Troupe

Troupe was born into a dark horror-some circus, the kind that spikes your adrenaline and fear, the kind that leaves you feeling uneasy weeks after its gone. There was no mother or father to greet Troupe into this hell, only the Ring Leader. He was a sadist, that is the only word that could describe his gory tendencies, and even that only brushes the surface. The only inhabitants of this dammed circus were the wretched souls of stolen children or people like Troupe, born into this savagery.

The Ring Leader constantly prowled around, silent to the ears but assaulting to the nose with a smell like cigarettes and vinegar that seemed to roll off of him in thick noxious waves. His presence was always sure to bring pain and torture to anyone within arms reach. Without even a name to cling to Troupe only had her thoughts, the unnamed child soon grew well acquainted with pain, fear, helpless anger, and hatred. She gathered those feelings and let them fester and build within her.



The Ring Leaders cruelty that day was nothing new, a run of the mill beating. But this time, Troupe felt her malice build and explode, she saw red and returned every cruelty, every moment of pain and suffering, to him before he finally died. Troupe grew claws, fangs, and massive tattered wings. She had finally snapped and she loved it.

She swiveled to look all her fellow circus members in the eye, daring any of them to challenge her new authority. Those that wanted to leave, left, went home or went to find their place in the world. Those that stayed continued the circus, only Troupe was the ring leader. Dont get me wrong, the circus still left people morbidly curious and unsettled but no children were stolen, and no members were beaten. Troupe named herself and led the circus in her own dark whimsical direction, and the whole circus happily and faithfully followed her.