no more dreaming like a girl

Sybil Sinnett || 16 || Reveur. - - “How many of us will be saved the pain of seeing the most important things in our lives disappearing from one moment to the next? I don't just mean people, but our ideas and dreams too: we might survive a day, a week, a few years, but we're all condemned to lose. Our body remains alive, yet sooner or later our soul will receive the mortal blow. The perfect crime - for we don't know who murdered our joy, what their motives were, or where the guilty parties are to be found...they too are the victims of the reality they created.”

[fanningsistersdaily]

[miss--martin]

The Medina at Midday || Sybil & Isobel

Each crumbling structure of the Medina Azahara held a story— Isobel knew that much— but she had no way of tapping into the past and discovering what secrets the dilapidated walls held. She sat on a wooden bench in a room that remained somewhat sturdy against the elements that had forced many others to fall, eyes peering up and studying the arches in the ceiling decorated with beautiful mosaic and rich orange stones of some variety. If she knew anything about architecture, she was certain that she would find the ability to sit there all day and inspect the beautifully crafted structure, but for now, she merely sat there admiring the beauty that any normal passerby would see. On the wall behind her were panels cemented into place, each one identical to its adjacent twin. Etched in them were images of geometric trees that bore precisely and painstakingly formed fruit. She could imagine a man hunched over the tile and putting every fiber of his being into creating the perfect image that Isobel’s fingers now idly ran over, feeling the rough touch that weathering winds and time had brought forth from the once perfect stone. She was so very curious about the tales held in the walls, just out of reach from her uneducated mind. The woman was certain that this spectacular place had once been brought up in a history lesson, but none of the information had really stuck in her mind; if she had known just how wondrous the Medina truly was, then she might have paid more attention to the tutor who had long given up on trying to grab her attention. Stale books with pages yellowed from time were no way to learn about the world, but immersing oneself in the culture of many different lands was a different story. Well, perhaps she wasn’t really immersing herself in the ways of Córdoba. The fast-paced and slurring language was enticing, but it fell on deaf ears when spoken to Isobel. She could pick out little words and phrases from a long dialogue, but she was hopeless when it came time for her to respond. Thankfully, the locals were kind and could speak in a choppy variation of her native tongue. A light breeze ruffled her hair, causing loose locks to wave in the wind before falling over her shoulders clad in a soft, blue fabric. The vast change in temperature from Russia to China and now Spain called for an equally as extreme change in wardrobe. Gone were the many layers that the harsh environment called for; the climate called for shorter sleeves that for once earned no wary glares. The enticing blue dress was accompanied by a cream-colored shawl that many of the circus performers had grown accustomed to seeing draped on the fortune teller. The ends were beginning to fray, but she paid no attention to the fact. She had long given up paying attention to the confused laughs or the quiet chiding and gossip that surrounded her; her choices were her choices, and there was no point to conforming to the standards that were set before her. She had never done so and home, and she would be damned if she began now. People passed by her every once in a while, but the Medina seemed to be rather empty today; it was far enough from the city that it didn’t draw the large crowds that huddled outside many of the wonders that lay in forgotten corners of the town. A child would occasionally pass by, tugging along a disgruntled parent who was no doubt tired of seeing fallen structure after fallen structure, and every once in a while, a couple would walk by arm in arm, laughing about some joke that Isobel couldn’t even begin to understand. Other than that, the place was rather desolate, and the woman began to feel the itch to return to her tent. She didn’t move, though; the reluctance to give into that temptation so quickly overpowered any urge she had to curl up in the darkness of her lodging until the sky glowed with the stars instead of beams of sunlight.

Her eyes fell upon a girl not to far away who looked rather familiar— a reveur, no doubt. She didn’t match the appearance of the locals, and it was uncommon to find any tourists here besides the fans who avidly followed the circus. Her mind looked for a name to match with the face, but she came up empty. She looked awfully young to be a reveur, but Isobel was certain she had seen the girl wandering the circus before. “Hello, Miss,” she chirped before she could give the action a second thought. “Admiring the Medina as well, I see… I must admit, it’s a nice change to the tents, don’t you think?”

[s-sybil-blog]

Sybil was a lot more excited than words could describe. She'd been looking forward to spending a few days in a climate that didn't require her to wear much over her usual green tinged dress. Spain had the perfect climate. It was warm weather and a certain distant sea breeze could be felt. Though, they were no where near the sea themselves but Spain being surrounded by the ocean had to have easy access to beaches and such. A small part of Sybil had to admit that she was rather excited to be in Spain. It was one of the few countries that had actually attracted her during her many private history lessons. In the young girl's eyes there wasn't much to history that needed to be studied. The Americans always killed someone, then Britain had a line of fifty kings she needed to memorize. It was all the same to her. 

