It was slow at first, when I fell.

I think it started when I began to see echoes of shadows that danced on the edges of my sight.

Then came the chills that would feel like familiar hands. Across my shoulders, between my fingers —

Around my neck

— and upon my face.

It was slow at first.

And then all at once.

Visions of battlefields and spiked soldiers heads —

"It's alright, '…', you were just dreaming."

— that were frozen in a midst of gruesome screams —

"I'm right here, darling, just close your eyes!"

— and then echoed dirges that rattled my skull each night.

Waking, sleeping, eating, breathing —

"It comes in waves."

— it didn't matter what I was doing, nothing would keep the madness at bay.

I had been a…

Well actually, I don't quite remember.

But I loved and was loved, and I had had a home that I cared for.

And when my mind frayed…

Well, I lost it, whatever self I had been.

Sometimes it would come back — sweet moments of clarity.

"'…?' I love you — I'm sorry!"

I'd remember that I just had too many memories for a mortal without magic to take.

"It's just like going to sleep, '…'. I'll be with you until the end."

Something had woken them, and the madness crept in.

"Please, just make it stop."

And then I was gone.

—

Next thing I knew, I was born in a circus that traveled at night.

My mother was called the Queen of the Silks, and she was a master at what she did. Her hair was a midnight blue, and she had the most lovely amber eyes you'd ever see.

But nothing compared to her wit.

All sharp edges and teasing joy that tied even the most silver tongues. That's how she became the best.

And my father was the fire dancer that wooed her.

Ice white hair and a kind smile that could put even trained soldiers at ease.

He was a diplomat, plain and simple.

And together they had me.

A family of performers in a troupe that had bonds stronger than blood.

That was our story.

But it wasn't mine, you see.

—

I was an old soul with a wandering mind.

Too many cycles through life left its mark after a while, and if there wasn't magic to bind my mind together, it would crumble like a castle of sand.

And crumble it did.

But this world had enough spark that my mind didn't break completely.

But could something ever break only part way?

I was considered a normal child at first, as much as a circus brat could be considered normal.

"Oh she's so smart! Look how early she's reading!"

A mix of my parents left me with pale blue hair and icy eyes that were so crystalline that they blended with the sclera more often than not.

A creepy little girl once again.

Performers weren't always known for being the most attentive to others, in this world and the rest.

"You don't become an actor because you love yourself, kid."

So it wasn't too much of a surprise when I was left to my own devices far more than I should have been in those first few years.

The circus was called, 'The Jewel of the Sea,' and it was known throughout the seven continents for its beauty.

My parents carted me around as they toured through countries for years, and I learned the basics of each circus act.

The trapeze was my favorite —

"Trust me, you'll feel like you're flying!"

— though the silks came in a close second —

Let them sing to you like water, my love.

— and stage combat was like a symphony.

"Follow these steps, and watch as your enemies bleed."

It was a global circus, despite being based out of Japan, and I remembered snatches of dozens of languages already.

So it was easy to learn what the other performers were willing to teach me when they grew homesick for their native tongues.

"She's a real genius, Lee," they'd say to my father.

"Careful, Maki, she's going to be a right handful if she gets a quirk," they'd tell my mother as I learned to breathe fire with my father.

And they were right.

—

Four years old and I woke with a sting in my throat.

It wasn't quite a tickle —

Far too sharp for that

— but it also wasn't quite an itch either —

Not that annoying.

It was a brief sting, and then it was nothing.

Sting then nothing, then nothing and a sting.

It went on for a few minutes as I stared at the ceiling of my family's circus trailer, tucked into the floor with a thready blanket and a lumpy pillow.

Sting.

Then nothing.

My parents rose late, as usual with the troupe, and began to shift about the kitchen while I read my scavenged books in peace.

Nothing

I ate breakfast silently, as usual—

Sting

— and then followed my parents to the main tent for morning stretches and rehearsal like an obedient child.

"Are you ready to try the tightrope today, killer?" My father asked me with a grin.

