The poster appeared overnight, pasted crookedly on the crumbling wall of an alley. Its ink shimmered faintly in the dim light, the words whispering to anyone curious enough to look closer:

The Circus of Shadows—One Night Only. Under the New Moon. Midnight.

Ellis arrived early, drawn by a curiosity he couldn’t explain. The circus grounds were a dark wonderland—tents swathed in midnight hues, flickering lanterns casting shadows that danced as if alive. He had barely stepped inside when a man with hollow eyes and a voice like rust offered him a job as a stagehand.

“It’s fate,” the man said simply. “Or something like it.”

Ellis shrugged and accepted, sensing no real choice to be made.

His tasks were simple: adjust the lights, ensure the performers’ props were ready, keep out of sight. But his first night, he caught sight of her.

She moved like a ripple of darkness, her figure flowing between solid and translucent as she performed impossible feats. One moment, she danced on a taut wire strung between stars, the next she plunged into shadow only to emerge from the darkness of a nearby wall. The audience gasped and clapped, but Ellis could only stare, transfixed.

Between acts, he ventured backstage, desperate to speak with her. “Who are you?” he asked when he finally found her, leaning against a shadowy column that hadn’t been there seconds before.

“Amara,” she said, her voice as soft as the hush before a curtain rises. “And you?”

“Ellis,” he managed. “How do you… do all that?”

She smiled, and the light seemed to dim around her. “It’s not magic. It’s just what I am.”

Her hand brushed his, cool as twilight, and his heart ached at the fleeting touch.

They spent the night talking, their words spilling into the hours as the moonless sky lingered above. She told him of the circus, its eternal journey under the new moon, and the acts bound to its mysterious allure.

“But you,” he said, “you’re different. You’re not like the others.”

Amara’s gaze faltered, shadows rippling in her eyes. “I am the circus, Ellis. Its soul. Its shadow.” She took a breath, her fingers curling into her palm. “And when the moon returns, I fade. This form… it’s only for tonight.”

“No,” Ellis said, his voice breaking. “There must be a way—”

“There isn’t,” she whispered, her form growing fainter as the first light of dawn crept over the horizon. “This is my curse. And now, yours.”

Before he could reply, she was gone, leaving only the faintest trace of shadow behind. Around him, the circus dissolved, folding back into the darkness from which it came.

Ellis found himself alone in the empty field, the poster still clutched in his hand. Its ink had faded, the letters no longer shimmering. But beneath the final line, a new message had appeared, scrawled in faint, silvery script:

The Circus of Shadows returns next new moon. Until then, dream of me.

The End