what were you doing there for hours?"
"C-cleaning his te--"
Charles yelled, them. He yelled and swore and I covered my ears and grimaced, wishing I had stopped him from drinking so much. When he finally subsided, I opened an eye just a crack, to see him heaving and sputtering.
"Don't you ever... ever...."
"I won't," I said quickly, shielding my face with my hands. "Oh, I promise I won't. I swear, Charles!"
Silence. Then, a long drawn out sigh. "Oh, Veronica," he said, and I felt a plump arm wrap around me. "What am I to do with you?" He patted my head, then. As if I was a pet that was misbehaving. Or a doll.
* * *
We decided to go to a small town that we hadn't visited before.
Barely of the residents came to see us--lately, our reputation with the church was getting worse and worse, and it seemed the townspeople didn't want to upset the local priest--but the ones that did come were treated with grand fanfare. The dancers, wearing their small sequined dresses, cooed and swooned at the few young gents that showed up. The animals, luckily for us, were more cooperative. Dayna even shrieked and howled a little more, just to be more entertaining than usual, and almost got into a fight with one of the circus animals.
Torn with guilt, I kept pacing around in the dressing room, refusing to be part of the ‘fun’. I felt upset that I doubted Charles. He loved me. He really did. It was all probably a misunderstanding, and he may not have slept with the other maids at all.
Though an annoying voice in my head said that I was ignoring the facts, and the way he avoided the subject was enough proof.
I hadn’t gotten more time to contemplate, since a second later a lady shoved a heavy Victorian dress into my arms. The lady had sniffled and gave me glowering looks as she did, which was odd. She was usually very kind, and often gave words of encouragement. Perhaps today was a bad day.
The dress made my act hard. Usually, the dresses I'd wear would be lighter, and shorter, and would allow me to perform other tricks while I was tightrope walking. This time, I had to be careful so as not to trip over the hem of my dress, and it was so hot my back was drenched, and my face was shiny with perspiration. The crowd still cheered, as always. But it was less satisfying. Less heartening.
* * *
Charles had 'mysteriously disappeared', which was excuse enough for me to sneak into his bathroom.
Charles' quarters were one of the fanciest we had, and I enjoyed going there whenever I was bored (though I had to take measures so as not to be spotted). The room was filled with pretty little trinkets he had found during his travels. There small statues and jewelry adorning a slim brown table with a mirror overhanging it. There was a huge bed, to make up for his gigantic frame, and there was always a bottle or two of the finest alcohol lying around. Though they were usually empty.
His bathroom was also spacious, but not quite as nice. I settled down in a bathtub and watched my arms and legs float up to the surface of the water. They really did look like doll limbs. And from my reflection I could see my thick blonde hair and my light blue eyes, my thin pink lips. I was always surprised with how much I looked like a toy.
Though it was not a new revelation.
When I finished, I went back to my own chambers to see if I could find appropriate clothes, when I spotted a note on my bed. Curious, I picked it up, and read the invitation:
"Dearest Veronica, I think of you often. My days feel so dull without you around me, and it seems that lately you have been more and more busy. Shall we meet again tonight? If you are all right with it, please, leave a red carnation on your door, and I will knock.
Yours truly
-James"
The note smelled faintly of perfume, and many of the words had been crossed out and rewritten. It made me grimace. James was two years younger than me, and was acting very much like a lovestruck boy. Seems he hadn’t listened when I told him that I was only releasing my anxieties.
I was about to throw the letter away, when I paused. Charles was probably flirting with a maid elsewhere. As much as it made my heart ache, and as much anguish as it no doubt (or, I hope no doubt) would cause him, I refused to be disregarded. Was it wrong? Perhaps. Perhaps it was. But it was also a lesson.
I fished around in my drawers for a red carnation.
* * *
I couldn't sleep that night. And James hadn’t shown up. Sick and tired of mindlessly rolling around in bed, I dragged myself up and walked to his room, to see if he had returned, afterwards.
I was surprised. I hadn’t expected him to be back.
