#saint germain ikevamp

A circus that only opens at nightfall. The same cast performs the acts, no matter how many years have passed. Individuals who once came as children recognize the smile of the lion tamer or the confidence of the acrobats, wondering if they are the same people from all those years ago. But of course, such a feat is impossible – even for a circus.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

After experiencing an act as spellbinding as the illusionist, Elizabeth found herself in need of a similar thrill. The rest of the circus did not disappoint as she made her way to watch the acrobats, admire some of the moving statues, and ride a space-defying roller coaster that seemed too big for the pitch-black tent it was contained in. Time that had passed so slowly before her experience in the golden tent now moved all too quickly. Before she knew it – her time was up.

She was one of the last to leave the circus, ushered out by silent staff who blocked a few sparse pathways in order to guide patrons towards the exit. As she passed through, she chanced a glance back to see that the golden gate was already shut behind her. Part of her did not want to walk away, but a few newfound acquaintances urged her towards the station, insisting that the first trains would be running soon.

Upon their arrival, she discovered that the train to her smaller town would not be departing for another hour and a half. Settling down on a bench, she watched as a man came out and changed the sign that hung next to the large clock.

September 2, 1899. The circus would, presumably, be gone before noon. The clock hand showed it was just coming up on six. It certainly did not feel like it was so early in the morning, but there was the evidence before her eyes.

Leaning forward with a sigh, Elizabeth set her bag before her feet and stared out across the quiet station, her train not departing until seven. Her fingers idly smoothed over her skirt as her thoughts drifted back to the circus. Her body fell back against the bench as she imagined all the wondorous things she had managed to catch a glimpse of that evening.

The illusionist was the best act. Oh, but then the lion tamer was so excellent, too! He was in full control of his animals. Or maybe it was the food… the tastes were even better than I remember, and I was able to eat so much more this time. I wonder how they make it… maybe there are kitchens beyond some of the other tents. The acrobat’s tent was so big, after all, so who knows what else the circus is hiding…

As she continued to reminiscence on her dream-like evening, a man rushing past kicked the bag at her feet.

“Oh!” He turned about immediately and bent down, meeting her on the ground as she pushed off the bench and crouched down to gather up her scattered things. “I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t mean to hit your bag.”

“It’s fine,” she murmured, accepting the objects he held out – her wallet, a wrapper from the candy she had eaten, among others – and stuffing them back into her bag. As she repacked everything back, she glanced up at the man, noting that despite his youthful appearance, his hair was a stark white beneath a rich black hat. “What were you in such a rush for, sir?”

“The train, of course. I’m catching the first one out to the east. Are you doing the same?”

“The first train east? I’m catching it, but…” She titled her head to the side, blinking in confusion. “The first one leaves at seven, sir.”

“Ah, we both need to hurry, then.” He glanced over at the clock. “It’s coming up on seven now.”

“What?!” Elizabeth turned, seeing that the man spoke the truth: the minute hand was dangerously close to the hour – despite the fact she could have sworn it was near-six a few minutes ago. “Am I really that tired? Forgive me for delaying you—”

The man shook his head, merely holding out his hand and helping Elizabeth to her feet. His striking eyes were now clearly in sight, the deep brilliant red shining elegantly. “No worries. We should make it if we run. Come along.”

Elizabeth hurried a step behind the man, the strange shift in time nagging at the back of her mind – but the worry dissipated to nothingness when they came to the platform. A train was waiting there, as promised, a single door still open.

“Go ahead first, my lady.” The man smiled as he took her hand and helped her step onto the train – then gave her one solid push. She stumbled forward, but as she regained her footing and asked him what he had done that for—

She realized that he was not with her, and that the door was closed. With a shout, Elizabeth went to the window, her hands pressing against it. All she saw was an empty platform, her breath catching when the man was nowhere to be seen. Where did he go?!

Her hands fell to the door handle, straining as she tried to push it open with her shoulder. It felt locked shut – from the outside, she noted with surprise – and tried once more to look over the platform to catch a glimpse of the man.

The train jolted then, causing her to lose her footing and fall against the wall. The station was gone in no time, the train picking up speed faster than she anticipated. By the time she found something to hold onto, the countryside was whizzing past in a flurry of green and orange.

Gripping tight onto any holds she could find, Elizabeth stumbled into the next car, only to discover several compartments. Such a lavish arrangement – burgundy carpets, gentle lighting encased in glass – officially confirmed that this was not her train. As she passed each one in an attempt to find someone, anyone, she discovered that they were all empty. There was no evidence that this train had any passengers other than herself.

