circus display

Siren Sings a Somber Song

Pairing: Siren!Reader x Bucky Barnes

Summary: You’re a Siren, being held captive by the Pierce Circus, cruelly put on display for every show, but it seems as if Bucky Barnes is the only one who truly sees you.

Warning: Mentions of Abuse, Language, SMUT (Ages 18+), Unprotected Sex (Please be safe!)

Word Count: 3.4k

Originally posted by minmiin1d

MASTERLIST

A/N: tag list is always open! x

 “And here we have a real-life Siren, ladies and gentlemen! Feast your eyes upon the witch of the sea!” You could hear Pierce’s muffled yell from within your tank as the curtain was pulled back and unveiled you to the audience. The harsh light caused you to squint and hold up your hand, the reflection of the spotlight even more overbearing due to the water surrounding you.

The rays reflected from each scale that littered your limbs as you watched the expressions of those crowding your dungeon-tank. Some were horrified, others intrigued. The children observed you in wonder, lightly pressing their small hands to the glass, as their parents scoffed with disgust. To them, you were either a miracle or a curse and, at this point, you couldn’t even be sure as to which one was correct.

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Symbols for the Degrees: Leo

The Sabian Symbols were symbols or “images” designated to each degree of each sign in the zodiac by clairvoyant Elsie Wheeler in 1925. They can be used to paint a specific picture of each of your placements based on its degree.

Originally posted by shoopeanut

0th-1st degree: Blood rushes to a man’s head as his vital energies are mobilized under the spur of ambition

1st-2nd degree: An epidemic of mumps

2nd-3rd degree: A middle-aged woman, her long hair flowing over her shoulders and in a braless youthful garment

3rd-4th degree: A formally dressed elderly man stands near trophies he brought back from a hunting expedition

4th-5th degree: Rock formations tower over a deep canyon

5th-6th degree: A conservative, old-fashioned lady is confronted by a “hippie” girl

6th-7th degree: The constellations of stars shine brilliantly in the night sky

7th-8th degree: A communist activist spreading his revolutionary ideals

8th-9th degree: Glass blowers shape beautiful vases with their controlled breathing

9th-10th degree: Early morning dew sparkles as sunlight floods the field

10th-11th degree: Children play on a swing hanging from the branches of a huge oak tree

11th-12th degree: An evening party of adults on a lawn illumined by fancy lanterns

12th-13th degree: An old sea captain rocking himself on the porch of his cottage

13th-14th degree: A human soul seeking opportunities for outward manifestation

14th-15th degree: A pageant, with its spectacular floats, moves along a street crowded with cheering people

15th-16th degree: The storm ended, all nature rejoices in brilliant sunshine

16th-17th degree: A volunteer church choir singing religious hymns

17th-18th degree: A chemist conducts an experiement for his students

18th-19th degree: A houseboat party

19th-20th degree: Zuni Indians perform a ritual to the sun

20th-21st degree: Intoxicated chickens dizzily flap their wings trying to fly

21st-22nd degree: A carrier pigeon fulfilling its mission

22nd-23rd degree: In a circus, the bareback rider displays her dangerous skill

23rd-24th degree: Totally concentrated upon inner spiritual attainment, a man is sitting in a state of complete neglect of bodily appearance and cleanliness

24th-25th degree: A large camel is seen crossing a vast and forbidding desert

25th-26th degree: After the heavy storm, a rainbow

26th-27th degree: The luminescence of dawn in the eastern sky

27th-28th degree: Many little birds on a limb of a big tree

28th-29th degree: A mermaid emerges from the ocean waves ready for rebirth in human form

29th-30th degree: An unsealed letter

Masterlist

(s) means that this work contains smut and should only be read by those 18 and older! 

fics are ordered from least to most recent

my tag list is always open if you’d like! x

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Inner Vixen (s)–You’re fed up with being the blushing, shy girl, usually too insecure to return any of Bucky’s flirtatious advances. But with a little help from liquid courage, your inner vixen makes an appearance.

Of Tantrums and Tactics (s)–Bucky’s been ordered to train you, the new recruit, and sparks fly. Deadly ones. Your arguments and harsh attitude are a lot for him to handle, so one day, he snaps.

This Life Will Have To Do (s)–You’re a maiden being forced into marriage with a wealthy tradesman, Brock Rumlow, but a group of criminals crash your wedding, led by the long-lost love of your life.

