Synthetic Velvet

The circus died down for the winter, all the creatures but one traveled to they're gypsy motorhomes. Art deco trinket box held the secrets of each troupe member with which the ringmaster would giggle shamelessly to herself for she knew only of stolen power. The troupe they wondered what lye beneath her velvet avatar... As each town was laundered they would rip a piece off her back whilst she slept - until it revealed the scales of the snake in which she was, it terrified them but they were under her spell a potion of black enchantment stirred in the cauldron of shadow witches.... She had no soul... for this they did not know. The synthetic skin bought for by fools who admired her, the thick skin in which she oiled up before the audience... In her life was a circus but we merely her jesters. 

Dyna starved herself to climb the highest pole of the tent, ambitious to please her masters. She would have given anything to reach the heights of the velvet ringmaster but her fragility was painfully obvious. 

Celine objectified her mind to the toxic underground from which she begged to numb her vulnerability, to do anything to appear strong she delved into the masters plans as if she had to prove worth.

Robin would no longer fly banished for standing up to the demon he adored. She crushed him with her doe eyes and victim game.

The Dame, the sweet Dame whom comforted all in her golden light would come to be burnt most by the sinful monopoly, The velvet was a burden most to her.

The few who survived would come to tell a story but these came to be just that. For the power possessed by some demons cannot be diminished by words. Someday it is said the ringmaster will be trialed... and a jury will set her fate to the misery and loss she invoked... Death will breathe life.

In justice we trust. To make it right.