He sitting in his bed, silent, his head lolling forward. He hadn’t called me over. Nonetheless, I crept silently into his room, and looked for a blanket to cover him with. I contemplated waking him up, but, I didn't want him to be mad again.
His eyes flew open.
Squealing, I almost dropped the blanket I found, and fumbled to keep it in my grasp. He looked at me as if he didn't know why I was there, before his face cleared.
"Ah, Veronica," he said, his tone surprisingly calm. I noticed how there was a red carnation in his coat pocket, paling. "What are you doing here?"
"Just checking how you were, love," I said, drawing the blanket up to his chin. Hesitating, I said, "Where have you been?"
He laughed. "Ah, no where in particular. Just doing some work, was all." It was obvious he was lying, but my lips were sealed. "I've also thought up a way for our circus to gain more attention."
"Oh?" I feigned excitement. "How?" Please, please tell me you won't turn James into a lion tamer. Oh, his heart must be broken by now....
"Yes." his grin widened. "You'll learn how to balance plates, or juggle cutlery. It'll be part of a new concept we have for The Porcelain Doll--you'll be a grown up doll now, and managing the housework. If we ever find a younger tightrope walker, he or she'll be your child. Isn't that brilliant!"
The excitement fell from my face faster than a tightrope walker would fall to the ground if they made a blunder. "You don't... but how... I...I can't juggle, nor balance plates. And you don't actually expect me to perform in the attire you've given me, do you?"
"Eh?" he said, narrowing his eyes. I didn't like the look on his face. Not one bit. "And, pray tell, why not? You could use them just fine the other day."
"My regular acts are tricky enough. I used to be afraid of heights, remember?" I said, tears springing up to my eyes. Charles had this queer tendency to be unthinkably cruel when he was upset. When, at the age of 20, he first picked me up from an orphanage (saying something along the lines of how my father had cared for him before he passed away, and he wanted to care for me, too), he would scare me with the circus animals when I refused to even look at him. At the age of fifteen, when I tried running away, he caught me and forced me to become a tightrope walker. And when he proposed to me when I was 17, he had screamed at me about how much of a big favour he had done me, until I caved in.
It was strange, looking back at the past, and at how frightened I was of him, before I barely got to know him as well as I knew him now. I came to love him. I became used to the sound of his loud snores as I would lay next to him at night, the expensive gifts he’d buy, the fancy food he’d serve (in just the right portions, of course), the way he'd watch over me and guide me. Like how he showed me how to read at a young age (though, curiously, he only let me read romance novels).
He had shown my love that no one else did, and made me feel true affection for once since my parents’ deaths. I didn't want to lose that. I didn't want to lose the small kindness that he offered, either.
"Let's try something else. Perhaps hiring some trapeze artists would do us some good? Most circuses have them, even our riva--"
"Oh, don't mention those old sods, you whore," he growled. His breath smelled of ale. Perhaps a little drunk, and hadn't meant what he said, but it stung, nonetheless. Yet I could not reply. I was as still as a statue, waiting for further orders.
"Here," he grabbed the red carnation and shoved it in my hand. "Take this. I knew that James fellow would try flirting with you again. Though I didn't expect you to say yes to his methods. Let's see if you allow him into your room again, eh?” He paused, before saying. “He’ll be fired in no time.”
I could barely hold the tears in, but I turned on my heel and rushed away.
***
I was determined to learn the new tricks Charles wanted me to learn.
It took me a while to make this decision, and I could barely sleep the other night, but I decided that I refused to let that whore of a maid win. Whether I had to strain my barely-there muscles or not.
Or, so I thought. But the wooden china Charles got for practice were too heavy for my slender arms, and, for the first time in years, I slipped on the rope and fell to the safety nets below.
"Veronica!" Charles' yells rang across the circus. Yet the safety net was such a comfort that I didn't want to get up and try again--it reminded me of the old years as a teenager, when I tried to discover my dreams for the first time. Never mind if the china was broken or not.