Just Business, No Pleasure (s)–You and Bucky have been successfully keeping your relationship a secret for a while now. However, you’re not so sure how much longer you can take it once he’s assigned the job of seducing another woman on a mission.

Oh, Icarus (s)–In which Bucky Barnes is Icarus and you are his sun.

A Masterpiece ImmortalizedYou wouldn’t exactly classify yourself as a photographer, but Bucky Barnes was definitely your muse.

Siren Sings a Somber Song (s)–You’re a Siren, being held captive by the Pierce Circus, cruelly put on display for every show, but it seems as if Bucky Barnes is the only one who truly sees you.

Steve Rogers x Reader

Don’t Need Candles and Cake (s)–You and Steve have been dating in secret for a little while now, but what kind of girlfriend would you be if you didn’t give him a nice present during his birthday barbecue?

The Progress of Nitty Scott, MC: Do We Have Our Female Kendrick Lamar? (Review/Opinion)

ssemWAs a young black girl just delving into the hip-hop scene at 17, there were so many rap albums I needed to be put onto. That was the era I was a Nas stan, and no one could tell me any other rapper was great. I bumped NWA, and that was when I slowly began to shed my image of the “good black girl” who wasn’t like those other black folks. Nitty Scott, MC came around the time I was appreciating East Coast rap in particular. As a Michigan born to Florida to Brooklyn femcee, Nitty Scott is important for rap and the Afro-Latina/African-American diaspora in general. 

 From Doobies x Popsicles to Creature!, Nitty Scott has evolved from a young Puerto Rican girl figuring out her identity to an experienced womanist and hip-hop femcee in the span of 5 years. I remember Nitty when she was in a circle discussing whether V-Nasty and other white girls can say the “N” word or not, and she had a lot of woke things to say before people even knew what the word “woke” meant. Now here we are, listening to a beautifully crafted album that brings the diaspora within the African community together, and Nitty is not to be silent anymore. For my Afro-Latina sisters, Nitty shares her identity as an Afro-Latina and like many womanists before her, she is not here for the “Are you black or Hispanic?” arguments? Pussy Powah and Negrita reveals that, and they tend to be theme songs for Afro-Latinas and girls in the diaspora who can relate to the embracing of black female sexuality and African-indigenous roots. 

 La Diaspora featuring Zap Mama is self-explanatory. No sooner than the album starts, Nitty Scott has snapped. She is done with the erasure of Afro-Latinas. She is tired of the fetishism of being mixed race and told you’re “pretty for a black girl.” She is not here for the rift between the black community and black women being pit together based on how “foreign” and “exotic” they are. She has been observing and doing her homework, and I am proud of her. I feel I have grown up with her and grown as a hip-hop scholar and womanist just as much as her, and I may have not talked about her as much as I did in 2012, but I always supported her in spirit.

 In The Water is the song that hit me hard. “Not black enough for the Ricans, I’m black enough for the blacks.” While I do not understand what it’s like to be “half” of anything other than just black, it made me cry tears of joy hearing that she does not need to go the same route as black people not accepting her while anti-black non-blacks get passes to do the same thing. As if there is not history of black people accepting one another when non-black people excluded black people from their own spaces. As if there isn’t reason why some black people may distrust other black people who are half of an ethnicity or race that may be anti-black. She then talks about her not being straight and how she is attracted to women, and as a bisexual woman, I wanted to cry. We live in a era where more femme black women are coming out and saying, “I like men and women too.” That warms my spirit.

  Nitty Scott drops all the ideas of what it means to be black, mixed, and Afro-Latina, and it shows in songs like “In The Water” and “For Sarah Baartman.” Sarah Baartman is a love letter to the legacy of a woman who was stripped from her homeland and brought to the states to be put on a circus display for her large buttocks. Nitty speaks of fetishism and the views of black women and their bodies. It’s a poem. She asks, “If you, you found me slain, would you still say my name? See I know about the black man, and what he been through. What if I sung about the woman that he brought it home too?” Yes, Nitty. I too have asked that on countless occasions, even just the other day when I revisited some of NWA’s songs that talked about being a nigga but with only the views as a black man. Nitty asks a question plenty of feminists and womanists of the black community have asked for years: Do our black lives matter? Do our black BODIES matter, or is it just for your consumption? I felt it in my soul when she said, “I be crying for my brothers, but I cry for me too.” Plenty of us have been there where we’ve cried for our brothers and fathers for far too long, we have forgotten to humanize and cry for our selves.

