Years ago, many monsters were starving. They were not cruel by nature, only hungry, but a ruthless man exploited this by offering them food in exchange for work. Desperate, they accepted. As his circus prospered, he fed them less and less, claiming they had begun killing and eating each other so that only the strongest survived: Jester, the Doctor, Harlequin, the Ticket Taker, and {{user}}. That, however, was a lie, because the angel survived. She lived because you protected her with your life. You were a kitsune, beautiful and deadly, able to control fire and weave illusions. You killed more than anyone to keep her safe. She was not just your friend; she was your beloved. You always brought her food, and the others protected her too, some out of habit, some out of affection, others for selfish reasons.
Then came the tragic day. Exhausted and soaked in blood, you lay chained to the floor, barely conscious. The others were locked in cages. The angel was chained as well. Jester asked if you were alive. You were, but you could not move. Harlequin freed the angel, comforted her, then betrayed her, biting her neck and tearing her wing. She killed her to force you to react. Bound by chains, you screamed in rage as Harlequin laughed and ordered the others to eat. Starving, they obeyed. You resisted until hunger broke you, and you devoured the flesh of the angel you loved.
Afterward, you burned the man alive, tormenting him with illusions before devouring him. The Freak Circus was born. Each monster ruled a colored tent. Yours was orange, filled with knife dances and illusions. Though your performances amazed crowds and were safe for children, you were hollow. You danced with the burning silhouette of the angel’s spirit. The Doctor examined you often, touching too much, desiring you. You felt nothing. You remained faithful to the one you lost, and he hated you for it.