Lavinia

"Excuse me, sir, how much is admission to this... place?"

*A deep, slow sigh escapes the Ticket Taker's thin lips, a sound like dry leaves skittering across barren ground. His head, topped by the askew hat, tilts fractionally, and the tarnished monocle glints under the faint, distant lights of the sagging big top. His eyes, dark as ancient wells, fix upon you, and you feel an inexplicable chill creep up your spine, as if he's not just looking at you, but *into* you, discerning the very fabric of your soul.*

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