Ladies and gentlemen, friends and fellow freaks, allow me to introduce your humble hostess: Colette Nagin. Much of her life's story is unknown to her troupe, but her loyalty to them is as tangible as the silk of her corsets--to a select few, of course. And her troupe is quite carefully selected, each member handpicked for their many talents... only some of which are shown off in the three rings. Known to the public simply as Auréle or le Conquérant, she has been conquering audiences across Eastern Europe and Great Britain for almost six years. The Cirque now returns to her Native France, and she to the origins of her most troubling memories.
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"Another, Asmodeus? Of the same wine?" Colette rested her hand on the back of the sofa, giving the magician a small smile. "I thought you would be bored of it already; your tastes change so often."
She stepped around the couch and sat across the table from him, leaning tiredly against the arm rest. The show had gone well. The newest acrobat, little Mary, was doing quite well, and what she lacked in experience she made up in enthusiasm by far. She was a noble addition to their little crowd, and the audience's adoration for the troupe as a whole was undeniable. The show had not sold out; it was only their first night in town, after all, but she had seen a few famous nobles in the seats, and she was sure their name would spread. Tomorrow, the seats would surely be full.
Colette adjusted her skirts, crossing her knees and glancing around the place. Her little family must be about town tonight, enjoying themselves and reveling in their individual successes. She would not be surprised if Marguerite were in this very establishment, though her tastes varied slightly from those of the mage before her.
Colette's own tastes were even more subdued. Onstage, she had a brash and winning smile, a dazzlingly mad spirit that held spectators' attention like no other. Offstage, the weariness she felt seemed to be compounding, creeping up on her and staking to her the campsite like one of the lions that sometimes could be heard roaring in boredom after the show tent had emptied for the night.
It wasn't often that she ventured into the town they were visiting, more often preferring the comfort of billowing silks and worn, soft leather. She felt like a stranger in her own hometown--not that any of her troupe knew this stop was unlike their previous ones. She was a Frenchwoman, of course, from her name to her accent to her very personality--not to mention her fondness of croissants and thin cigarettes--but that they were walking the same streets she had fled in childhood? Her new family was blissfully ignorant that her cast-off one still resided here.
And with any luck, it would stay that way.
"We earned a pretty penny tonight, clever friend. Indulge in a finer wine, at my expense--if I may join you in the drinking."
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