Their last act had been a disaster.
The worst disaster that could ever affect them.
The shadowy hands. The cold sensation she felt when they dragged her in. The horrified shrieks of their audience. Maxwell's heart-piercing cry of terror. The darkness that came after. It still terrified Charlie to this day, whenever it came in mind.
Their shows had almost never gone wrong. Sure, their shows had been initially a flop in their early days when Maxwell was simply William Carter. There might have been the occasional injury for William during performance ("Please be careful next time," Charlie would beg him as she nursed the poor gentleman). But ever since William had his hand on this book, deemed the Codex Umbra, every show always had the crowd astounded, breathless, and then jumping to their feet and breaking out in wild applause.
That book… At first, it was what led to the height of their success. Replacing those lousy magic props, it was what set the crowd on the edge of their seats. Its mysterious power always made for a grand show. With their names known among San Francisco, practically every known being in the great city clambering to see their shows, it was the Codex Umbra they had to thank.
Both for the fame and the disaster.
Charlie had been swift to notice the Codex Umbra was no ordinary book that had been through disrepair. She came to notice those illusions may not quite be just illusions from the magician's skillful hand, but something else beyond the work of her William. It could practically be considered as something sentient, which only added to the factors of it's abnormality. Over time, William had even changed. Perhaps it was the book to blame for this transition he went through. After all, it all started a few weeks after they got their hands on that book. Or maybe it was the fame, getting to his head, making him delusional in the midst of all the glamour. But Charlie was likely to blame the former. It was that book that ruined everything.
Everything.
At first Maxwell had been an on-stage persona, someone William would transform into the moment he stepped on the stage. And the differences between them, if you were to know both, couldn't be any more drastic. William was awkward, gauche, and not all too sophisticated. He was a timid man who stuttered over his words, an invalid old British man with lanky limbs and huge glasses.
Maxwell was a suave being, charming and mysterious. He was smooth with his words, confidence radiating off him with every movement, and the old fellow knew how to play his cards right. William grew to love his new identity, the one people knew him as on-stage. Maxwell was everything William would strive to be. And he did. He adored the Maxwell persona so much; he stuck with it for the rest of his days.
He eventually asked Charlie, and everyone around him, to call him Maxwell (or 'Maxy' as Charlie would affectionately call him). He started to grow increasingly upset when referred to by his true name. With each passing day, as he practiced the skill of using dark magic, unaware of the prodigious power these dark forces brought, he grew to saw William was a meek, pathetic one. Maxwell grew to abhor the man he once lived as.
Soon William was no more.
And soon the infamous incident happened. The Great Maxwell and his assistant mysteriously disappeared one day during an act. No return. The irony of it all was that it's supposed to be their greatest.
The Great Maxwell in his finest suit, his beautiful Charlie in all her glamour and beauty, both taking more practices for this than for any other show, making sure this was going to be the perfect show, the one certain to leave their audience flabbergasted and blabbing about for days.
And it gone all wrong. So horribly wrong.
The island was her home now. After a hearty meal, Charlie had always fled to the camp before a thick sheet of blackness, the embrace of the deadly night, covered the island completely. Years on the island developed a fear of the night.
Snuggled in a tent roll, Charlie prepared to sleep the night. But it never came, for her cumbersome thoughts buzzed in her head like flies. Her tossing and turning for a more comfortable position didn't prevail. It was lonely on the island. Incredibly lonely. She lost track of how long she had lived there. All she had for company was the skittish little rabbits in the savanna, the village of semi-intelligent pigmen some distance away (while friendly enough, they hardly provided any stimulating conversation for Charlie), and the numerous beasts of terror. None of them made good company, especially the beasts.
But perhaps the worst thing about the island was how they changed Maxwell. What had he become. Yes, he had changed before they came here, not absolutely drastic. Some might consider the transition from William to Maxwell a good thing. That first change made him a better showman, and while it was the sweet William she initially fell for, Maxwell had never failed to sweep her off her feet neither.
Until now. Whenever she thought of him now, her heart shattered completely. Now a demon with no consideration, using manipulation and trickery to lure others to the island, only to fool with them for his own wicked amusement Charlie had thought would never exist in him. He became a complete monster, and this new Maxwell terrified her.
Day by day, some part of her clung onto the hope that somewhere, inside the amoral and corrupt demon Maxwell transformed into, there was still a trace of William Carter in him. Perhaps there was, as he treated Charlie well. He provided her everything it would come to survive; plenty of materials, very few obstacles, as little battles. She was on the demon's good graces and while grateful at first, that soon twisted in a heart-gnawing guilt.
The others? They lived with what they got, and Maxwell never failed to take enjoyment out of sending bloodthirsty hounds to attack them in the night, or a sudden precipitation of aggressive amphibians. She came across another survivor one or two times, often inviting them to her place. None of them lasted long.
But other than Maxwell's treatment of Charlie, the twinge of hope of William still around diminish with each passing day. His blatant negligence to the other survivors, an injustice compared to how he treats Charlie, his villainy, his twisted morals,
Charlie found she couldn't forgive that, or continue loving him, not what he turned out to be in the end. She missed William dearly, the gentleman. His gentle blue eyes, his affection, the way he'd lavish her endlessly and treated her in all the right ways, William was far from what Maxwell turned out to be.
It was a long time before she could fall asleep.