 “I’m pretty blended, but don’t call me exotico/As if I was half-black…and half-beautiful.” Once again, Nitty let’s people know that her being mixed does not make her beauty or strength. I’m sure so many of us have heard the stories of how so many successful girls in hip-hop or in general are only there because of their being mixed race or not being like “regular” black girls. She let’s us know that while her being mixed makes her and it is indeed a beautiful mix, mixed and black girls are not beautiful for being “half non-black.” Black is just as beautiful as her non-black side. We’ve been fed this image that while someone is half-black, their non-black side is the “beautiful” half. “Being black and [insert non-black race] is such a beautiful mix!” But have we heard we’re beautiful just for being black? Are we called beautiful for being half black, or are we called beautiful for being half not?

 For Sarah Baartman throws a nice shade to people who fetishize our bodies but don’t want to endure the struggle of being a black woman. Sarah Baartman is the prime symbol of being a black woman in America viewed as an exotic caricature for her curves and big butt, but never humanized. We have so many women who shall not be named in the media going out of their way to buy features similar to Sarah Baartman and calling it a “beauty” trend, but not knowing her struggles and how those “beautiful features” is what caused her pain and death.

 Nitty Scott has been no stranger to letting us know who her influences are. She states something I have always said since I embraced it: Born in the Midwest, raised in the South. She is a unique individual in hip-hop because her influences has ranged from Golden Age hip-hop set in the streets of Brooklyn, New York to going back to her Southern roots on songs like In The Water and Don’t Shoot! where she is not hesitant to let us know that she can spit a cypher in a minute. If she wanted to hop on a trap beat, she would kill it. Don’t Shoot! is trap meets the East Coast in an efficient way I feel other East Coast rappers today have failed to do. Kaleidoscope is a combo between trap and drill, as Nitty said, “Born in the Midwest, raised in the South.” The chorus tauntingly asks, “How does it feel to be one of us?” I still can’t help but go back to the video where the woman said, “Everyone wants to be a nigga but they don’t want to BE a nigga.” Nitty was in it, and Don’t Shoot! may be a bop, but it’s a conscious bop promoting the message that Black Lives Do Matter. If you know, you know.

 As for her being the female Kendrick Lamar, I may be reaching, but can you see the similarities? I have made health critiques of Kendrick Lamar. I can be a petty and snarky opinionator, but at the end of the day, Kendrick has influenced a generation. I believe Nitty can too. I hear the influence but I also hear Nitty’s own voice she has successful and neatly crafted in what seems to be in so little time, but it’s been a progress and journey. She has all the tools to lead a group of black girls to get in touch with their roots, blackness, and embracing their natural beauty in a healthy way that allows us to have agency. So I do ask, do we finally have a female rapper we can look to and say, “That’s that pro-black rapper who gets us lit and fired up for justice at the same time.” We have to let the hip-hop community decide. Go stream and buy Creature! on Itunes now and also check out her other mixtapes, Doobies x Popsicles, The Cassette Chronicles, The Boombox Diaries, Vol. 1, and The Art of Chill.  

anonymous asked:

Who do you think the mysterious endo head belongs to in Bonnie's anniversary pic?? Cause literally everyone (including me) is going crazy over the possibility of this being Funtime Chica's endo. I wanna know your thoughts on the matter

I agree that it’s probably Funtime Chica. If you look at the hidden items in each of the items, you’ll notice they correlate with the characters on display:

  • Circus Baby = Freakshow Baby’s pigtails.
  • Funtime Freddy = Ennard post-Michael. Note that the blue eye is specially selected, which would be FT Freddy’s eye.
  • Springtrap = Silhouetted hand. While it’s hard to know the context of this one, the hand does appear to have five fingers like Springtrap.

One could argue the endo head’s back there because there are other spare heads back there, but you’ll notice that the screencap is from FNAF 1 - with severed Chica heads on the shelves.

Likewise, the overall build fits Chica in terms of eye position and head shape. Some people argue that it can’t be her because of the lack of break - but remember, Funtime Chica’s beak is removable like Toy Chica’s, as shown on Night 4 of SL. If anything, those flat slats in the face are probably where the two pieces of the beak snap into place.

trans headcanons are great but please remember important things

  • not every trans person likes trans headcanons and they can cause discomfort and dysphoria in those who dont like them.

i have a friend and he doesnt like trans canons because he says that “it feels like trans people are nothing but circus animals on display and that we’re some oddity”

  • dont do trans headcanons for stereotypical reasons

this should be self explanitory. if you headcanon someone, say kuzuryuu from sdr2 as a trans man for just the reason of him having a baby face, thats not good at all.

likewise, with crossdressing characters. if they experience dysporia or discomfort in being male/female, they are most likely trans even if it doesnt say so in the material. with that being said however, some character who just crossdresses for FUN/drag queening is not trans.

