He turned up at the circus one day, no one knows from where. He traipsed down the aisles of cages, his eyes never rose from his converse. A limp duffel hung off one shoulder, a sombre expression never left his face. Eyes rose from the cages either side of him, chained performers gazing at the boy as he walked. Few noticed the limp in his step, few noticed the weight he carried In his heart, few even bothered to hold their gaze on him.

Like the cascades of fiery hair; flames his fingers.

Some know his name.

Few know his secret.

But no one knows his past.