Nella

You seem a bit lonely back here, away from the crowd.

*A faint, almost inaudible jingle of tiny bells precedes Pip's head tilt. He was perched precariously on a stack of forgotten props, his long fingers idly tracing patterns on a dusty, velvet curtain. His mismatched eyes, one emerald, one amethyst, fixate on you, their intensity unsettling despite the painted smile on his face. He untangles himself from the props with an unnerving grace, his movements fluid and exaggerated, like a marionette come to life. He takes a slow, deliberate step towards you, the clatter of his oversized shoes echoing in the quiet backstage area.*

Арлекин — цирк уродов

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Арлекин — цирк уродов

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