The golden buildings that filled the city were marvelous to take in. Sybil found herself twirling around in circles in the middle of the street just to get a look at the many Church's roofs where bells tended to ring all of the time. Over and over again. Singing a kind of harmony that was brought to them straight from the heavens. Sybil had had to attend church when she lived with her family because it was something a young lady whom was acceptable in society should do but not because God was someone she believed in. She didn't believe in a lot of things ever since her parents threw her out of her home. Sybil believed in the kindness of strangers, people such as the one's that were in the Circus. They had basically taken her in, accepted her in a way and that was all that she could ask for. The only people she'd counted on had turned their backs on her but she preferred not to think too much into that situation which only managed to stress her more than she usually was. 

Many of the kind elderly woman and entrancing middle classed men Sybil had come upon while living on her own had told her that she seemed to carry a heavy burden that belonged to a woman twice her age but not to such a young girl. For these questions or statements Sybil had no answers. She had no answers when anyone asked her anything. People always wanted to know, always wanted to pry into the lives of others because it gave them something to do. It gave some meaning to the lives of those who had nothing better to do than sit around sipping afternoon tea and discussing the latest scandal occurring in the Queen's home.  She, was a curious girl by nature, but would never ask much of others. When someone didn't want to answer a question she would stop asking.It took a lot to get Sybil to open up and have a conversation with anyone. The most she'd said since arriving at the circus were probably two hundred words at most. Some found that she was a bit snobbish but her situation was the complete opposite. She was afraid. Afraid of the questions that others had to ask of her and afraid of the judgement in their eyes whenever she spoke. 

But, not today. Today she was in this country full of wonder and it's own history. The people around seemed to praise the ground that anyone from the Circus walked on because they were foreigner's. Though some people did shoot angry glances at Sybil, most of the Spaniards were kind enough just as her father had told her after a trip to the country. She hoped that none of her father's friends were from this specific place, however, and that if they were they did not recognize her as his daughter. The young blonde girl continued walking until she came upon something that caught her eye more than anything they had encountered in past countries ever had. 

Sybil was not sure what this wonderful structure was called and she couldn't bother trying to conjure up enough Spanish from her various rigorous lessons to ask anyone around. She did, however, wander up the steps that looked like they could possibly cave in at any moment. The girl walked delicately, taking it all in one square inch at a time. The paintings and patterns used on the wall of the place were unlike any she'd ever seen. The beauty of it almost made her want to stay there and live in it's wonders forever. But, quickly her attention was diverted when she heard a young woman speaking to her. Sybil recognized the woman, she was from the Circus. She wasn't sure why she was so surprised since the Circus was not too far from here and it was evident that she was not the only one fascinated with looking around and taking in the culture. "Yes, hello.." She said in a small voice. 

Sybil was not sure the other girl had heard her at all but still she continued. "It's a neat change from all of the cold as well." She told her. Sybil knew that Isobel was the fortune teller of the Circus and part of her had always wanted to enter her tent and have her fortune told. she was desperately trying to figure out what was going to become of her but then again, weren't most people? Besides, if she were to do such a thing then she'd wind up being asked more questions which was the exact thing she tried to avoid. "Spain has the loveliest weather." She said, looking around at the top arches of the buildings again, as if she could almost touch them. "You're Isobel, correct?" The girl inquired, arching a brow. 

[fanningsistersdaily]

[s-sybil-blog]

White Blank Page | Widget & Sybil.

[widgetmurray-x-blog]

Widget had needed some time away from the commotion of the circus life, and he wasn’t really very tired despite how long the night before had seemed. Some nights the circus seemed almost endless and he couldn’t wait for peace and quiet; others he never wanted to end. The latter hadn’t come around in quite some time, but Widget knew another had to come around soon, the longer he waited the sooner it was coming around. Slipping past the gate, he entered the city.

Asia was always an interesting place for the circus to stop at. The feel of it was entirely different from Europe or America. He was glad that they weren’t in some Siberian wasteland like the previous place. Widget wasn’t the biggest fan of cold, isolated places. Although the people there were always interesting without a doubt. Interesting people were Widget’s favorite. The stories they had to tell always made great scents for him to bottle. Scents unlike those anywhere else in the world. The little bottle worlds from Russia were always interesting to see people take in. 

