since i couldn't draw this scene i wrote it out (including circuspro and negatives (kinda)) and it is under the cut
The lights dimmed. Eyes dug into him. The feeling that followed all this attention was disgusting. It was fowl and he hated it almost as much as performing itself. But whatever got food on the table.
In his hands lay a small sword. Everything started out small. The attention. The performance. The crew. But it all got to be too much to handle in the end.
And it was cold. Very cold. The blade felt cold to the touch when he traced his fingers over it. Sometimes he wished to slice them off, but that had already been done. He let the blade rest in his hands for a moment longer, savoring the feeling. Then it began.
He couldn’t tell somebody how it was done, but he could do it well. The blade traveled down his throat and into where ever it would end up. Gasps filled the tent. Then cheers as he leaned over to show the folk the gross act he had just fulfilled. No. He didn’t know how it was done. But he did not care.
Longer swords. Then more swords. Whatever would amuse the audience he would do. He found it stupid and silly, but he got paid to do this so might as well give it some effort. Many people found his act so fascinating. All he wanted was to bash their faces in. Pity.
When he left the stage he headed to his room. A mirror stared back at him as he sat in the plush chair. Finally he could get away from the stares.
“You shouldn’t push yourself,” He looked up at the mirror where the reflection of another person standing behind him smiled. They looked so much alike that the man often cast it off as his imagination. The person would console him and try to get him to loosen up, or something of the sort each time he came back. He hated that too. “Let me go for you sometime… okay?”
Hah. No. As much as he hated it, he couldn’t let someone else do the work for him.
His life continued. He traveled many places and gave many performances. There was always a generous round of applause at the end. Each time he heard that it made him sad. This wasn’t the life he wanted to live. But it got food on the table each night.