I was starting to have my doubts, then. I didn’t truly like tightrope walking, though I came to appreciate it, like how I appreciated Charles. I never chose to be in a circus. What was the use?
Afterwards, while we continued packing up to leave to the next town, James came to see me.
His blue eyes were red at the rim, and he looked like he was going to burst out sobbing any minute. He didn’t seem to care that he didn’t have a coat on in the freezing cold. His brown hair was unruly and ruffled, and he fidgeted with his hands. "You look like you're hurt," he said.
"I look like nothing compared to you," I said, hoping that I didn't sound too harsh. "What happened? Your eyes--oh goodness, don't tell me you've been crying!"
And indignant flush crossed his face. "I... No, I'm fine.” He was silent for a while. This was what I liked about James. He was calm. He was quiet. Naive. Good old James could be trusted to stay the same, even if everyone else turned over a new leaf. “But,” he said at last, “I understand that I'm not... good enough."
Slowly, I shook my head. "Heavens no, James. You're a brilliant boy, truly. And I've told you beforehand, haven't I? That I was already in love? "
"I know. I shouldn't have asked..." He bit his lip. “And I wish you wouldn’t call me a boy.”
I ignored that last comment. "No, oh, heavens, no," I said, reaching a hand out to grab his arm. Perhaps it was too intimate for him, because he moved back. His cheeks were still flushing with colour, and the snow made it all the more noticeable.
"Please don't misunderstand," I tried again, "you're a great person, really. I... didn't think you'd take this so seriously."
He tried a weak smile. "I did, in the end. Again, I'm sorry...."
"You don't have to be, you really d--"
"Can we still be acquaintances?"
He asked so suddenly, I was taken aback. Then I nearly laughed. I was expecting foul words, not his wanting to be friends!
But I gave him a sad smile, and thought that I could, at the very least, take on his request. "If it makes you happy."
Without another word, he turned and walked off. I stared after him, noting how stiff he was. Then quickly glanced around me, hoping that Charles hadn't been around to see our exchange.
***
"Do you see that slut?"
"The nerve!"
I gave the ladies chattering behind me a curious look, before I headed towards the main tent to practice. Three feet from the entrance, I paused.
Eye were boring into my back, and there were faint murmurs on the breeze.
What was going on? What was this unease that was settling down inside of me, that made me colder than winter ever did?
I almost contemplated turning around and going back to the Ringleader's chambers, feigning illness, when Devil Lady poked her head around a tent flap.
She ogled at me. My mouth opened and closed several times, trying to find the words to say. When, out of nowhere, she grabbed me by the scruff of my dress, and dragged me inside.
"What on Ea--"
"Shhh," she hissed, her eyes alight ominously. It scared me, for a moment, to be in the clutches of a human that truly looked like a demon. But then I remembered that, to most. I look just like a doll, and I probably unsettled them as she unsettled me. So I forced myself to take a deep breath.
"Is it true?"
"...What is?"
She stared again. Without helping myself, I took in her bumps, her torn skin, her bloodshot eyes. "That you're a harlot."
I reeled.
"A... A harlot...? What...?"
"People've been sayin' that you've been sleepin' with Mr. Charles," she said, scowling. "But you're just like a little doll. You look like a lil’ kid even though you’re twenty. There was no reason for you to sleep 'round with old men, now was there?"
My head was faint. How did she know? Charles surely would not have said anything. He saw our love as being sacred. He said he'd hide it. He really did. I think. He did! Was it James, then? Yes, yes it was James.
"Why're you all quiet?" she said, her eyes narrowed. Remembering all those lessons on how to be 'a proper lady', I met her gaze and forced myself to look less... guilty.
"Those rumors are all fake, I'll have you know," I retorted, putting enough effort to make the retort look as real as possible. "Why anyone would say those things is beyond me."
She was still doubtful, but I must have put on a convincing act for she said, "One of the maids. I think 'er name was Anna? She was talking about how you spend so much time in the Ringleader's tent, your perfume was all over the place."