I opened my mouth to reply but —

Nothing

— all that came out was a sigh.

It was a soft breath of midnight air racing through the circus tent like the ghost of an ocean spray.

My parents frowned.

So did I.

But when I opened my mouth to try again, another sting pricked my throat the moment my lips parted, and something strange spilled out.

It was a song.

But I did not know the words, and I did not know the tune, and for some reason it sounded like a dirge.

"Did you forget my voice, little one?"

My parents, so flippant and strong, froze at the sound as their eyes grew misty and distant while the heavy notes resonated through the air.

Oh, the brutal power of grief.

And it kept going.

Down, down, down —

Come sleep in the cradle of the sea, my sweet.

—

My parents were wary of me after that.

Another demon child?

The circus was strictly for 'Quirkless Wonders,' and most were trafficked into the business when they were young.

There wasn't a protocol for a child with a siren's quirk.

That first time I found it, everyone in the tent dropped to their knees in despair.

Had I known how to stop, I would have.

But I didn't, and was driven by an unknown urge to sing until my lips started bleeding.

Later, I would discover that my voice could be a weapon —

"No blade can be evil, child. Only those who wield them can choose what they're used for."

I would learn that it could drag people into deep slumbers and different sorts of trances.

That I could pull them under a spell.

"Do you remember?"

As it grew stronger, strange mists would pour out as I sang, and they would echo with layering melodies to hold the effects for longer.

But in the weeks following my strange outburst, I just learned that I was a fantastic singer, and my body was far more resilient than it should be.

A double-quirk, it would seem.

—

I became the siren of, 'The Jewel of the Sea.'

"Because child labor is easy and cheap, so get in the ring and shut up, runt."

My parents decided that I could skip primary school since I was already reading at a high school level and was fluent in three languages.

Do you ever wish to be a child once more?

So I danced and tumbled on a circus stage for hosts of people I didn't know —

"Feel that, kid? The rush never gets old."

— and juggled swords for crowds that I didn't particularly care about.

I grew —

Five

Six

Seven

— quickly and calmly, a melancholic child with pale eyes that saw too much without looking like they could see at all.

"Are you sure you don't want to come with me, little one? It doesn't look like you'd be missed around here."

A man that took all without giving to any.

"I don't talk to strangers, Creeper-San."

And when I turned eight, the inevitable came to find me.

Did you miss me, my sweet Lady Grim?

A global tragedy, they called it. Truly, such a shame—

I made it quick for you, did you notice?

—when the 'Jewel of the Sea,' was ravaged by lost boys that were labeled as villains.

I even left some for you to play with!

They came in the night, silent and bitter, and sliced throats open with knives that sang of outside manipulation.

Well? Are you going to pLaY?

I learned a new facet to what I could bring with my voice that night.

Sing for me, darling.

Perish songs spilled from my lips as I dodged swords and threw knives and danced through the killers like my mother on her silks.

Death always looked so lovely on you.

The man came to me again—

Begged me to join him.

— but I just spat on his shoes and breathed fire like my father taught me to until he left.

Because he showed his cards with the timing of it all.

Will they make a weapon out of me, once more?

The police found me curled in the rafters, shaking with terror and drenched with crimson blood.

But they didn't realize it was terror of myself, and they didn't realize that the blood wasn't my own.

—

We had been in Tokyo when it happened, so I was sent to an orphanage in a quaint little suburb that rang with children's laughter.

The other orphans didn't take kindly to me.

Alas, too creepy once more.

And they made their displeasure known by picking on the freak every chance they had.

I never had to retaliate with my quirk though —

Not worth it

— because the children in this world were so weak that all it took was a punch from me to send them crying to the orderlies.

Apparently, the unseen side of my quirk was steel bones and vicious claws and fangs should I wish to unsheathe them.

A monster again, I see.

They left me alone eventually, and I even made my first friend.

I remember you.

His name was Shinsou Hitoshi, and he was a violet storm.

