It never failed to surprise Tamara; the abruptness of her own death. She had died three times now, including the time when she was first brought down to Hell. The angry shouts of her psychotic boyfriend still echoed in her head if she let them, reminding her of her endless foolishness. Her naivete that caused her own demise each time she awoke. The brunette always fell into vivid dreams when she died; ones filled with tumultuous, stormy seas and water filling her mouth and lungs. She drowned each time— there was no safety for her it seemed, not even in her dreams. And ever since her first death in the Carnival, a crooning voice was always present right before she sank down into the briny blue.

"Trust me. Trust me, Tamara. Don't you trust me?"

Grey-green eyes rimmed by long black lashes shot open, for the third time. Tamara felt the familiar feeling of fear spreading through her as she looked around. She seemed to be at the Carnival's First-Aid center, since there were beds all around and discarded bandages as well as red-crossed kits littered on the floor. She sat up, the tulle underneath her dress made soft shuffling noises as she moved. The dress was a shining white, silky and rather poofy, but it looked alike to a nurse's outfit — if a little more elaborate and shorter, with red crosses decorating the hem that barely brushed her knees. Her hair was curled tightly and perfectly, her face powdered softly; she looked like a doll.

"Where am I now? Hello?" the young woman's voice was soft and trembling. She mentally chastised herself when she called out, reminding herself that she was in Hell and that she didn't want to meet anymore "colourful" characters in this horrid place for as long as she lived. She had had enough with the two she had the displeasure of running into; the bad boy with the knives and the jab as sharp as a scorpion's sting and the horned creature with the dark, tempting voice who lured her to his bed. Tamara wondered if the latter was Lucifer. She wouldn't be surprised; he had the voice of an angel.

Tamara jumped down from the bed, her pristine, small, white heels clacking against the stone floor laid beneath the tent. As she did so, something that was sitting on one of the beds nearby caught her eye. She went over and picked it up, nearly dropping it in surprise when she realized what it was — a doll-replica of the bastard who stuck a knife in her chest. The doll was quite large for a plaything, about the size of her forearm. It gave her the creeps and the brunette debated throwing it against the wall or setting it on fire, but settled instead, on taking it with her. Perhaps one of the weird carnies would give her information if she gave the doll to trade.

Upon exiting the medical tent, the young woman was met with quite a sight. Or perhaps a lack of a sight would be a more accurate term. There was almost nothing left of the Carnival, the place looking like it had gone out of business. There a few tents and rides still left, and plenty of lights illuminating the inky nothingness outside of the Carnival, but it was nothing compared to the impressive sight she had been met with upon entering the fair the first time. From her place outside of the medical tent, she could see the large cages where she had awakened and where she had met the cruel young man. Tamara's hand involuntarily tightened into a fist around the doll's wrist, the soft felt buckling underneath her angry grip. Did she hate him? Perhaps. Tamara had never felt such a dark emotion in her before.

The young woman reached the cages and touched the bar of the one where he had been; smoking and looking oh-so-cool. He was so perfectly suave and charming, charismatic and sweet. How could she have not fallen for him? Sure, he looked a bit… unconventional, but maybe that's why she was had been so drawn to him. Gritting her teeth, Tamara leaned against the cage, looking around. Where had everyone gone? Was he gone as well? Part of her hoped so, but part of her feared being in the creepy carnival alone — then again, he wasn't much better company. He might just stab her again. She lifted the doll to her face and realized that it had a bump in the well-made, leather jacket pocket. Frowning, Tamara gently reached in with two fingers and pulled out an orange Ring Pop. Her blood instantly ran cold at the sight of it. 'Why would somebody play with me like this?!' She thought tearfully, momentarily forgetting that she was indeed in Hell.