"That's silly. Why would I need to go there in the first place?" I said, putting on a deep scowl. That really seemed to settle her nerves. She let go of me and stared me up and down once more, before saying "Good heavens, child." and shook her head. She walked away, probably to go play with the circus monkeys.
My heart was still beating furiously. That was close. Very close. But that b***h of a maid had some nerve, to try and make up rumors about me.
Even if those rumors happened to be very true.
Yet, there was something that began eating its way at me. It started off as a slight nibble, then grew in strength, even while I was practicing. There was absolutely no way she would have found out by herself. I covered my tracks perfectly. As did Charles. I'm not sure even James knew I was seeing him in particular, either.
So who could have told, if the only person who knew was Ch--....
With this thought, I really did feign illness.
* * *
That night, I found myself tucked away within familiar sheets. The Ringleader had settled off to sleep, his chest rising and falling like waves on a stormy sea. If I closed my eyes and pretended his snoring was actually thunder, I could almost imagine being out at sea. The sun, the salty water, the birds. Perhaps I could have been a maid on a ship somewhere. Perhaps the sailors would have been kind.
It was with sadness that I finally opened my eyes and turned to face my partner, putting one hand on his arm and gently shaking him awake. I was at a point in my life where I wasn't really sure what was happening. And I came to the conclusion that it was in these times that having civilized discussions with your lover was best. At least, before you did anything drastic.
"Charles?"
A groan. I shook harder, and his eyes opened painfully slow.
"What's wrong?"
I ignored the irritated tone in his voice. "We... we need to discuss things, Charles. I feel as if I'm at my wits end."
He sat up, then. His eyes were narrowed to slits with suspicion. "Discuss...? About what?"
I couldn't do what I did to Dayna to him. My eyes flew to the bed sheets and focused on the pattern that criss-crossed across them, hating myself. "One of the maids have been spreading rumors about me."
His face blanked for a moment. Then it cleared, and he put on a smile. "Ah, yes. Ignore her. She's just being silly."
Time seemed to have stopped. It stopped as what he said sunk in. "You seem to know her very well."
"We're acquaintances." I stared at him in shock, and didn't fail to catch the corners of his mouth turn upwards, if just for a moment. "I'll introduce her to you, sometimes. She, er, knew my father."
He's doing this on purpose. My lungs felt as if they failed. I contemplated turning around and just saying good night, but the disbelief stopped me from doing so. "How come I've never heard about her? And, you've been awfully busy these last few days. Don't tell me..."
"Do you doubt this relationship?" Charles said, his expression clouding. I shied away from him. "Do you not accept this love? ...It is a gift, Veronica, and I'm ashamed that you could even suggest..."
"Deny me, then," I said, wringing the blanket in my hands. It was soft. So soft, I wished I could close my eyes and fade away into its softness. "Deny me and tell me that you haven't been seeing her and doing awful things behind my back. God knows you've done it before."
A slap. I was stunned. But Charles just looked down upon me, his expression one of, I thought, mock pity. "Perhaps you've had too much to drink," he said, trying to place a hand on my arm. By instinct, I squirmed away, and his face flashed with anger. "If you doubt me to such an extent, you may as well return to your quarters, Veronica."
"Please, I--"
"Veronica." his voice was just like thunder rumbling, filled with an unfathomable anger. Quivering, I went to my chambers.
* * *
When we finally reached our next town, I wasn't in the show.
I broke my arm.
I wasn't sure how it happened. I had finally gotten the hang of my new acts, being able to balance fairly well under the weight of the heavy china. It looked quite impressive, too, with my small frame. I saw James watching me, and I had given him a small smile, which, to my relief, he returned.
But, as it happened every so often, I had lost my footing. And, as we were using real china, it fell tumbling on top of me.
Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise.
Charles had left when I began my act. No one knew where he went. Paperwork, everyone assumed. I didn't even want to move, I just waited as a nurse came and lifted me off and took me away to check me over, and could only vaguely recall James' face among the masses, his expression troubled. And scared.
