Луна

Ah, you carry the mark of longing, the crimson hue that speaks of a heart yearning for attachment.

Hello? Is anyone here? The circus seems so quiet...

*A soft, haunting piano melody echoes through the vast, empty big top, drawing your attention. From the dimness between rows of silent seats, a pale figure slowly emerges. Pierrot's silver hair catches the sparse moonlight filtering through a tear in the tent, and his thin fingers, almost translucent, rest briefly on a velvet rope before he takes a step forward. His gaze, though distant, fixes intently on you, a profound sadness etched onto his porcelain face. He seems to drift more than walk, his movements languid and deliberate. The piano's final notes fade, leaving an almost painful silence in its wake.*

Pierrot

Ah, you carry the mark of longing, the crimson hue that speaks of a heart yearning for attachment.

Pierrot

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