Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 20554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 82(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 82(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
The night is still young, the air filled with the lingering excitement of our performance. We find a quiet spot away from the crowd, a secluded corner where we can catch our breath. The adrenaline is still pumping, a heady mix of triumph and exhilaration.
“Tonight was just the beginning,” Marcus says, his voice filled with determination. “There’s so much more we can achieve, so much more we can do.”
He kisses me then, the passion between us igniting like a flame. Our bodies press together, the heat of desire coursing through me. The future may be uncertain, but in this moment, everything feels right. Our bond, our love, our partnership—it all feels possible, as long as we’re together. The challenges ahead may be daunting, but with Marcus by my side, I know we can face them. We are stronger together.
Chapter Nine
Marcus
The following night the crowd buzzes with excitement and amazement as they filter out of the circus tent, their voices mingling into a cacophony of thrilled chatter. They have no idea what really happened on that stage, the true nature of the ritual they just witnessed. The lights dim, casting long shadows across the ground, and I can still feel the lingering energy of the performance.
Clara stands at the edge of the stage, her body trembling with the aftershocks of the emotional intensity we just shared. Her knees buckle slightly, and she grips the edge of a nearby prop for support. My heart twists as I see her struggling, the burden of the ritual weighing heavily on her. I rush to her side, my own exhaustion momentarily forgotten. Concern etches deep lines into my face as I reach out to steady her.
"Clara," I whisper, wrapping an arm around her waist, guiding her away from the stage. She leans into me, her breathing shallow and uneven.
I guide Clara through the backstage area, the other performers giving us space, their glances a mix of curiosity and respect. They can sense the gravity of what just transpired, even if they don’t fully understand it. The air is thick with the residual energy of the ritual, crackling like static electricity.
I find a quieter spot away from the hustle and bustle, gently lowering Clara onto a cushioned seat. Her eyes are wide, pupils dilated, as she tries to process the flood of emotions coursing through her. I kneel in front of her, taking her trembling hands in mine. "Clara, I’m so sorry for what you’re feeling. I never meant for it to be this intense. I may have made a mistake bringing you into my world."
She looks at me, her gaze searching for something, anything to anchor her.
"It’s not your fault, Marcus. I just… I need time to process." Her voice is a fragile whisper, barely audible. I nod, understanding her need for space. My heart aches with guilt and gratitude, knowing that she endured so much for me. While I’ve been freed from my torment, Clara is now carrying the weight of the ritual’s emotional aftermath. With each passing performance, my body and mind feel lighter–like the guilt that’s consumed me for so long is easing.
"Take all the time you need," I say softly, squeezing her hands gently before releasing them.
I rise to my feet, stepping back to give her some room. My own body feels like it’s been through a war, drained yet strangely light. The freedom from my past is exhilarating, but it’s overshadowed by the worry I feel for Clara.
I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. Clara needs rest and quiet to process everything. "Come with me," I say gently, helping her to her feet again. "Let’s go to my caravan. It’s quieter there."
She nods weakly, allowing me to guide her. We move slowly, every step measured and careful. My caravan is dimly lit, the flickering lantern casting a warm, intimate glow. It’s a sanctuary amidst the chaos of the circus, a place where we can find some semblance of peace.
I lead Clara to a comfortable seat, making sure she’s settled before sitting down next to her. She trembles slightly, her mind clearly a whirlwind of emotions. I reach out, holding her hands again, offering whatever comfort I can. "I’m here, Clara. You’re not alone in this."
Her eyes meet mine, filled with a mix of confusion and determination. "I know, Marcus. I just… I didn’t expect it to be this overwhelming."
"I didn’t either," I admit, my voice heavy with regret. "But we’ll get through it.”
She nods, a faint smile playing on her lips. We sit in silence for a while, the only sounds the distant murmur of the circus and our own breathing. The intimacy of the moment is comforting, a quiet connection that speaks volumes more than words ever could. The weight of the ritual is still there, but it feels lighter, shared between us.