And so there I was, sitting outside of the town the circus was performing in, the day of the performance. I was not sure what I was doing. Or how I got there. It just happened. Like the broken arm. And as I stared at my cast while the snowflakes glided down, all I felt was an immense sadness. It was an impenetrable sadness. The kind you feel when you've failed at something you've tried so hard at.
That was when I heard footsteps crunching on the thin layer of snow.
I turned around. James was walking towards me, his hands in his pockets, and a big scarf comically tied around his neck. Over his shoulder was a brown bag that was full to the brim.
"Hello, James," I said, not bothering to be polite. He took in how I was sitting down on the snow, and how I wasn't even wearing makeup, so that my pale face stood out. I was also wearing the shabbiest dress I could find. He saw all this and sat down next to me anyways.
He didn't say anything, either. For a little while we just sat there, and his presence was almost calming. "I hope you don't still love him."
"Oh? Who?"
"...You can't."
My cheeks flushed. "And why can't I?"
It seemed James had gotten a little older, then. Perhaps he had gotten taller? Or perhaps it was the dignified expression he held, the way with which he regarded the landscape--barren and not very pretty--with a serious gaze. "He abuses you. He spread those rumors. It's obvious." It must have been obvious, for James to piece everything together so easily.
I didn't say anything to that. I couldn't say anything. Even if I wanted to.
"You were trying so hard, Veronica," his voice cracked, bringing out the young kid I used to think he was. Though I could hardly talk myself. I looked at him, and awkwardly patted his shoulder.
"It doesn't matter," I said, "I'll be fine."
"You should be living a better life. At least for your talents. It's not fair. It's just not." A strong gust of wind nearly blew his hat off, and he grabbed it before it flew away.
A hollow laugh escaped me. "I wish. Though that doesn't always happen, does it?"
"You're as young as me. You can change your life. You still have a chance, damn it!"
"...Why are you telling me this?" I said. When I got no response, "James? What are you planning?"
"I'm running away," he said at last. I stared, and then let out a snort.
"You're not just going to run off into the wilderness, are you? How will you earn money and shelter?"
"I have someone I can live with.” He puffed his chest out as he said this. “I've been planning it out all along, and even a place to work, in a town nearby." He patted the pack sitting next to him, his eyes glistening. "I've packed. I've done everything."
I was impressed. I never expected this level of responsibility or preparation from him. I was skeptical of how he reached his position, but, we were circus performers. If we could handle walking on tight ropes and dealing with dangerous beasts, surely we could handle a bit of life, as well?
"It was an old friend... met me after one of our latest shows..." his eyes were still glistening as he rambled on, and I listened with rapt attention. I never expect him to pause suddenly, turn to me, and say, "Would you like to come along?"
My mouth gaped open. He continued. "You're miserable here. And… and you're not treated with love. The others will treat you worse as time goes on, too. Besides, he'll probably throw you away onto a street somewhere with that arm of yours."
I knew he was right. Charles lost the glimmer in his eyes as he'd gaze at me, and seemed to care more for our voluptuous maids than a petite doll.
"Give me a chance." he said. Time froze again. The snowflakes hung suspended in mid-air, and my breath condensed in front of my face. "Please, please do. I'm not asking you to be a lover. But you could have a home. You could work. Please."
Young boys were dangerous. I knew that. I was told that. They were full of ambition and passion, and, in the words of Charles himself, I was better off with mature men.
But where was Charles now? Flirting with some other women. Treating me as if I really was no other than a porcelain doll. And, while I had basic needs met at this circus, I'd rather work hard on a desolate farm somewhere far from society than stay here much longer.
I stood up. Dusted off a faint layer of snow. I sighed, and said, quite hesitantly "I... All right. I’ll try running away.” Again. It didn’t work, last time. But Charles wanted me last time.
He was overjoyed. He almost hugged me and spun me around, but ended up standing close to me with his hands awkwardly outstretched instead. I didn't mind.
It was reckless of me. I may have been making a big mistake.
But when you've already made some, what was the problem in making some more?