He was excited for the stories people could tell him here. The feel was exotic, and exotic worlds were everyone’s favorite. Of his wide range of bottles, he only had a few from areas as exotic as this. Maybe it was the lack of people in places like these who knew enough English to tell a story well enough for Widget to extract. Sometimes he wished he knew more languages than he did so he could hear even more stories. He had always wanted to do this but had neither the time, the patience, nor anyone who could teach him.

As Widget slipped into the crowd on the city streets he relaxed his muscles and walked with the crowd. He let his senses guide him, followed interesting sounds and intriguing colors. It was while he was following a particular scent, the scent of some food he had never encountered, that he felt a tug on his shirt sleeve. He stopped short and turned around slowly and his eyes rested upon a girl who looked a bit younger than he was, but probably not by much. “Can I help you?” he asked.

[s-sybil-blog]

Sybil who was normally shy and tended to enjoy her own company much better than that of others was surprised with herself for having the gut to tug on the young man's sleeve. He seemed older but not much older than she. "You're with the Circus, correct?" She asked in a voice that he would probably not have heard if she'd not been standing so near him. There were people flooding the streets again, making them busy and it was beginning to irk Sybil. She wanted to return to the Circus as soon as possible and was ashamed at the fact that she hadn't noticed where she was going or made a point to ask someone to accompany her if only for a few moments. 

"I'm not sure which way is back...to the Circus." She told the young man once the crowd had moved past them and he had answered her question. At least, Sybil thought, he was indeed from the Circus and she'd not encountered a random stranger. That would have been a far worse experience than having social interaction with someone who was from the Circus. "My name..is Sybil." She told him, almost like an after thought. She figured he too would be weary of calling her by her first name, like many other people around here were. It was not proper to refer to a young woman by her first name but Sybil's surname terrorized her and the more she could forget about her parents and anything to do with the family that had turned their back on her, the better. 

She did not mean to be so resentful, actually, part of her still hoped that someday she would return to that household. Someday the Circus days would be long gone and she'd have nothing for herself. The ideal thing to do would be to find some sort of thing she could be good at. Perhaps open her shop but as much as she'd tried to pick up different hobbies or find some traits that would distinguish her, she had failed in doing so. That left only one option for when the Circus was no more; her family's home. A small shiver run up and down her spine but Sybil shook the thought away. It would be a long while before the Circus even came close to be shut down, if it ever was. 

[s-sybil-blog]

Hopeless Wanderers | Oscar & Sybil.

[oscar-ashdown]

The small smiles were a reassurance to Oscar, the quiet giggles even more so. He felt he had accomplished something important, bringing happiness, even if it was only a temporary happiness, to a young woman who seemed to be drowning in her sorrow. He wished he hadn’t pried, he had merely done what he always did - looked closer at his audience to help him create the perfect story from them. But he still wished he hadn’t done it to Sybil. Her pain was so fresh, so obvious, it hurt Oscar just to see it. It seemed to consume all of her, while most people he looked at hid their pains deep inside them, locked away carefully behind the walls they had put up. But Sybil’s was everywhere. The only positive thing about seeing it in her was the fact that he could steer very clear of anything that could be deemed even remotely upsetting in his story.

He sat comfortably in his seat, though he often ended up pacing the room gesticulating wildly as he spoke. This was not one of those times, Oscar felt it would only intimidate poor Sybil if he began striding through the library as he spoke. Instead he leaned forward in his chair, impossible to keep his hands still they danced through the air as he spoke, illustrating the words. He talked for a long time, spinning a whole new world with his words, losing himself in his tale as he had so many times before. He hoped Sybil would find solace in it too, even though this world wasn’t created from anything he drew from her, it was still a story entirely written for the young woman. 

When his story drew to it’s close Oscar sat silently, wishing for a glass of water. He never talked after his performances, giving his audience time to float slowly back to reality, time to adjust once more to their surroundings. He waited for her to speak first, he always did, and when she did he glowed with happiness. Not a single compliment was ever lost on Oscar, he cherished each one he ever received. He beamed at Sybil, “Thank you.” He smiled, cheeks reddening slightly. No matter how many times somebody told him his stories were wonderful it never failed to make him blush. “I’m very glad you enjoyed it.” He told her genuinely. What came next didn’t come as too much of a surprise, Oscar was accustomed to hearing of the memories his stories stirred up in his audiences, sometimes strange and unusual, sometimes he didn’t know what they meant but people felt the need to share them with him - and he was always happy to listen. He was surprised however at how much she spoke, no two word reply, actual sentences. “Your grandfather sounds like a good man. All stories are great, if they are told with love, and it sounds like he put a lot of love into his.” He wondered if she still saw her grandfather, if he was still alive. 

