In your house, there is a mirror. It is old, antiquated, a aging relic of a time long gone. You find it in an attic, garage, or basement, chained to the wall and wrapped in a shroud. The mirror emanates an essence of violence and overwhelming curiosity. When you look at it, you feel like a child again. You pull away the shroud, releasing the mirror from it's sleep. You see yourself reflected, but not as you are now. You're tall, an adult or a child or even a different sex, painted in the blue and green and red of a tumbler or trapeze, holding the sharp, bloody knives of a juggler covered in scars. You are surrounded by the noise and light of the circus. You close your eyes. When you open them, the mirror is gone, you look down at yourself, you are the person you saw in the mirror and all there is for you now is the Cirque Du Horreurs.
ChocolateAlmonds
moonlight_thief_dark
Sanguine Mistress