Tamara frowned, her brows pulling together in confusion. Too tempted to pass it up, she slipped the ring on her finger, just for old time's sake. He had been awfully charming, it's true. She admired it, the orange-hued candy gleaming like an actual gem in the bright lights of the carnival. The brunette realized that she didn't even know his name, since he had never offered one — yet he had known hers, and he used it against her willingly. Drawing her to him like a bug caught in a spider's web. Without realizing it, the young woman began to sway slightly, humming that charming little tune he had sung to her as he strapped her to the wheel. She spun in a circle, the doll in her free hand as she remained looking at the ring adorning her finger. She did not see the figure appearing from the cages behind her and she did not hear the heavy boots.

It was the singing that she heard.

"Trust me, trust me, honeydew. Just like I trust you."

The last part of the sentence came from right beside her ear and Tamara couldn't hold back a sharp cry of fear. The man she had grown to dislike immensely was looking at her with that same smug smile that he had given to her the first time they met. The young woman swallowed hard and backed up into the cage behind her, looking at the youth with wide, grey eyes.

"What's cookin', dolly? You sure do look cherry in those threads," his outdated lingo used to make her smile, now it just irritated her and fueled the distrust and anger she had towards him.

"You stay away from me! Don't think I'll fall for your stupid little tricks again!" Tamara's voice bordered on the hysteric, eyes filling with tears made of both fear and rage. The Scorpion looked surprised, raising both hands in a sign of surrender as he gave the brunette the most honest look he could muster — which was very honest looking, she had to admit.

"Hey baby, I didn't mean to rattle your cage, alright?" he was talking to her like she was a wild animal backed into a corner and he was trying to coax her out of her fear. Tamara glared at him; it wasn't going to work this time. She had had enough of Hell's tricks and pain.

"I'm not your baby, you… you, jerk!" she snapped, sliding off to the side when he took a step towards her. A flash of emotion flickered across his pale face — was that regret she saw? — before he gave her a soft, gentle smile.

"Tamara, it's alright. I'm not going to hurt you. Haven't you noticed? The Devil's Carnival is empty. All the carnies, along with the boss, are up there," he pointed up into the blackness above. "Tryin' to fight Heaven. A war, you know? Somethin' about redemption and lessons and saving people," he gave her a grin, trying to move closer again.

Tamara shook her head and took another step backward, holding the doll of her torturer in front of her like a shield, "S-stop! I don't believe you! If that's true, why are you still here? Why aren't you fighting against the angels or whatever?" Grey eyes met soft blue as she stared at The Scorpion, willing for him to tell the truth — for once.

"The boss wanted me to stay and look after the little dolly who's too trustin'. Now, I'm not being a shuckster this time, I swear, I promise I'll protect you," he paused, obviously wanting to say something but holding himself back. Tamara could already imagine what it was that he wanted to say so badly.

"Trust me."

The slender young woman paused, finding herself at an impasse. If he really was the only person left in the carnival, did she have any choice? She was sure that he could find her anywhere she went — he had spent who knows how long in this place while she had barely spent what? Two days? Maybe?

"Protect me from what? If you're the only thing left here, then you'd be protecting me by leaving! In case you don't remember, the last time you said you'd protect me, you ended up sticking a knife in my chest!" Tamara shot back, backing away onto the path that led to who knows where. She had never been in that part of the carnival — though she doubted that it led to much now that everything was dilapidated.

"Tamara… Wait… D-Don't leave," The Scorpion took a step forward when he saw her movement and Tamara took that as her signal to run. Turning on her heel, she made her way into the maze of fallen tents and broken signs. She jumped over collapsed stands and entered into a larger tent, one with a single curtain and a large sign with many pointing arrows that said: "The Devil and His Due."

She didn't have much time to contemplate where she had ended up, or how The Scorpion had looked at her so sadly before she had run away, because that same beguiling voice called for her from outside the tent; sounding a lot like how she imagined a Wendigo to sound like.

Tempting, warm, desperate.

With a soft huff of fear, she cut through the ropes that showed where the line was supposed to go and entered the curtain.

She had no choice.

Lesson One: "Do not trust flatterers."
-Aesop's Fables: The Fox and The Crow