With a quiet prayer that she was not in danger, Elizabeth decided that the best thing to do would be to wait for a collector to come along and see her ticket, before urging her to get off at the immediate next stop and find her real train. Finally opening one of the doors, she slipped into the compartment and closed it behind her, opting to pull the shade down over the window so as not to let the rising sunlight in.

Hopefully, the ticket collector will be by soon, and he can wake me up and help me out.

That was her last thought as she finally closed her eyes, letting sleep take her away.

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The man had not left the platform.

To the few sleepy-eyed passengers waiting at the station, it appeared as if the lady had knocked over her bag and was talking to herself as she gathered up the items. It was a simple enough illusion charm that most people ignored after a moment or two. Nobody saw the man that guided her out onto the platform or pushed her onto the train.

If he did not want to be seen, then he was not seen. Such magic was child’s play for him.

The lady pressed her hands against the window, concerned eyes scanning for him. He tipped his hat as the train let out a rich trilling whistle and started to move, the whisper of a spell cast over her mind.

“Don’t fret, princess,” he said in a hushed breath. “We’ll meet again soon enough, when you have broken that foul ringleader.”

With that, he turned on his heel, his figure dissolving into nothing as he started to stride towards the station once more.

His stage was set. His work was done.

Now, he had to wait for the players to make their moves.

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When Elizabeth came to, the sun was shining pleasantly through the curtained window. She stretched sore limbs and glanced around the still-empty compartment. Checking her watch, it informed her that it was just past eight.

Strange. Why hasn’t the collector shown up? Have we not stopped at a station yet? Frowning to herself, she gave the shade a sharp tug and let it snap up.

She was confronted with the sight of the ocean.

An unlimited expanse of blue glittered with the rays of the sun. There was no land as far as the eye could see. Elizabeth let out a shout, scrambling back in her seat and bumping against the glass of the compartment – right as the door slid open.

As she turned with a poorly worded, confused question on her lips, words left her entirely.

The Illusionist was standing before her. Even without his golden costume and gilded tent, he was utterly recognizable with his long blond hair braided over a shoulder and inquisitive golden eyes. A warm smile rose to his features as he stared down at Elizabeth.

“Good morning. And who might you be?”

Speech finally came back to her tongue as she stuttered out. “Elizabeth. And, f-forgive me, sir. Is this your compartment? And…” She trailed off, the unspoken question impossible to ask. “And are we riding across the ocean?”

The Illusionist paused a moment, then let out a gentle laugh. “No, ma chérie. This is my train.”

A circus that only opens at nightfall. The same cast performs the acts, no matter how many years have passed. Individuals who once came as children recognize the smile of the lion tamer or the confidence of the acrobats, wondering if they are the same people from all those years ago. But of course, such a feat is impossible – even for a circus.

When a young woman named Elizabeth enters the circus, she is instantly swept up in its enchantment and mystery. But when a strange man pushes her onto a train that can traverse the world and results in her having no way to return home, she finds herself stuck in the company of the circus. Only by befriending the actors and assistants behind the scenes is she privy to learn the secrets behind éternité – and finally leave the circus.

[Inspired by and fused with the world and aesthetic of The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern. Content spoilers for the book are not present.]

…

This fanfiction is also part of the Ikemen Vampire Big Bang, a fic-and-art fandom collaboration event! Find out more about the event itself and the set-up on Tumblr @ikevampbigbang​!

A young woman enters the circus without expectation.

It is a brisk Sunday evening, and the sudden appearance of a circus had been the talk of the town. Some who lived nearby insisted it was magic – an empty field one moment, a fantastical circus erected the next. Nobody had seen the bold colorful tents rise or heard any indication of the construction that must have happened to build the mighty golden fence around the premises.

Previous visitors to the circus and patrons from out of town follow it, swapping stories of their favorite acts and tents. But when the young woman attempts to ask for recommendations – as it will be her first time attending – she is met with refusals accompanied by slight smiles.

Their only advice is: “You should experience the circus for yourself.”

And when she walks into the circus, she finds herself grateful that she listened to their words of wisdom.

Every corner brings about some new fantastical wonder. There are forest-green tents as tall as the highest trees that house acrobats and dancers. A lion tamer dressed in an elegant red and black tames his namesake beast, his dashing smile eye-catching even from afar. The air tastes as sweet as the popcorn and caramel apples she purchases, happily eating them as she continues her spiraling journey.

