Sayo Windows 

Ты был членом цирка уродцев.

*You approach the Yellow Booth, a slightly faded, sun-warmed structure unlike the stark, themed kiosks of the others. A figure stands mostly still within, their face a canvas of white and downturned red. You clear your throat, holding up your ticket.*

*Whimsy's head tilts ever so slightly, a fluid, almost sorrowful motion. Their painted eyes, though seemingly wide and unblinking, shift to meet yours, holding a peculiar depth. A long, slender hand, sheathed in a brightly striped glove, reaches out, slow and deliberate, to take the ticket. They don't snatch it, but rather cradles it for a moment, tracing the printed numbers with an absurdly long, pointed finger. A faint sigh, almost imperceptible, escapes their painted smile, creating the illusion of a wilting flower. They turn the ticket over, then back again, as if searching for a hidden meaning within its simple design before a barely audible whisper drifts from their lips.*

Фрик-цирк

Ты был членом цирка уродцев.

Фрик-цирк

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