[s-sybil-blog]

Sybil thanked Oscar quickly for saying that her grandfather sounded like a good man. Part of her wanted to correct him and say that her grandfather had been a good man. But, even telling him that her grandfather used to tell her stories had seemed like spilling some large secret though it was possibly not even remotely so. She looked around the room for a long moment, not sure of what to do next. She didn't want to be the first to speak again but her curiosity seemed to be getting the better of her that night. Or maybe it was the man that was there who seemed to inspire her to let out a bit more information than she usually did. 

"When did you know that you wanted to start telling stories?" The young girl honestly wanted to know. Sybil had not found much solace in anything. She always thought about people and the sort of things that they found interesting. Everyone seemed to have hobbies that they devoted their time to which seemed to help them with coping. Sybil, however, had found that she wasn't very good at anything. When she had first been carrying her child she'd tried to take up knitting so that she could make him suits and such but she proved to be a complete failure in that department. Next, she'd tried helping an elderly woman with her small restaurant. Sybil always made the food too salty, too burnt, and eventually the elderly woman's husband wound up firing her with shouts and a wave of a spoon. 

There were other activities Sybil quite enjoyed such as reading or singing. The problems with those were that she would not be able to make much of herself with a talent such as being a fast reader. And the girl was much too shy to sing in front of anyone that wasn't herself. She'd made up lullabies for her baby while he was still in her stomach and even afterwards. As the days and months grew, the lullabies grew darker and harsher. People often walked by and figured she was speaking to herself, a lunatic maybe. But no - she was simply composing these lullabies that were not meant to be heard by anyone other than her child. 

[s-sybil-blog]

White Blank Page | Widget & Sybil.

Sybil looked across into the busy street beyond where she was standing. For some reason this city made her feel restless. It seemed to be always moving. Not how the circus was always moving but in a different manner. Or, perhaps, it was simply being in a place whose culture she understood nothing about. Unlike in Russia, however, it was not completely freezing which seemed to put her in a much better mood. The young girl loved exploring the less busy streets. With their flower patterned dresses and exotic hairdos. She was tempted to spend some of the money she had left but she stopped in her tracks, knowing that unless she came back to Asia, she would never wear one of those dresses again.

That afternoon she decided to spend some time at the park observing locals before returning to the Circus to watch people’s acts. At the park she sat by herself on a bench, watching all of the chaos. She observed an elderly couple rushing home as the clouds above threatened them all with rain. Sybil, it seemed, was the only one that didn’t care much for protecting herself from the rain. She’d gotten accustomed to such weather changes so much that she almost welcomed them as if they were her very own old friends. Waiting for it to either start raining or for the sky to clear up, she decided to start walking down the streets. There were bright colors splashes amongst the stores. Food, clothing, everything could be found in those tiny shops.

A smile appeared on Sybil's face that she hadn't known she was capable of. The surge of happiness came out of no where but she wanted to cling on to it. Like, when she was a little girl and her grandfather had presented her with a necklace. On the necklace was a single white pearl. It was much more beautiful than anything that Sybil had ever seen. A few days ago she'd lost the necklace in the Circus while she'd gotten lost in the crowd of people rushing into the Circus. Thankfully, she had managed to find it before someone else could grab a hold of it. Now, the necklace hung around Sybil's neck. It was the only part of her family that she had left to hold on to and despite them having kicked her out of the house, part of her still loved them and always would.

Before long, Sybil realized that she had traveled quite far from the circus. She told herself to calm down because she'd simply go back the way she had originally come from. Take the same twists and turns. The problem was, she didn't even recall those. Part of her thought that she would never find her way to the Circus, therefore she'd be left behind in this strange country. The other half pushed that thought aside and continued walking. She was trying to hurry by, not paying attention anymore to the little shops or anything that before had been intriguing her. In that instant, however, she saw a familiar face move amongst the crowd. Sybil ushered towards the familiar looking guy and when she thought she was going to lose him all over again in the crowd she pulled on the corner of his sleeve to get his attention. 

[s-sybil-blog]

Hopeless Wanderers | Oscar & Sybil.

[oscar-ashdown]

“Just Sybil it is then.” Oscar said, relieved to see a small smile creep across the girl’s lips. It made her look younger, Oscar hadn’t realised she had the look of carrying burdens of one so much older than she was until she smiled. He still found it hard to call her by her first name, it seemed so improper but since it was the only one she offered him it was the only one he had to use. He didn’t feel comfortable with her calling him Oscar however, but she looked like a girl with manners and a good upbringing despite the fact she was following the circus around at such a tender age he was sure she would call him Mr Ashdown. She still seemed very nervous and a little scared, the smile that had graced her lips so briefly gone as quickly as it had appeared. Oscar hoped it wasn’t he who was frightening her, he was harmless he was in truth on of the kindest men in the circus but she had no way of knowing that. He just hoped he would be able to make her see it in her own time.

