A/N: Sorry for such a delay, I have no excuses. Life got hectic and time sort of slipped away. I will try to update more regularly! Promise more than once per year! Also I am going to fast forward over a lot to get to Paris and a few, shall we say, better know characters. Let me know if you want me to slow down and elaborate. Also for older readers, I edited the first 4 chapters a bit. I merely altered the tense so the content is exactly the same.
The months that followed my arrival at the circus were some of the happiest of my life. I quickly became a proficient seamstress, able to repair nearly any rip, tear or split seam. The fellow performers and staff were kind to me and we often stayed up late in one trailer or another drinking ale or spirits telling stories.
The most popular story was of a young boy (or man depending on the teller), who possessed the body of a demon but a voice of an angel. It seemed everyone knew this tale; it was passed down through generations of staff. Yet, no-one knew anyone who had witnessed any of the events described, but that did not hinder the vividness the story elicited. Every teller seemed to know something the former did not. Each adding to the myth and making this creature seem more foreboding.
According to lore this creature just showed up one day. So evil that try as it may to assume a human visage it could only manage as close as a corpse, deathly pale and thin as a skeleton. It was said that it had eyes of burning hell fire, betraying it unholy origin. It possessed the ability to bewitch items and make them sing with a chorus of angels. It was commonly believed that it used this beautiful song as a siren does, leading unwary men to an untimely death. They say this demon tormented the performers and patrons alike for years before mysteriously vanishing.
I had sat enraptured the first time this story was told. It was so fanciful and it bore no similarity to any story I had heard before. When the story concluded I applauded the teller and asked him how he to dream up such a tale. That's when his face fell grave and said "I tell no tale of imagination, every word spoken was true."
How could I not believe those solemn words? Yet, ideas of a corpse with an angelic voice seem preposterous. I struggled with the thought all night, tossing between believing it was truth or fiction. By morning I was convinced that it was nothing more than a ghost story intended to frighten the weak hearted. Though try as I might to doubt its validity, the chilling details were so accurate that a part of me knew that it must in part be true.
That story was retold so often that I could repeat it verbatim in its entirety within a week. In fact I had convinced, albeit unintentionally, a few new hires that I had witnessed these events myself! What a foolish idea!
I had such a glorious time with my new friends that the months flew by as we travelled through England into France. That's is why I was so started when Malcolm came in to announce we would be outside Paris tomorrow morning and that if I still wished to leave now was my chance.
I was honestly and truly torn. On one side I was with friends travelling the country side, meeting fascinating new people. On the other side was the draw of family. In the end the familiar tugs on my heartstrings won out and with quick goodbyes I began my trek into Paris.
My shoes kicked up swirls of dust dirtying the hems of my skirts as I walked into the city. In the distance I could see an older looking house with peeling off white paint and a large cobblestone path leading the front door. It was exactly as my sister had described it and I could not stop the flood of anticipation that filled my chest as the house grew nearer. All at once I could not restrain my self a moment longer and broke into a run, quickly closing the distance between me and the front door. I eagerly rapped upon it as soon as I was close enough.
It took only moments, but I heard the sound of someone shuffling inside. It slowly pulled open to reveal the astonished face of a woman with long red hair and beautiful green eyes. My sisters face.
"Sara?" She stammers.
"Yes, Julianne it's me! I am so happy to see you!" I gasped trying desperately to catch my breath.
"I got a letter from our sister about a month back. She said that you disappeared. She didn't elaborate much… Come in you need to tell me everything." Julianne said grabbing my bag and pulling it into the house.
A/N: So we made it to Paris! Will her sister be more understanding? And that myth has a vague similarity to something I have heard before…