  • please tag them if its nsfw

just out of common courtesy for those who do not want to see/read nsfw things and those who may be triggered by it

  • finally, do not promote unsafe practices

if a character in your headcanon binds with ace bandages, please make sure to have a disclaimer about how it is unsafe because it could get popular like the dave strider trans aus, get to questioning kids, and they imitate binding unsafely because nobody told them it was bad to bind with ace bandages

2

When asked about her past, Aerie becomes silent for a time, obviously saddened by the memory. She lived among the Avariel, the winged elves, and was captured by slavers when she was still very young. She shudders when she speaks of her first years in the circus, on display in a cage that restricted her movement to the point that her wings atrophied. They became infected… and Aerie can barely speak about the night when she was taken out of her cage and her wings were sawn off brutally to keep her alive. She was no longer of use to that circus, and were it not for the kindness of Quayle she surely would have died. He restored her to health and gave her a reason to continue living, and out of respect and generosity she learned the devotion of the Gnomish god Baervan Windwanderer. She speaks of Baervan with affection, yet still pays tribute to Aedrie Faenya, and approaches life outside the circus with a combination of wide-eyed innocence and wonder mixed with an inborn determination to fight against injustice.

Storm the World with Reckless Abandon

Snippet #6

Finnick Odair – he finally figured out his name from Annie, who had outright laughed at him when he sheepishly admitted he still didn’t know the guy’s name properly – was a baffling pile of disaster just waiting to happen.

Grudgingly, he had to admit to himself that he hadn’t been fair on the guy at first due to the fact he acted waay to much like some certain, manipulative people in his life that he didn’t like on principle.

(Aizen, Gin, and hell, even Urahara when he was at his most conniving before he really got to know him and discovered he was a hundred times worse than he originally thought. The fucking shithead.)

Initially, Ichigo thought the guy was hiding too many things behind his smiling, blank mask that carefully hid his every thought. It took a while for Ichigo to distinguish the fact that no, the guy wasn’t Aizen reincarnated ready to stab his back at any moment and that he also wasn’t doing it to be purposefully disturbing like Gin had.

No, the more he looked, the more he began to realize that Finnick wasn’t formulating diabolical plans every time he smiled that empty smile, but that he honestly didn’t know how else to react to literally anything. It was like he was so used to smiling when he doesn’t mean it, that it was a well-worn habit by now. Like a reflex that had been hard pressed into him to the point where he didn’t know how to act natural in front of people he didn’t know.

It was more than a little worrying to be frank.

Hell, Ichigo had almost been convinced that Finnick wasn’t even capable of expressing any real emotion until Annie came into the picture. The way the bronze haired man looked at her almost made Ichigo feel like he was intruding on some private moment between two star-crossed lovers he’s only ever read about in stories as a kid. It was more than a little embarrassing.

And that’s when Ichigo extended the olive branch to the other man, Annie in tow as they all quietly ate in the kitchen with Finnick constantly shooting puzzling, awed smiles at her as if she was some miraculous marvel. It was such a drastic shift in demeanor that Ichigo couldn’t help but keep a continuous eye on him as they ate, cataloguing the differences. Something the other man had whether been oblivious of, or simply ignored.

The next few days were radically different after that, Ichigo unflinchingly going up to him that next morning and bluntly asking him about ‘Panem’ in general.

Finnick had looked laughably stunned at his sudden approach after nearly five days of completely disregarding him, and had to have Ichigo prompt him with a growling, “Well?” before shaking out of it. The man had given him a perplexed look before cautiously starting to answer, as if afraid Ichigo’s voluntary contact to him was a fluke he couldn’t afford to mess up.

It sent a pang of guilt in Ichigo’s gut at how uncomfortable he’s made the man from his own behavior.

So with unhesitant resolve, Ichigo began to approach him more after that, firing question after question to him relentlessly to fill in the previous lack of communication between them.

At first, Finnick seemed wary by his rather blunt demands, but slowly began to relax and actually seemed to take some genuine enjoyment from Ichigo’s obvious cluelessness on some issues. Like the matter of Capital fashion for example.

