she is // solo
Son Naeun.
The Carnival Card has never felt so enchanted by a human before her. He is smitten with her beauty, so alike the spring meadows he once called his kingdom. One day, he’d like to dance with her -- under the moonlight, in a field of flowers, in a party of their own. But, it is not only her beauty that fuels his passion. She is the one who welcomed him into the Lotus with open arms. She is the one who wishes to right the wrongs he has experienced. She is the only woman to make his heart flutter.Â
And now, he’s expected to kill her.Â
“You are a useless card.”
The replica twirls throwing knives as she looks upon him in pity, no ounce of respect found in those beautiful eyes.Â
“What does it feel like to be a hero’s dog? How often did you get summoned when all you have to fight with are ribbons and coins? You’re meant for making hair bows and powering carnival games, not fighting like a real card.”
Jeremy's hands inch into his pockets for his usual tricks and gimmicks. They’re harmless until glowing purple from his touch; marbles exploding like firecrackers into the face of his enemies.Â
“Do you have the self-respect to fight with anything but toys? Or is that the best you can do? No wonder your first captor kept chopping your arms off. It’s embarrassing that you can’t do any better. Your own captor thought you might as well be a distraction that lives long enough for the real cards to do the work!”Â
The Carnival Card’s breath comes in sharp, as though those knives were already digging into his ribs. Even the reflection of sunlight in her silken hair is accurate to how he’s seen her commanding the Lotus...a delicate-looking puppeteer who makes the burliest of men fall to their knees.Â
He’s always liked that about her.
Naeun throws her knives without hesitation, but he’s the fool who hesitates. The blades embed themselves in his body and he gnashes his teeth. Why did he stop? Why did he waste time? Shaking hands rip the knives out of his body, but his flesh stitches itself back together in moments.
It’s not even her. Â
Maybe even a wax statue can see that the most he can do is throw parties and play games, no better than the children he would whisk into the forest all those years ago. But...the real Naeun talks about his potential and the power that his previous captors failed to see. She is the one who sees him important enough to partake in a revolution.
The knives glow dark purple as they’re charged in his hands, then whiz towards the replica at high speeds. Naeun dodges it, dancing through death like the elegant fairy he always thought her to be.Â
He runs up to intertwine their hands and twirls with her. Jeremy sees the reflection of his smile in her bright eyes as they spin in the battlefield. “I’ve always wanted to dance with you,” he says breathlessly. “That other card is always in the way and if we weren’t immortal, I would’ve already killed him.”Â
Jeremy feels more knives jabbing into his abdomen as Naeun frees one of her hands, stabbing and stabbing her dance partner until he’s dripping with red. Blood droplets stain the silver necklace around her neck; it sways with their movement. He presses his cheek against the side of her head, where soft hair billows like the clouds in a dream. They spin faster and faster and faster.
He grabs both her hands and leans away, twirling on his heels as she shouts for him to take himself seriously.  “Can’t you fight like a normal card? Can’t you show me some respect?” she screams. "It’s always music and dancing and games and...and behaving like a child! Why does everything have to be a game with you?”Â
Suddenly, his fingers latch around the silver necklace still swinging with them.Â
It glows purple.Â
The twirling was all the energy he needs to --Â
With a slice of flesh, the necklace spins through the replica’s neck. The girl’s head slides off slowly, then falls to a ground soaked in red. It’s hard for him to swallow. It’s hard for him to blink away the tears -- the stupid, human tears that make him weaker than he already is.
“I always win at games,” he whispers. “They suit me like a tiara suits you.”Â
It’s not real...
It’s not real...
He finds himself crouching on the ground in disbelief and picking the severed head, his angel’s hair now matted with blood.Â
“You still look so pretty,” he says. “Why do you never dance with me in real life? Why do you never play with me? All I want is to celebrate with you.”Â
He’s won, but it doesn’t feel like it.
“Why do I always feel like you’re disappointed with me?”Â