"Why do you answer my questions?" He would demand with narrowed eyes —

So skittish, this time around.

— as if to test me.

"Why wouldn't I?" I'd respond, looking at him with a misty haze around my face.

"Can you teach me how to move like that?" He'd ask when he saw me twist and bend and flip across the rooftops like my parents at night.

"I can certainly try," I told him.

And he learned.

—

"Don't you want to be a hero, Arashi-Chan?" My teachers would ask me.

"As if this world needs heroes, just mind your own and be a decent human being!"

"Maybe," I'd shrug, and go back to my book.

With Shinsou, they were much more wary, though our quirks could do very similar things.

"People let you get away with murder if you do it prettily, dear."

"Arashi-Chan, get away from the villain!" The school children would shriek.

"Don't worry, Arashi-Chan, I'll save you!"

I didn't like them.

And Shinsou laughed every time I smacked their grabby hands away.

They didn't bother me if I was alone —

"Just let the doll-girl be, she gives me goosebumps."

— but if I was with Shinsou they'd lose their minds.

Can't have the freaks joining forces, right?

"Aren't you going to listen to them?" He'd tease after he'd finally realized I wasn't going to turn on him.

"You should leave the humor to me, Shin."

A cold, dead voice.

"All I'll leave to you is the spacing out, Arashi — let's go to the library before you go full catatonic."

"Ah man, now look at what you've done! She'll never come back to earth now!"

"It's not my fault she's f*cking insane — I didn't mean to make her eyes glaze over!"

"One of these days she'll pull this shit in a fight and we're all doomed."

"Try it and I swear to God, I'll gut you."

"Too late," he sighed fondly.

—

"Have you ever thought of making support weapons?" Shinsou wondered as he watched me tinker with gadgets I'd cobbled together from scraps we'd found in a junkyard.

Making weapons or being a weapon? Is there really any difference in the end?

"Maybe," I replied, content to try and code a set of commands on our —

Stolen

— laptop to upload them onto the semi-gauntlet.

"You're speaking Russian again," he chided.

"Oh, sorry."

"That was Korean."

"Damn."

"There you go!"

—

I was twelve when I met my first hero.

He had inky hair and eye bags that rivaled mine, and Shinsou thought he was the coolest person he'd ever seen.

"I do not idolize him, I simply have a healthy appreciation!"

"You literally bought a poster for him to sign."

"Shut up, jerk!"

"What are you two doing out so late?" He asked tiredly.

He wasn't suspicious of us, for once.

Just concerned.

How novel.

"We were just sparring, Sir," Shinsou replied with a scuff of his bare foot against the flat roof.

The man looked over our slightly worn forms, eying the gangly limbs and slightly hollow cheeks from too long in an orphanage.

"If I hear you causing any trouble I'll be back," he warned half-heartedly.

I knew he was just saying it because it was his job.

"Honestly, I hate snitches. As long as there's plausible deniability, you'll be fine."

"Of course, Sir," Shinsou agreed as I stared at the scarf around his neck.

I wanted to see how it worked.

"What's your scarf made of?" I asked with a tilt of my head.

"Don't do that, you look like you're from the Shining when you do!"

"Maybe another night," he said as an explosion echoed from a few streets over.

"Lame," I muttered when he'd left.

Shinsou grinned.

How lovely.

—

"You know, you don't have to go for the hero course if you don't want to," Shinsou reminded me as he sprawled out on his side of the room.

The orderlies had shunted us together when they realized no one else would bunk with the freaks.

I looked up from my gizmos to frown at him.

"You're going into the hero course," I said flatly.

"Yeah, but you can still go for support," he maintained as he toyed with a watch that I'd gotten to shoot lasers somehow.

"It's called a side hustle, idiot."

"Yeah but you already have like twenty main hustles, just f*cking rest already!"

"I can make trinkets with a hero's license, but I can't use my quirk with a support employee ID card."

Plus there were times when I remembered what quirk traffickers did.

And it made me a-n-g-r-y.