“Why the hell does everybody there dress like circus clowns on display? Are they compensating for something?” Ichigo complained as they casually ate their dinner in the living room on the expensive couches. It’s been two weeks since Ichigo came to District 4 and they’re more comfortable around each other than before.

Finnick let out a peal of snickers at this, grinning broadly with a touch of realism in it. Ichigo was satisfied to see that the fakeness he first saw from the young man was wearing away bit by bit the more they got to know each other.

“It’s the fashion there.” Finnick answered, looking greatly humored.

“They look ridiculous.” Ichigo stated flatly. “And impractical. Seriously, have you seen those dresses? Some of them look like walking marshmallows with how poofy they look. I get second-hand embarrassment just watching them.”

Finnick let out a ‘pfft’ sound that was so uncharacteristically undignified that Ichigo couldn’t help but smirk smugly at how badly Finnick was unable to hold in his own amusement at the mental picture Ichigo painted.

“You-You really don’t hold back, do you?” Finnick managed to wheeze out, breathless from laughing so much, sea-green eyes practically sparkling.

“It cuts the bullshit faster.” Ichigo replied flippantly, which earned an amazed shake of the head.

“You’re definitely one of a kind.” Finnick declared, something almost like wistfulness in his voice. Ichigo, picking up on it, raised an eyebrow and jerked his head.

“What? You aren’t capable of being completely honest?” Ichigo questioned. Finnick shook his head, a twisted, bitter smile spreading across his handsome features.

“Oh, I wish.” Finnick gave a lopsided shrug. “I’m famous, remember?”

“Oh.” To be honest, Ichigo had totally forgotten about that. He’s never been one who cared about status and fame in the first place. His relationship with Byakuya alone spoke volumes of how much Ichigo gave a crap about that. Ichigo’s interest piqued though over this new subject Finnick has opened up and he couldn’t help but slyly smirk.

“So, what are you famous for anyway? Being the most wanted man of the year?” Ichigo snarked into his drink as he took a giant gulp.

Suddenly, as if a light switch was turned on, Finnick immediately turned rigid, a small flinch spazzing his entire body frame for only a second.

Ichigo’s eyes sharpened at this, his attention snapping into focus.

What the heck?

“Hey.” Ichigo said slowly, putting down his drink and giving the young man a questioning stare. “What’s with you?”

Much to Ichigo’s growing worry, Finnick didn’t answer for a long while, his eyes avoiding his demanding gaze, a pensive expression plastered on. After a long moment, Finnick finally sighed, the sound long-drawn and defeated. When he looked up again, his face was steeled and serious in a way that made Ichigo instantly know he wasn’t going to like what he had to say.

“Ichigo.” Finnick said grimly, like he was bracing himself for impact. “There’s something I should’ve told you a long time ago.”

And then Finnick talked.


When Finnick finally finished, he felt utterly exhausted.

He finally told him, he thought somewhat dazedly, tired beyond belief over the emotional rollercoaster he had gone through. In all his life, he never had to explain the Games to someone who didn’t even have an inkling of knowledge on the subject. Everyone in Panem knew. Parents told their children all this when they were around six or seven so they could mentally be prepared over their possible, imminent deaths in the future. Morbid, but at least they won’t grow up to be naïve and are capable of actually surviving in such a messed up system.

Ichigo hadn’t interrupted once as Finnick explained the system, carefully making it sound a lot less worse than it was. Snow had cameras everywhere and though Finnick had a certain advantage above most tributes due to Beetee’s reworking over the system maintenance, it wasn’t something he could use often without attracting suspicion.

So he played it out in a way where it would be as carefully neutrally opinioned as possible.

Judging from how Ichigo’s face only seemed to grow darker and darker by the minute, it wasn’t working.

By the time he was done explaining how old the kids were, Ichigo looked ready to storm to the Capital and behead Snow himself.

“Twelve?” Ichigo snarled out with so much murderous rage that Finnick instinctively tensed at the tone. It reminded him too much of the opponents he faced in the games when people were out to actually kill him. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I wish.” He muttered under his breath. Ichigo stared at him, dawning comprehension rapidly taking over his face.

“How old were you?” Ichigo demanded, voice dangerously quiet, the calm before the storm. Finnick hesitated for moment before sighing, knowing he wouldn’t quite until he told him.

“Fourteen.”

Ichigo’s face turned emotionless, face so closed off that Finnick would have to pry Ichigo open with a crowbar to get any reaction from him. Suddenly, with a deadly swiftness that looked almost predatory in nature, Ichigo stood up from his chair and whirled around to stand above him, eyes narrowed and so full of anger that it was terrifying.

