chapter fifteen
giselle
T hey’re havin’ a baby.
Can you believe it?
Indie—Queen of Carnage herself—growing a teeny tiny terror inside that deadly little body.
And Lux? Mr. Cool Calm & Carnal? Gonna be a daddy.
I’ve seen a lotta twisted things in this tent. But this? This one might take the blood-stained cake.
I’m not mad about it though.
Nope. I think I love it.
Them, with their soft smiles and secret touches, standing there in the ruin of what we made, like the storm passed and left them a future. It’s weird. And warm. And a little gross.
Kinda like love.
Still, there's that feeling clawing at the back of my neck. That tingly little itch that says something’s not done yet.
The sound of footsteps behind me breaks the silence.
Ooooh.
Hello, destiny.
They’re heavy, but unhurried.
Confident.
Crunching over crushed bones and glitter confetti like a runway walk from hell.
We all turn, and would ya look at that ?—
Mr. Fur-Coat-and-Fuck-Me-Eyes himself, strolling into the center of our blood-slicked temple like he owns the place.
He’s still got blood on his jaw. Still shirtless beneath that pelt like he’s some dark forest god who wandered in from the mountains of murder. And those eyes?
Oh, baby. They don’t blink.
He stops just a few feet away.
No words yet. Just a look.
Like we already know each other.
Like we’ve all danced naked around the same fire, even if tonight’s the first time we met.
Lux speaks first. “I see you survived the night.”
The guy smirks. “Of course I did.”
“Who are you?” Lux asks, stepping forward. “Where are you from?”
The stranger shrugs, mouth curling up. His voice is low, smooth, just a hint of an accent curling around the syllables like smoke.
“Names Raiden,” he says. “And I travelled all the way here from Berlin. After seeing glimpses of your shows on TikTok, I knew I had to check it out, see if it was all real, or just for show.”
“And?” Bjorn asks, keeping his tone cool, and stern like the fucking Norse god he is.
Raiden’s grin only widens, his split tongue kissing his teeth while he holds Bjorn’s gaze. “Well, I think I found exactly what I’ve been looking for.”
Johnny snorts behind me. “Berlin, huh? They make ‘em kinky and bloody over there, too?”
Raiden chuckles. “Not like this, unfortunately. Not yet, anyway.”
There’s a beat. A pause that isn’t awkward just… loaded. Like we’re all silently measuring the weight of our own sickness. Seeing it mirrored back in someone new.
“We saw you tonight. You didn’t flinch,” Indie says, arms crossed over her corset. “You liked it. The pleasure in your eyes, it was real, you didn’t fake it.”
Raiden looks her straight in the eye. “Didn’t have to. I didn’t want to miss a single second of it. I’ve been searching for something like this. People like this.”
“You mean freaks,” I giggle, twirling a dried intestine around my finger. “You’re sayin’ we’re your kinda circus freaks.”
He grins wider. “Exactly.”
Bjorn tilts his head, slow and reverent. “After what we all saw tonight, I think the gods would say you’re one of us.”
Raiden nods once. “I’d have to agree, and I’m hoping, you’ll let me join in. I want to be a part of this” —he gestures to our group— “I want to watch people succumb to their dark twisted desires, and revel in their pain and pleasure while they do it.”
Oh, be still my depraved little heart.
Lux looks to Indie. Then to us. Then steps forward.
He holds Indie’s whip in one hand, the leather still warm from her fingers. In the other, his mask. That glorious, sweat-soaked, legend-drenched mask. Draped over his arm is the black leather jacket—the symbol. The brand.
“Normally, that’s an offer I wouldn’t be able to refuse, but our time in this world, has come to an end,” he says softly. “Not because we’re finished. But because something else is beginning for us.”
“But someone needs to keep what we have created going,” Indie finishes, voice steady. “To make sure this place keeps being what it’s meant to be. A mirror. A monster. A stage.”
Lux turns to Raiden.
“I think you might just be that person. If you’re up for it, that is?”
Raiden glances down at the blood, then back up, his smirk lazy, but his eyes locked and certain. “I wouldn’t have stepped forward if I wasn’t.”
Lux smiles. Then holds out the whip. “Then it’s yours.”
Raiden takes it.
The mask next. He brushes his thumb over the edge like he’s memorizing it.
And the jacket—he slides it on.
Fits like sin.
Then, without a word, Raiden lowers himself to his knees in the blood of the dead. Right in the heart of the ruin.
He doesn’t gloat. Doesn’t grandstand.
He grins.
Slow. Sharp. Like a man kneeling before his kingdom. Like this— this —is what he was made for.
“Cirque Du Désir belongs to you now,” Lux says, voice clear, final. “Make it your own.”
We all watch for one breath. Two.
Then we turn.
Me. Bjorn. Lux. Indie. Johnny. Alaska padding along on silent paws.
No tears. No goodbyes.
Just the sound of blood under our boots as we walk away together.
And behind us, Raiden kneels.
Grinning.
Soaked in sin.
Drenched in destiny.
Like he was always meant to take our place.
But this ain’t the end—not even close.
The world we built? The filth, the freedom, the glorious parade of pain and pleasure?
It’s just gettin’ a makeover, sugar.
All good things need a little facelift now and then—bit of fresh blood, new mascara, maybe a sharper set of teeth.
We lit the fire.
Now he gets to fan the flames.
And gods help whoever walks through those velvet curtains next because Cirque Du Désir isn’t fading into memory.
It’s evolving.
And baby… evolution’s a bitch.