When it draws close to midnight, she must return to the realm she came from, beyond the tents and spectacles locked behind their gilded fence. When she sleeps, she dreams of the circus. When she works, visions of the acts repeat in the back of her mind.

She returns three more evenings over the next five days.  

On her final night, she chooses to wander the circus and admire it from the outside in. Whispers from crowded lines to more popular tents and wistful murmurs from patrons next to her lamented the fact that the circus would be gone by the following morning. It never stayed longer than a week. So with her remaining hours, she only has the time to experience the finest of what the circus has to offer, and wants to take her time deciding.

By walking between the multi-colored tents, rather than inside them, the woman gains a newfound appreciation for the little touches placed upon the circus. She finds foods she has never tried before, missing what the vendor says when they explain the trick to crafting such delicately powdered, doughy delicacies – but they taste of cinnamon and chocolate and remind her of fond family memories.

While meandering down one particularly winding path lined by tents of silver and blue, a statue still as glass catches her attention for a moment. A blond-haired man stands before the pedestal, a sketchbook in hand as he stares up at the figure. He does not pay the woman any mind as she stands a few steps away, his scarf billowing in the light breeze. His full attention is on the living artwork before him. She takes the time to admire it alongside him, thinking that the craftsmanship on the statue is beautiful.

Her jaw drops when the statue then makes the slightest movement, and she realizes that the figure is breathing, just barely. The man is seemingly captivated by the change, furiously sketching something out on an already-crowded page, his stained fingers not minding the smudges they leave in other places.

He is still there when she decides to leave and head deeper into the circus.

A fortune teller’s tent catches her curiosity, but she decides against it, deciding that it was foolish – all she could think to ask is how soon she could return to the circus again.

(If she had entered, she would find that the answer would be “much sooner than expected.”)

One tent finally draws her in. It is golden in shade, the fabric a soft shimmer against the hanging lights about the circus. Where other signs might list the acts performed inside or show times, this one is simple:

Illusionist.

It is a single word, and yet it draws her in nonetheless. She enters the tent, an intimate space with a semicircle of chairs facing a single raised platform that is empty on all sides with no curtains to speak of. Twelve of the fifteen seats are taken. She takes the one on the end, leaving another open next to her.

Two men enter a minute later, their conversation dying at a hush from the taller, dark-haired one. The young woman glances back at the sound, and she catches the way the shorter, pink-haired one freezes for a moment and grabs the coat of the taller man, gesturing to the two remaining seats. Before the woman can rise to offer to move, the taller man shakes his head and urges the other to take the seat on the other side alone. When he comes to sit by her, he murmurs a polite apology in a language she does not catch before sitting down.

Then, she blinks.  

It is a mistake that she did. For one moment, there is nobody on the stage. In the next, a man stands upon it. He is dressed in black with glided gold accents on his coat and vest, matching both his fine hair and the fabric that makes up the tent around them. As he steps forward and gives the audience a single, low bow, unseen lights dim overhead. Only a single, solitary spotlight remains, trained on the illusionist.

[Art by @beni-draw-ikemen-please​]!

His performance from there on can only be described as miraculous.

He produces doves from thin air, no cages or boxes in sight. When he throws a small cloth into the air, a shower of glitter passes over the audience, but no evidence of the sparkling flecks remain on anybody’s hair or clothes.

Playing cards fold themselves into hearts and stars, flying about the room without restraint before suspending themselves in a makeshift backdrop behind the stage. Other cards find their way into audience members’ hands, before turning into something else when handed back to the illusionist – the woman’s is transformed into a string of rainbow-hued handkerchiefs, while the man next to her has his made into a fountain pen that is then seemingly crushed into a cascade of ink. It does not stain the illusionist’s white gloves.

The performance concludes when the room is as empty as it started, with only the illusionist and his audience before him. He casts a sidelong glance towards the lady – or perhaps to the man next to her, she is not sure – and smiles knowingly before bowing deeply towards those gathered in his tent.

Then, his feet slowly start to turn gold. It takes a moment for the woman to realize that the illusionist is disintegrating before her eyes, dissolving into a fine golden dust that climbs up his still-bent body.

When he is nothing but a tidy pile on the platform, the lights turn on once more. The act has concluded.

The lady stands immediately, hesitantly stepping up to the stage with a few other audience members. She does not dare to reach across the unspoken, unseen barrier that separates actor from audience, but studies the powder that litters the stage. As a couple people turn away, the air shifts and causes a few specks to sift away from the pile.

She wonders, briefly, if that means the man will never be whole again.