“I’m going in the games, aren’t I?” Ichigo said in such a contradictory calm tone that Finnick almost thought he misheard him. Finnick’s only ever heard people say that sentence with fear or defeat, knowing they were going to die in there and terrified out of their minds at the inevitable fact. For all Finnick knew, Ichigo could’ve been talking about the weather from how he’s talking.

“Yes.” He admitted reluctantly, hating himself for it. “Ichigo-”

“Good.”

With that one word, Ichigo began to turn around and briskly walk away.

What?

Finnick stared after him, speechless and unable to believe what he was hearing.

“Good?” Something in him snapped at the word, anger rising rapidly beyond control. “Good? Are you insane?”

“Everybody will be watching, right?” Ichigo stopped in his tracks and snapped his head to level him an intense, burning glare. “If that’s the case, then it’s the perfect time to strike.”

He grinned wildly, everything about him screaming bloodlust and confidence and payback that’ll send armies running for the hills.

He looked like a god of war ready to march to the front lines, eyes blazing with resolve so strong it would’ve driven weaker men on their knees.

“I’m going to fucking beat Snow at his own game.”

Notes: I feel like this isn’t my best work to be honest, but I hope you all enjoy it! It’s longer than most of my snippets, so I’m happy about that part. Please review, reblog, or message me anytime! Thank you, and I hope you enjoy!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 7Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15

Moulin Rouge AU |{Starter}|

Paris, 1880

     An hour before performance and like every night, the halls of the cabaret bustled. Guests began to pour into Moulin Rouge and take their spots around the stage. All of them were men dressed in their finest tuxedo for the evening.  The Dancers ran through the back stage in and out of the change rooms. Faces powdered, lips painted a vibrant red. Each dress tailored to their personal looks. Some resembled birds, some of dolls, some of mythical creatures but all of them were of great beauty. They strapped on their garters and ruffled their extravagant dressed, ready to kick their legs high for their performance of the evening. Ready to flail their dresses high and flash their knickers. One man, Turgon, curated all this. He wore a bright red suit with a white waistcoat, shirt and tie. He held a black cane and top hat that together made him look like a ringleader.

     Outside of the Moulin Rouge was a dazzling circus elephant on display. It housed the Diamond Jewel of the Moulin Rouge, Sora. Her lips painted a rose red and porcelain skin dusted to perfection. Her raven hair curled and bundled into a loose bun behind her head. Her umber eyes shone brighter than the glitter painted on above.

     Humming the chorus of tonight’s performance, she reached over into an antique drawer. Her pale hand pulled out a dark pair of silk panty hose. She slipped them onto her slender leg in front of a golden mirror. Giving herself a firm slap of confidence in the thigh she turned to a young man holding her corset. She removed her flimsy blouse, shivering, the corset was wrapped around her

     “Not too tight!” she moaned as the confines of a corset tightened around her waist. Her hands gripped the oak bedpost. Once a knot was tied tightly and tucked in she let got. 

     “Finally” she exhaled contently, gracing her fingers down her sides. Feeling the stiff fabric supports of her corset. From a drawer below she pulled out a black pair of satin heels embroidered with diamonds. 

      A knock came from the door. “Who is it?” she asked.

     “Who else?” came Turgon’s deep baritone voice. 

     “Oh well come in!” she answered in recognition. The door opened and in he walked, “Is there something you need me for, Turgon?”

     “Are you ready? The shows starts in less than and hour,” he asked.

     “Almost,” Sora smiled pulling open her closet and walking in.

     Her hands went through the large array of dazzling costumes. However it seemed like her hand wouldn’t stop as her mind could not decide which one to wear. Sighing, she made up her mind knowing that the performance was just about to start.  She pulled out a bodice made of satin covered in white jewels. Strings of hung from the bottom creating a short skirt of silver. She slipped it on accompanied by a black lace gloves.  Last to be put on was black stop hat pinned to her head.

     “How do I look?” she asked finally, giving a spin.

     “Ravishing” Turgon winked, “Now hurry up, everyone is ready! The show is about to start!”

     Smiling Sora quickly opened the door out to a bridge connecting her dressing room to the main building.  She ran across winking at the guests below. 

     The music started and Turgon walked out. All the other performers were already behind the curtains and stepped out.

Sora took her place on a red satin swing high behind the stage where no one could see her and waited for her turn to shine.