"Just try not to space out in the entrance exam," he relented, hastily putting the watch down when he shot a small hole in the ceiling.

"As if I do it that often."

"Maybe I'm not the one that's insane, did you ever think about that? Huh?"

"If you're not insane then this world is doomed, hime."

"Right," he drawled wryly. "How silly of me."

"Mmmm."

—

"It looks like a mansion ate the corporate world and spit out this monstrosity," I told Shinsou in Russian when we arrived at the UA entrance exam.

I'd been teaching him languages when we were too tired to do anything but stare at the ceiling and talk, and he took to it like a duck to water.

"Yeah but it's the best academics in the country, so we're going." He replied as hopeful applicants poured through the shiny glass doors.

"So ambitious," I sighed.

"One of us has to be."

I didn't protest as he slipped a hand through mine and marched us straight into the crowd.

"Time to fight again!"

"I told you I'm retired!"

"You? A quiet life? Please."

—

The written exam was a joke.

But the practical was rather fun.

Robots couldn't feel emotions, so my songs were utterly useless.

But my bones weren't made of steel for nothing.

Duck, slash, rip, tear —

Dance little reaper. Show them those sweet shiny claws

— robots fell in a shower of sparks as I carved my way to where they were thickest.

I pulled my fellow applicants out of the way when they were going to lose —

"I'm not heartless, '…'!"

— and hauled them out of the rubble if they were stuck —

"It's called decency, prick. You should try it sometime."

And let myself fly through the battleground.

It was a circus performer's jungle gym, all narrow streets, low hanging pipes, and random ledges to springboard off of.

I hoped Shinsou was doing all right.

Two points, three points, one.

Slice, shred, rip.

Sparks, wires, and a feral fanged smile, and then the giant one came out to play.

"Shall we dance?"

—

"I killed the big one," I grinned to Shinsou after I'd come out of the exam.

He looked at me and my fangs like I was insane, but I didn't mind since he smiled when he did. "You realize it was worth zero points, right?"

"Maybe for the test, but it was worth a million in my heart." I sniffed without dropping my sharply satisfied grin.

"You're like a cat with the canary, you psycho."

"Got a problem with that, brat?"

"So all I need to get you to actually focus is a giant robot, is that it?"

"…"

"You're so bloodthirsty, Shi," he laughed as we made our way to the train.

"So mean."

"That was Korean again."

"Every time!"

—

There were always bad days when it came to madness.

"Arashi, look at me."

Did you find your heart when you left?

"Just breathe with me, Shi."

Did you take mine with you, by any chance?

"It's over now, you're safe."

Because I can't seem to find it —

"They can't reach you in here."

— and my chest aches for you and your hands.

"Thank you, Hitoshi."

"Mmmm."

—

Acceptance letters were sent out as holograms, and I frowned at the tiny singing man.

What a peacock.

"Did you get it?" Shinsou asked as he came into the room with slumped shoulders and blood shot eyes.

"Class 1A, apparently." I replied, tossing the 'letter' aside and flopping onto the floor beside him.

"I'm in 1C."

"Sometimes life isn't fair, but that doesn't mean we stop trying."

"I'll teach you everything they teach me," I assured him, threading our fingers together in support.

"People transfer in more often than you'd think," he affirmed as he squeezed my hand to ignore the bite of rejection.

"We don't cry in this house, hime. We drink. And then if it bubbles up we just shove it back down with more liquor."

"That's horribly toxic and I worry for both your livers and lovers."

"Shut up! What do you know anyways?!"

"I'm literally a psychologist."

"You'll get there, Shin. I'll make sure of it."

His violet eyes were damp with appreciation, but I didn't call him out on it.

"Better out than in, I'd say."

I just hummed a tune of warmth and love to soothe the sting of a world that saw in black and white.

"Thank you, Arashi."

"Anything for you, dear."

"Mmmm."

A/N: another random idea that I had because I happen to like circuses.

Circus-i?

Feel free to review!