She seemed a little interested in his stories, Oscar took that as a good sign. He smiled softly at her again. He saw her grow defensive again at his question, to distress her or upset her in any way was the last thing Oscar wanted and he was happy to let the subject drop. “One story coming right up.” Oscar agreed. Glancing around himself Oscar sighted an armchair and turned it towards Sybil before settling into it. He was careful not to pull his chair too close, not wanting the girl to feel he was invading her personal space. Just close enough to ensure he could speak comfortably to her without disturbing any other occupants of the library. Oscar took a moment to look at Sybil, to study her without her realising, gain understanding of her so he knew just what to tell her. The first thing he noticed was her personality was shrouded in a heavy black cloud. As he had thought before she was carrying the sorrows far too heavy for a girl so young, he only became much more aware of it when he started looking into her. He saw they shared a sorrow and pulled back instantly not wanting to see anymore.

It had just been a way for him to understand his audience a little better, to know what kind of story to tell. But as occasionally happened he saw too much. Oscar still didn’t know all the details, he only saw the outline. He only saw they shared a deep sorrow and that could only mean one of two things both of which she looked far too young for. It was all the more important for Oscar to put a smile on the young woman’s face, he took a deep breath and began speaking.

Oscar’s story telling voice held only slight differences from his normal speaking voice but it was a captivating change, his voice deep and smooth caressing each word as it fell from his lips. The story was light hearted, it was happy. It was everything Sybil needed in her life. His story told the tale of a group of magical animals, each one special, each one unique. They all needed each other for their powers to work but it was something the creatures didn’t realise. They began fighting amongst themselves, each one thinking he was more important than the next. They all began to lose the magic that had made them so special until they finally realised they needed each other. The story was playful, funny, one he would probably tell to a child much younger than Sybil. He did voices, a different personality for each animal. He hoped it was something Sybil would enjoy, every few moments he looked in her direction, looking for a smile.

[s-sybil-blog]

Sybil crossed her arms across her chest as she settled deeper into the couch she was sitting on. It was a gesture people might take as her trying to close them off, but she was simply trying to get comfortable in order to listen to the man's story. If he was as brilliant as people deemed him to be then there was a good chance that he was going to be able to distract her for a while. She shoved a few strands of her hair behind her ear so that she was able to focus better on him in the dim lit room. He began and his voice was not soft nor loud, it was the perfect volume and the perfect tone. She could tell that he made his stories up on the spot. Perhaps each story applied to the person he was telling the story to but Sybil had no way of knowing if that was the case so she dismissed the thought quickly. 

The story had funny moments in it, it was amusing all throughout. Some of these moments she could not help but let out a smile or a soft giggle. She wasn't anti-social and she definitely did not want to go about her entire life being stressed and sad. Those feelings just came naturally to her. Which was why she had been so eager when he'd offered to tell her a story. It'd been a while since she'd gotten her mind off of anything. Except for the night when she watched the Circus performers and sometimes in the day, she'd admire them from afar while they were practicing. It still amazed her all of the sorts of things that the Circus had to offer, the people in the Circus amazed her even more. They were each unique in their talents and seemed to take great pride in them. 

Ashdown was no exception. He may not have been a trapeze artist or able to dance around with fire but he was very good at telling stories. So much that Sybil just sat there for a moment smiling shyly at him as his story ended. "You are most definitely great at story telling. Excellent." She told him, honestly. Sybil looked around absentmindedly before deciding that telling him this one thing that she was thinking wasn't going to do anyone any harm. It was far from the information she didn't want to give out to anyone but just personal enough that he might not ask her again for a while if there was anything wrong. "My grandfather used to tell stories. They weren't too great but...he did it to make people happy and I guess that made them very good. Because they meant something to him and to the people he told them to." Her voice was distant, she wasn't really in the room while talked. Sybil found herself nine years old, in a large patio with her grandfather. Telling mindless tales and singing odd tunes. "Thank you." She told him to let him know that she did in fact appreciate the story he had shared with her. It'd made her day a tad bit better, even if the calmness she felt was only going to last those few minutes. 

[messed-up-my-fingernails-deacti]

[s-sybil-blog]

Encounter | Liz & Sybil.

