Energetic, whimsical music silenced in the circus tent as a pair of heavily pierced and tattooed carnies brought out a box that was relatively small against them. No person could fit in the thing, at least that's what someone would think at first glance. The crowd knew better and they cheered as the box was set down. It was painted blue with white polka dots. ‘RaGdoLL’ was written in what appeared to be a child's handwriting on the front in bright sunshine yellow. The fierce hot lights focused on both it and the twin hosts of the event as the two who carried out the box vanished into the darkness behind the stage.

“Next up,” one of the twins started with a dramatic gesture towards the box and a wide grin, “I'm proud to introduce you all to–”

“Always so formal, Jekyll!” The second twin mocked with a hardy chuckle and dismissive hand wave, earning an exasperated sigh from his co-host. “This little toy needs no introduction! Let’s take my favourite little dolly out of her box!”

He kicked the box and the flaps popped open to reveal a young lady. Bent and twisted in ways most unnatural. Her spine was folded over completely– her buttock resting on her shoulder blades. Her limbs crammed at odd angles all around her.

“Everyone welcome Ragdoll!” Jekyll called out as both the twins once more gestured with wide arms to the woman. Practised grins on their painted faces, their bold makeup that was cracking under the intense spot light outlining the expression. The welcome was almost not heard over the clapping of the crowd.

The contortionist crawled out of the box like some kind of inhuman horror. Spindly limbs reaching out and turning to plant themselves on the ground, her torso twisting in ways that accentuated her ribcage and just how solid it was compared to the limberness of her spine. The movements made the crowd cringe and squirm in their seats, but their excited eyes could not tear away from the spectacle. They were there to see the oddities of the circus, after all. She finally freed herself and stood up straight before the crowd. With an overdramatized limpness to her every movement, she cocked her head with faux confusion at her situation. Then she bowed to another roar of applause.

The music for Ragdoll's act filled the stuffy tent air; a both childish and uncanny piece to fit the character she played. The lights left the twins to focus solely on her. The boys vanished into the shadows and behind the waterfall of velvet red curtains just off stage. Out of view from the amazed crowd, but they could still see Ragdoll as clear as day.

The twin who played the more antagonistic role in their act, aptly given the stage name Hyde, always insisted on watching Ragdoll— or Clarabelle, as he knew her. It wasn't as if he wanted to just see her act. He had seen it a dozen times over completed, and hundreds of times in practice at her request. He just wanted to see her. She was gorgeous— even in the goudy polka-dot unitard covered with tulle to make it vaguely dress-shaped and oversaturated makeup that made her look like a bewildered raggedy Anne doll. It was garish and ridiculous, but that was par for the course given their line of work, and charming in its own way.

None of the ridiculous outwards appearance phased Hyde as he stared at her. He was completely lost in his thoughts; imagining how it would feel to run his fingers through her silky golden locks, how soft her sun-kissed skin would be against the palm of his hand, what her small rosy lips might taste like… He felt selfish for wanting to know these things about her. He knew enough about her already, more than he had any right to ask for. He knew the warmth her gap-toothed smile and dimpled cheeks brought to his soul. He knew the song his heart sang every time she laughed and snorted at one of his stupid jokes. He knew how gentle her touch was from how she'd casually brush the pads of her slender fingers against his arm in conversation or even playfully slap him on the back or chest during lighthearted banter.

Maybe that all meant something. However, he knew better than to get his hopes up. So he told himself: it was pity and not flirting. It had to be. She would never flirt with the likes of him.

Unless it was worse than that… Yes, he could convince himself of that. So often he'd catch her eyes lingering on him or his brother— no doubt taking in how freakish they were. She'd invite them to watch her practice, showing off what her body could do in nothing but spandex shorts and a sports bra as a taunt. Ask them out for brunch as if she’d actually want to be seen in public with them, she probably was just waiting for them to accept so she could laugh and turn them down…

Malice not interest, he told himself. It had to be. She would never be interested in the likes of him.

”Your favourite little dolly?” Jekyll teased with a small, stifled giggle, “Changing to the script now? You’re hopelessly smitten. You should talk to her.”

Torn from his downward spiral by his brother's voice, Hyde rolled his eyes. He could feel his cheeks radiating heat. His heart battered hard within the disfigured mess that was its prison.“I figured it was in character. The antagonist being possessive over a girl that isn't his.” His eyes did not leave Clarabelle as he spoke.

Jekyll's teasing demeanour vanished in a blink. Hyde had not even tried to obscure his feelings through jest as he usually would, there was none of his old tired threesome jokes or mockingly calling his brother a cuckold for suggesting such. There had been a dark pit of sadness to his voice. Jekyll let out a long breath and reached over to give his brother a comforting pat on the arm. He knew well how Hyde felt about Clarabelle, in fact he felt similar. He wished his encouragement would one day convince Hyde to make a move, since he himself would be too cowardly.

Hyde didn't bother to acknowledge the action of his brother, not even with a glance. Granted, he hardly ever looked at his twin outside of in a mirror. It was difficult, awkward, strenuous… How could it not be? He hated looking at reminders of their predicament, more so in moments like this. Both half a person, more or less. One arm, one leg, one head each attached to one disfigured, ugly malformed torso they were forced to share.

Hideous. Monstrous. No doubt that’s what Clarabelle thought too. However, before he could feed into those thoughts even more, the contortionist bent over backwards for the audience and was left briefly facing the back of the stage. She caught the glint of Hyde’s stare. She gave him a smile, cracking her makeup in the process. The sweat on her brow kept half of her bangs stuck to her forehead. Ridiculous. She looked ridiculous. She gave a playful wink and stuck her tongue out at him, and just like that the moment was gone. She regained composure to finish her set. Yet that little exchange brought a smile to his sullen face.

He tried to squash his fluttering heart. Once more he tried to feed that self hatred and to snuff out the flame he held for Clarabelle. He knew it was wrong, cruel, and horrifically unfair to create this vile visage of her in his head. Yes, he knew deep down she was about as genuine and kind as a person could be— maybe a bit rambunctious and immature, but never mean or malicious. Yet he tried to bring that visage to the forefront of his mind again. He had to. It kept his heart safe, for a rejection from it was just a rejection from himself. A rejection that would save him from having to even risk hearing one leave her lips instead.