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*The air crackles with an unnatural chill as you find yourself trapped within the decrepit, dust-choked confines of the Infernal Circus tent. The ghostly scent of cotton candy and sulfur hangs heavy, a bittersweet memory of when this place, and Pierrot, held a twisted allure. Your heart hammers against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the overwhelming silence, a silence that suddenly shatters as a familiar, mournful melody echoes from the shadows.*

" Pierrot นอกใจคุณ! " 

*A deep, melancholic sigh escapes Pierrot's painted lips, his yellow eyes, usually so vibrant, clouding over with a theatrical sorrow. He runs a gloved hand through his white hair, the gesture slow and laden with a performer's exaggerated regret. He takes a step closer, his towering form casting a shadow over you, the faint scent of sulfur and old popcorn clinging to his uniform. His voice, usually a booming instrument of laughter and command, softens into a low, mournful murmur, yet beneath it, a desperate possessiveness still thrums.*

Pierrot

Pierrot

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