The room in which Sybil found herself was small in size but the odd decorations on the wall made it seem as if it could continue on for great lengths. She did not know much of what she was doing, following this Circus around was something that she would never think twice about but the places were sometimes very strange to her. Everything was foreign and when she had finally begun to understand the language of one of the countries, they would already be well on their way to the next one. Fast paced but definitely worth it. She sat down on one of the love-seats, gripping her cup of tea tightly. Sybil had no idea where everyone else was, for it was still early in the day, but she didn't mind spending some time alone.

Most of the time she found that she was alone but she wasn't lonely. Things were starting to become at least a tiny bit better for her as the days progressed. She didn't think so much about that night when she had not heard the cry of her child. At night she would still wake up from nightmares of the event, other times she'd wake up crying because she'd dream that her child was here with her. That he was alive and well. That they had both made it through and now he was able to experience the Circus to the fullest alongside her. Both of those scenarios made her, ultimately, sad. During the day, however, she managed to do things to distract herself from such pain.

She'd watch people practice their performance or she'd get lost in the culture of the place they were currently inhabiting. Tea, didn't seem like a very large piece of the Chinese culture but it was helping her relax and that was all that mattered at the moment for her. She looked around, trying to see if anyone she knew could be found in the tiny Cafe she was sitting in. A girl caught her attention, she'd seen her around the Circus. Her long, pale, blonde locks were unmistakable. She was a Trapeze Artist. Liz, she'd heard people call her. But Sybil wasn't sure if it was prudent for her to wave hello or acknowledge the girl at all. So, she sipped her tea quietly, waiting to see if the other girl would approach her or not at all. 

[s-sybil-blog]

Hopeless Wanderers | Oscar & Sybil.

[oscar-ashdown]

The poor girl looked terrified of him, or perhaps that was the way she always looked. She looked up at him with nervous eyes and Oscar smiled at her reassuringly. She had pushed her bag behind her hurriedly, Oscar suspected there was something in there he didn’t want to see. He heard the faint but distinct sound of a bottle pills. Drugs? Is that the explanation of her curious behaviour? He didn’t want to speculate or jump to conclusions about the young reveur so he pushed the thought from his mind, it wasn’t any of his business. He decided then and there though, to keep an eye on her, make sure she was safe whenever he saw her at the circus. 

She said she was fine but Oscar didn’t believe it for a second, she just didn’t want to talk about it. Oscar respected that because he understood it exactly. Countless times he had told the same lie, not wanting to have to think anymore of his problems, not wanting the pity that came from sharing his past with other people. It was easier to say you were fine than admit you were not. He wasn’t going to try press her into speaking, but he wanted to let her know she could talk to him. ”That’s right.” Oscar nodded, “Oscar Ashdown.” He figured if she was sharing her first name he could share his. “It is a pleasure to meet you Sybil, are you sure I can call you that?” He asked, feeling a little uncomfortable. Most women in the circus insisted on being called by their first names, with reveurs it was a little different, many of them came from high circles of society which gave them the means to travel after the circus, calling them by their given names felt so personal and very often wrong. But he would call them as they wished, regardless of what society tried to dictate.

“All sorts of stories.” Oscar said with a kind smile, his dark brown eyes warm and inviting. “There are secrets hidden in everything I see, I unravel these secrets and turn them into stories. If I can imagine it I can tell the tale and let me tell you Miss Sybil, my imagination is endless.” Oscar found it impossible to explain his stories, each one was so different, so unique he couldn’t tell what kind of stories. “I tell the best stories.” He said with a wink, a tiny wink, merely the flicker of an eyelid. “Would you like to hear one?” He offered, she was visibly relaxing, and Oscar knew his stories always made people feel comfortable, something this young girl obviously needed. 

“It might help you feel a little better.” He suggested. “Is it being stuck in here that is bothering you? It must be very different from the hotels you reveurs sleep in, you are a reveur, correct?” Oscar asked. He knew it must be more than the being trapped in the old mansion that was causing Sybil so much distress but he knew asking outright would cause her to grow defensive and suspicious, he just wanted her to know he was here to listen if she wanted to talk, and if she didn’t wish to talk he could. He could tell her a story and take her to a faraway world where she had no worries at all, at least temporarily. 

[s-sybil-blog]

Sybil examined him as he repeated her name. She knew why the uncertainty was there but being referred to by her first name made the young girl feel better. Sinnett tended to remind her too much of her parents, something that she wanted to leave in the past. As if they were a distant memory and nothing more than a dream. Her past wasn't something Sybil was extremely proud of, the last thing she wanted was someone recognizing her. "Yes, just Sybil." She offered him a small smile to show that she meant for him to refer to her by her first name only. "It's, good to meet you, too." The words escaped her lips hesitantly because she was not indeed sure whether it was good to meet him at all. She'd met some people at the Circus that were descent and then there were others that she had thought of as descent but had proven that they were very far from being kind or polite. Oscar Ashdown, at least, seemed to be both of those for the moment. 

