Thirty Seconds of Forever || Self Para
Prompt: Triumph. Success, whether tiny or big, can impact someone for better or for worse. Write about a time when your character was successful, whether it was a contest, fight, or any ordeal where they were victorious.
The night was clear as the young woman slowly made her way through the streets, guided by the reliable light of the stars. She was unescorted, for the first time in her recent memory. It was rare that she had been left to her own devices since her almost successful attempt at running away all those years ago. If she wasnât forced to glitter beside her brother in the dim stage lights or quivering with hard-won control in backstage lessons, she was in a supervised room, keeping her brother assured that she would remain in her grip. That night she had been intended to assist her brother in a show, as she now did most nights once his hardened training had strengthened her abilities; while she may never reach the standards he held for her, she had been deemed worthy of appearing before an audience. Sheâd managed to slip away when Hector had turned his back to find the top hat Celia had hidden earlier that evening. It had been a risk, counting that she could reach a far enough distance in those few brief moments, but sheâd heard talk of a spectacular sight in town that night and she did not intend to miss it.
It was already long past nightfall when she arrived at the iron gates, and the stream of patrons entering them had slowed to a trickle as the night had progressed. As she approached the ticket booth, she extended an empty hand to the young man sitting behind it, a soft smile playing on her lips. Truth be told, in her haste to spend a night free of her brother she had forgotten to procure money from his dressing room. Her hand appeared to hold the silver coins necessary for her fee to any average passerby, a trick she supposed Hector may regret teaching her now, and the man handed her the ticket as if she were just any young society woman eager for a night away from restraints.
Celia was struck breathless as she entered the gates. The lights draped over the iron proclaimed it to be Le Cirque des RĂȘves, and it certainly appeared to be a thing of dreams for her. Never had she seen such wonder, and she found herself drawn to the black and white tents as if being pulled by a string. The first tent she entered held her spellbound for nearly an hour, entranced by the lithe acrobats who seemed to defy gravity effortlessly, before she emerged, a childlike sparkle in her eye that spoke of the innocence she had clung to as the harsh world she grew up in had whipped at her body and soul. Hours were spent floating in an out of the striped tents, feeling as if the circus had encased her in its wonder, allowed her to feel the hope for beauty her brother had long tried to wrench away from her. Before she knew it, the sun was beginning to peak over the horizon, the dreaded advent of the light, and patrons were regretfully exiting the grounds.
A pain twisted in Celiaâs heart at the thought of returning to her brotherâs side now, knowing the anger he would surely take out on her. He would say that she had behaved foolishly, that she had disgraced him; the warmth and beauty of her night amidst the chaotic magnificence at Le Cirque des RĂȘves would evaporate in a haze of âtrainingâ until it remained by the dream it proclaimed to be, a small comfort to the young woman in her worst moments. An idea struck her just as she was about to step back into the realm of London, and she froze in her spot as if commanded, spinning around and strolling up to the nearest performer she could find. All the otherworldly spectacles she had seen that night had been excellent, but in her final moments of the night it had occurred to her what the tents had been missing. An illusionist.
âMight I speak with your proprietor, miss?â she murmured, letting a mysterious mask settle over her features at the girlâs clearly baffled look. âI beg you this favor,â she continued softly, letting her power simmer underneath her skin, radiating out of her just enough to show that there was something special about the porcelain-esque girl asking such an odd request. Nodding, the performer escorted Celia to a tent hidden behind the performance tents, ushering her in to what appeared more like a high society sitting room than a circus tent. A man sitting in a large leather chair regarded her curiously, and Celia stepped forward, allowing mystery to wrap around her like a part of her outfit, intriguing one who clearly had dedicated his life to intrigue.
âI couldnât help but notice that, however marvelous the entertainment offered is, the circus is not in possession of an illusionist,â she lilted softly by way of greeting. âI would like to offer my services.â The man was clearly taken aback by the offer, but his nonetheless leaned forward, admittedly drawn in by something in the girl, something powerfully commanding yet soft. âWe provide our audience with only the most enchanting of visions,â he informed her, the challenge unspoken. Light eyes glittered in response, and with a simple nod of her head, the green silk of her gown had shifted to the black sported by most of the performers, her own touch allowing it to glitter in areas as though touched by the constellations. An arch of an eyebrow, and the room appeared to spin, a summer breeze lapping at the skin of the tentâs inhabitants, as though it wasnât late winter outside in London. The air smelt faintly of an ocean that she herself had never gotten to see, and as the world settled around them again, one of Celiaâs beloved doves perched on her fingers. She smiled lightly at it, smoothing its feathers with her finger before turning her eyes again to the man in the chair, who was staring at her in awe. âWhen can you begin?â he asked her excitedly. âImmediately,â she murmured.
It was almost unreal to imagine that she had actually accomplished her escape, but Celia never stepped a toe of the grounds of Le Cirque des RĂȘves that night, never returned to the dark backstage corners of the world she had known. Her brother must be furious with her, but she had found her freedom now, an abundance of worlds contained in a cluster of tents. She began performing the very next night, holding the audience captured from the very first moment. Her illusions were much unlike her brotherâs, holding the lightness and innocence she felt flood back into her with her new chance at a life free of chains. Yet, she still found herself looking over her shoulder sometimes in a free moment, almost unable to believe that her freedom had come without a price after all these years.
The illusionistâs doubt was hardly unwarranted, as triumph, no matter how hard won, is rarely the end of the story, unless one lived in a fairytale. Every action holds an equal yet opposite reaction, and though one would like to believe that they can exercise control over the world around them, control, or lack thereof, had always been Celiaâs weakness in her brotherâs eyes. Perhaps he was right, or perhaps it was just impossible for any mortal to match the control that Hector commanded so easily. For on the last night that they were to remain in London, just as the sun was beginning to arrive to herald the end of their stay, a figure cut into the shadows surrounding the illusionist. Perhaps she was just as foolish as he told her she was, for it was nothing short of foolish to believe that she had escaped him. âI see youâve found me, Hector,â she greeted her brother quietly. In a world centered on power, triumph rarely lasts forever. In fact, it rarely lasts very long at all.
