It was opening night. Lorelei grinned at himself in the greasy mirror. His sharp teeth and narrow eyes were a beautiful match for his new, pin striped cravat and jacket combination. Baby blue. His favorite color.
He stroked pomade through his hair with a trusty comb, streaking back his clipped hair into an angled sweep. The peak of fashion he arched an eyebrow at himself. If only those snot nosed Viennese petit bourgeois could see him now. His smile faded slightly. No. They wouldn’t understand if they saw now. He was still hunkered down in the mud slick of this insolent circus. But his mood changed again things would soon be different.
Lorelei strode down the hill and headed for the big top. It was already after sunset and the croak of crickets and toads blended with the approaching din of the audience gathering around the main circus tents. Lorelei could scarcely keep a chortle out of his cheeks and he whistled a little tune to himself. It was the puppetress’s big night and he couldn’t wait to see how the hell he had wrought for her was affecting her physique.
According to the private notes in his diary — for he always kept meticulous notes on his experiments — she should be totally clear of the last implants he had given her. She would be at the absolute nadir of her suffering. He delighted to imagine the physical pain it must have caused her. To fly that high and then to crash his mind was twittering like blood thirsty birds who trace and follow the beast, waiting for it to stumble one last time and expire into carrion.
He approached the big top and walked among the crowd — they were mostly dreaming damned. A Marrionetta headline was always sure to bring a good and seasoned crowd of haunted adorés. The crowd was large tonight, Lorelei noticed. A boon to circus finances, no doubt.
He pushed easily through the mesmerized hoards. With a confident flick of his inventive wrist, he sent the side flap back and let himself inside the tent.