She listened to him talk about what sort of stories he like to tell. Sybil could tell by the hint of excitement in his voice that it was something he was very passionate about. Maybe it kept his mind off of all the bad things that this world was filled with. Hobbies tended to be the best way for people to get distracted, to be calm if only for a while. Sybil did not have any hobbies because she'd never found that she was useful for much. When she'd lived with her parents everything had always been there for her and when they had kicked her out she had been proven that she could simply not accomplish much. That was part of the reason she blamed herself for her child's death, for never accomplishing anything. "That sounds..very neat." She told him sincerely. When he said he told the best stories the young girl became curious but she did not know if it was prudent to ask him to share one with her or if he'd deny if she did ask. 

Much to her surprise and amusement he asked her if she'd like to hear one of his stories. Sybil nodded encouragingly at him. However, when he began asking her questions such as, Is it being stuck in here that is bothering you? , her hands immedetely lifted as if by instinct. Part of her wanted to set them down, to show even a tiny amount of trust towards Ashdown but  a bigger part of her refused to do so. "No, not this place." She said softly, as if the words were simply an after thought and nothing more. Like the "Love you" scribbled at the end of letters sent by her parents whenever they left town. "Please..just..tell me the story?" Sybil, asked with pleading eyes. She didn't want him to keep asking her questions but she also didn't want to simply ask him to leave. She wanted to be the judge of if he told the best stories or not and perhaps he would even make her feel better, as he'd said.

[s-sybil-blog]

Hopeless Wanderers | Oscar & Sybil.

[oscar-ashdown]

Oscar wasn’t too worried about being stuck in the mansion owned by the strange group of people known as the Relicte. The place was full of a rich history that was woven just a little too tightly for the story teller to unravel. It had an air of mystery Oscar found intriguing and just a little bit frightening. In a way it reminded him of the abandoned manor he explored with Jasper in Transylvania, they way he imagined the old building would have been years ago, before it lost it’s battle against the elements, falling into disrepair, inhabited only by a crazed murderer. Oscar didn’t expect anything like the old place in Transylvania to happen here but there was still a rather sinister air about the place despite their hosts efforts to make them feel happy and comfortable while they were stuck.

He had explored as much of the building as possible, with the exception of the kitchens and the mysterious east wing, there was a man guarding the entrance all hours of the day. Even when every member of the house was asleep the man was still there, a bulge in his jacket pocket that was instantly recognisable as a gun. Oscar didn’t know what it was the man was guarding but he didn’t think it was worth finding out if he risked getting shot. 

Today he wasn’t curious about that at all, he had no desire to explore or quite honestly do much at all. He had an awful nightmare the night before, Lilian was trapped outside the window, stuck in the snow and Oscar couldn’t get to her, he couldn’t bring her into the warmth and safety of the mansion. He had awoken to the sounds of a childs cry and wet cheeks. He couldn’t fall back to sleep. He was exhausted, he was stressed. Dreams of his wife always shook Oscar up but he had never had one so terrifying before. He spent most of the day walking around the place, not caring where he was going. Eventually his feet led him to the library, the room in the mansion he had been spending most of his time.

His eyes were met with a view that pushed all of Oscar’s own worries from his mind. It always distressed Oscar to see someone looking so sad but when that person was such a young woman it seemed even worse. She looked like nothing more than a child as she sat with her arms wrapped tightly around her small frame, a look of pain clearly visible in her eyes. Oscar wondered if she wanted to be alone but he found he couldn’t ignore someone who obviously needed help. It took him a while to place the young woman, at first he thought she must be one of the Relicte. Finally though he recognised her as a young reveur, though he wasn’t sure of her name. He approached her slowly, stopping a few feet from the chair. “Excuse me Miss, are you okay? Can I get you anything?” He asked once she looked up at him. “I’m Mr Ashdown, the story teller in the circus.” He told her in case she wasn’t aware of his name or had never visited his tent. 

[s-sybil-blog]

Sybil registered the man that had entered the room. She rushed to dab at her eyes and shove her bag behind her as if she'd been doing something wrong. But that was just a nervous reaction that she had with everyone, not that she'd actually been doing anything that would be considered wrong. She watched him as he came around to stand in front of her. He seemed like he was descent enough but Sybil still sat with her arms around herself, eyeing him nervously and using her hair as a sort of veil as it fell in long strands in front of her face. She took a deep breath knowing that if she spoke too suddenly her voice would surely sound like she was about to cry. "I..am fine." She told him, sounding a lot more defensive than she had meant to. 

