Chapter 1

Gyeongju, Korea 1846

            Each person gathered in front of the Circus had their head down.  Yerim tugged at the red handkerchief around her lips, ignoring the curious glances from those passing by on the road.  There was a collective air of secrecy that surrounded the daring folk to showed up that night.  Her heart thumped against her ribcage as she found the courage to lift her head, only to meet the eyes of a vaguely familiar boy—there was only so much one could recognize from a pair of brown irises.  The way his eyes crinkled was enough for Yerim to understand the unspoken promise.  I won’t tell if you don’t.

            So Yerim smiled back as she bounced on the heel of her foot, feeling more anxious than before.  Foreigners speckled the group, wearing nothing but black and white.  She was sure it was impolite to stare, but she couldn’t quite help but marvel at their crisp coats and elaborate dresses.  She herself was in the white gown she often wore to special gatherings, though as she ran her gaze over the intricate designs and flawless stitching of their shawls, she felt smaller.  As the crowd shifted, she began to notice flickers of red among the mechanical scheme.

            Yerim nearly found the courage to attempt to ask one of them, when there was a pop.  Not loud, but sharp enough to capture the attention of the group.  The crowd smiled in glee as the cast iron gates of the Circus began to open on their own accord.  Then, with a low and ominous hum, there was life—the Circus had opened.

            “First time?”

            Yerim jolted at the voice.  The woman running the ticket booth twisted her lip in a small smile.  She was beautiful, to say the least.  Wide, large eyes bore into her own with a sort of confidence Yerim could only find intimidating.

            “I—yes,” she stuttered.

            The woman chuckled dryly, shifting in her seat enough for Yerim to catch the letters of her silver nametag.

JOY

수영

            “Remember, the Circus closes at dawn.  Enjoy the night,” Joy said, dipping her head in a small bow before she addressed the next person in line.

            It was then Yerim that brought her gaze to the entirety of the Circus.  A magnificent black clock hung proudly above the entrance, telling an intricate story as the seconds ticked by.  A jester, juggling balls while a ballerina danced across the face.  She wondered what that was to symbolize.

            “It’s brilliant, isn’t it?”

            Yerim smiled at the woman standing next to her, dressed in a glowing white gown.  “You can speak Korean?”  She asked instead, noticing the light chestnut hair.

            The woman tilted her head in something of a nod, “I suppose you can say that.  Sounds just start making sense if you hear them long enough.  Is this your first time?”

            “Indeed,” Yerim sighed, her eyes drifting back to the clock as the ballerina disappeared behind sheets of blackened wood.  “I’m not sure what to make of it just yet.”

            “I suggest you visit Widget’s tent, it’s one of my personal favorites,” the woman smiled, “take a left between those two white tents until you find the break in the sheets.”

            Yerim nodded hard, making note of her suggestion before the woman began to walk away.  “W-Wait!” She called, “Could I have your name?”

            The woman cast her a sweet smile, “Celia.  Enjoy your stay, Yerim.”

            Yerim walked away with a flutter in her chest.  When the feeling finally subsided into a warm giddy, she realized she had never given Celia her name.

            She treaded lightly between the two white tents Celia had indicated.  Patrons failed to spare her a glance as she pressed against the edges of the canvas, careful not to disturb any acts being performed on the other side.  She was nearing the end when she noticed the tiniest of notes, protruding from the right.  She closed in, eying the brown slip warily before shrugging.  What else could Celia have been talking about?

            So, with an anticipative breath, she tugged at the note and found herself being pulled swiftly into a small tent, hardly bigger than a closet.  Wax tattered candles drenched the walls in a warm shade of wheat.  Jars crowded the shelves, lining up the room like a library.  Big jars, small jars, fat jars, skinny jars, Yerim ran her finger along the glass of a particularly curvy container, opting to hold it in her hand, when a small black bottle next to it caught her attention.  Instead she grabbed that one, unscrewing the cork stopper with a pop, and raising it to her nose.  The floral waves of squash filled her senses, and, oh, was that pear?

            Yerim pulled away, eyes wide as she searched for the label. What she found was a jumble of French and English she couldn’t even think to decipher.  Though in her heart, she named it “Home”.  She reached blindly for another, finding that the next one resembled musky ash.  The third smelled faintly of a rose before melting into cinnamon.

            By the time Yerim willed herself away from Widget’s tent, it was half past midnight.  The life of the Circus just began.  The sweet smell of caramel wafted through the air before it faded into the rich butter of freshly popped corn.  She stood off the side of the path, unsure of where to go next.

            She followed a trail of groups until she found herself in front of a concessions stand.  Bright green apples disappeared under a thick coating of caramel as dark as night, and hot beverages swirled with whites and blacks.  She grinned, “This is magical.”  She said to no one.

            There was commotion off to the side of the path, in an empty space between tents, where a beautiful young woman twisted herself into knots. Yerim watched with teeth frozen in the heart of her apple.  The Contortionist threw her body back before her smiling face appeared between her legs.  Yerim forced herself to bite.  When she looked up again, the Contortionist was folded into herself, uncannily resembling a box.  The crowd applauded enthusiastically, and Yerim couldn’t help but wedge the treat between her teeth to join them.  A thick smoke emitted from seemingly nowhere, covering each nook and cranny between her joints.  Yerim’s brow furrowed as the Contortionist could no longer be seen through the gas.  With a crackle, the fog dissipated, leaving an empty square of space, where the woman had once been seen.

            The crowd sighed somewhere between amazement and disappointment.  Yerim herself stood staring at that particular patch, bewildered at the act that had