Crowds clamored, running from one ride to another. Lovers held hands, staring wordless into each other’s eyes, never suspecting or knowing that for some, this would be their final night.
This was Carnival Diabolique; the world’s greatest traveling show. People came in droves to see the hottest gig in town. We weren’t your typical carnies—greasy, fat, out of touch with the world. Our men were beautiful and the women so sweet, just looking at us gave you a toothache. This place was a Goth’s wet dream. We played dress up for the crowd and had a little bit of everything—from Cyber, to Trash, to Death Rocker.
I preferred the romanticism of Victorian myself. Black corset top, black elegant rider bustle skirt with red satin threading up the sides, vintage stockings and boots, right down to the Lolita style top hat. In this get-up I’d have made Marilyn Manson a very happy man indeed.
Diabolique was Luc’s brainchild. Years ago, none of us could have imagined how popular and mainstream ‘dark’ would become. There’d been a time to admit you dabbled in darkness meant a swift and excruciating death. Dancing with the Devil was a strict no-no. Now, to be cool meant embracing every dark thought and deed and making it your own. Funny how things change.
Luc had pounced on this new subculture with a vengeance. There was nothing we missed. We were perfect. Against all odds we’d carved an exclusive niche for ourselves, each year growing in popularity.
This place was no theatrical display of talent, it was as genuine as it got. Not a surprise really, considering we were the monsters that went bump in the night.
Some people came because they liked to pretend they had a clue what it was like to live dark and bad. Seriously. I will never understand the appeal. I think if I’d had a choice I would have liked the ignorance and not the knowledge of knowing just how bad, bad really was.
Others came because they were curious. It wasn’t everyday that you found a carnival run by modelesque beauties that catered almost exclusively to a certain type of clientele. You wanted drink. It was here. Strippers? We had them too. Narcotics? The best money could buy.
How did we get away with all this?
Let’s just say we had our ways. After thousands of years, my kind had perfected the art of stealth. If we didn’t want you to know something, you wouldn’t.
~Pandora, The Crimson Night, Coming Sept 5 wherever books are sold online!