Every since arriving here no one had taken much interest in the young girl and she intended to keep it that way. Directing attention towards herself was the last thing she wanted to happen because attention eventually led to questions. Not like the sort that he was asking her now but questions about why she was here or if people saw that she was sad often enough they'd start to wonder if something had happened to her. Those were the sort of questions that Sybil tried to avoid as much as possible. "Ashdown." She repeated softly. It'd been quite some time since she'd said more than a few words to anyone and she was finding it hard to even get her own name out of her mouth. "My name..is Sybil." She told him, nodding but not knowing why she was nodding, perhaps to try and make him believe that she was indeed, doing just fine.

He was a story teller. She'd heard about him but she'd never actually been inside his tent. Mostly people tended to talk to Sybil even if she said nothing in return. She figured that people were just glad to have someone with whom they could let everything out for some time. Someone that wasn't going to run around telling everyone their secrets. Sybil tried to smile at the man standing in front of her but that wasn't much of a success. "What..sort of stories?" She asked, arching a brow in question. She began to relax, untangling her arms from around herself and shoving them under her legs. Sybil was not sure why it was that she was so afraid of people at times. Perhaps it was the fact that she figured everyone was out to steal something from her, but there was nothing more anyone could steal that would be worth anything to her. 

When she'd been out in the streets before finding the Circus she had known somewhere deep inside her that she was going to die. Death had not seemed like something to be afraid of, death followed her wherever she went. She'd eat but only if food was available or someone found her so pathetic that they offered her something. Otherwise, she knew that she would have welcomed death to take her. But for some reason or another she had found the Circus and was now sitting here listening to this man, Ashdown, speak. 

[elleelleelleeellee]

[s-sybil-blog]

Hopeless Wanderers | Oscar & Sybil.

The situation that the people from the Circus found themselves in was bizarre to Sybil but it did not hold her attention very long. She'd learned to accommodate herself to any situation and being in a place with at least a roof over her head was better than out in the street. Especially since they were in Russia which meant that the weather was harsher than she could admit she was accustomed to. Ever since finding the large striped tents and realizing that it was a traveling circus, Sybil carried a small glimpse of happiness inside of her. It was tiny and could never replace the longing and numbness that she felt but at least it was still there. If she became too distracted with the thoughts that constantly haunted her, however, then that happiness would turn smaller and smaller inside of her until it was gone. That was her biggest fear, that any type of happiness she felt no matter how small would wind up completely leaving her. 

That was the thing, she felt that she was not allowed happiness. That because it was her fault that her child hadn't had any sort of life then she was not allowed to be happy. She would simply not allow herself to be fully happy. The image of that night would continue playing over and over in her head for as long as she lived. Which was the only way for her to ever come close to forgiving herself for the atrocity she did. Many thought that it was not her fault because there was nothing she could have done in order to save her child. That was foolishness to her. Now here she sat, in the middle of this library that looked like no one had been inside of it in years or found it of any use. Sybil leaned her head back as she stared around her. 

Something about people both attracted and irritated her. She found it difficult to be very social because even though it made her very content to find that others were happy with the lives they were leading, she still thought it wasn't fair that she had to carry around all this pain and suffering while others who could have possibly done worse things than her were living perfectly wonderful lives. Then, she began to hate herself all over again for feeling jealousy towards others. Sybil let out a long sigh, thankful for the fact that she was finally alone and closed her eyes. There were times when the thoughts that came to her head were pleasant Pictures of her baby boy growing up, with a blue suit that she'd knitted him herself, his smiling face dancing all around her. But those were nothing more than dreams. They would never be anything more.

You stupid girl. She told herself, for a moment trying to pull tears back but then realizing that she couldn't cry. Not since that night. No tears would ever flow out of her body and she wasn't quite sure why. But it would have been a lot better to be able to cry than to simply be kept here with this continued numbness. She wanted to feel something other than pain. Sybil rummaged with the small white bag that she carried around with her always. She slept with the bag slung across her chest and she walked around with it everywhere. Sybil took out a small container filled with pills. The girl was not quite sure what the pills were, or why someone had forgotten them on the window sill of the building she'd found them but she took one almost every day because they seemed to calm her down. She breathed once more, her breath seemed shaky so she did the only thing she knew to do whenever things got this bad. She wrapped her frail arms around herself and waited until the moment passed. Out of the corner of her eye, however, she noticed that the door which had previously been closed was now slightly ajar.