Lighar

vi. the lovers
commitment | separation

Lighar, the lion tamer, can no longer be surprised. He is covered in bloodshot eyes, watching in all directions. The precious bits of flesh that have no eyes are torn with gashes and wounds that never heal.
If asked which lion inflicted the injuries, Lighar’s lips turn up in a smile that doesn’t reach any of his eyes.
“If only,” is all he offers.

When Lighar works a crowd, their faces rapt with morbid fascination, he is really protecting them. Not from lions, but from the circus itself. The more time they spend in his tent, the less time they have to fall in harm’s way. By Entelechy’s decree, the circus always closes at sunrise, and Lighar religiously works until the first beams of light illuminate the black sky. Not out of any reverence for Entelechy, but to frustrate his efforts as much as he can while he exists under his thumb.
An old bargain binds Lighar to the circus, keeping his wounds fresh and cursing him with countless eyes. He doesn’t regret it. It keeps the young Sachertorte alive and out of Entelechy’s way. She barely survived the first encounter.
Lighar would make the decision a thousand times over. She is like a daughter to him. She aids him in his little efforts to work against Entelechy, using her legitimate kindness and humor to bring people in to Lighar’s show. He is proud of her.
But he is so, so tired.

ix. the hermit
introspection | isolation

When the sun rises and the circus is empty, Lighar is the one who handles the remains of the dead. It’s that, or leaving them to the hungry smiles of Khepri, the twins, and the other more dangerous performers. Entelechy would have Lighar’s head if he dared return the dead to their families, so he consoles himself with unmarked graves.
Rare are the days when he has no dirt under his talons. Sachertorte inevitably finds him on those bleak, bright afternoons, insisting she can help. He always turns her away. This, like everything else, is a burden he chooses to bear alone.