I knocked on the door—the same one I’d knocked on thousands of times before.

And every single time, the same familiar dread filled me. It coiled in my stomach and crawled beneath my skin, heavy and cold. My hand moved out of habit, but nothing about this felt routine.

From inside, I could hear at least four male voices—deep, amused, far too comfortable. Two fewer than usual. It should’ve made things easier. But it didn’t.

Fewer guests just meant more time on their hands. More opportunity for the ringmaster to remind everyone that I was his favorite little puppet—his to dress up, show off, and use as he pleased.

They must not have heard my knock, because their conversation didn’t pause. Laughter spilled through the door, low and casual, as if nothing waited on the other side. I raised my hand to knock again, fingers barely brushing the wood.

But before I could make contact, the door creaked open from the inside.

Someone had been watching.

And now, the real show was about to begin.

I could feel every pair of eyes dragging over me the moment I stepped into the room, their silence heavier than the heat from the stage lights outside. Their stares weren’t kind curiosity—they were sharp, invasive, crawling across my skin like the brush of insects.

“Little puppet, you’re finally here. Come, give your favorite person a hug.”

That voice—smooth, mocking, too familiar—rooted me to the spot. My pulse stumbled, fear twisting my insides into knots.

Before I could react, large, icy hands clamped around my body and dragged me forward. The man’s embrace was crushing, his entire body radiating the same unnatural chill that turned my breath to ice. The cold seeped into my bones, freezing me from the inside out until my body began to tremble and my mind started to fade.

Then, someone suddenly yanked me free.

Warmth slammed back into me. Blood rushed to my face as air scorched its way into my lungs. My knees nearly gave out, but I managed to steady myself—barely. Whoever had pulled me away had just saved me from collapsing completely.

Though some small, desperate part of me felt disappointed that I hadn’t passed out. Because I knew exactly what kind of pain was coming next.

“You know you can’t just grab her like that,” one of them drawled, his tone light, amused. “You’ll stop her heart before we have any fun.”

Their laughter followed, sharp and careless. My death would’ve meant nothing to them. I was just one of their toys—replaceable, disposable, and always available for their entertainment.

A pair of rough hands steadied me, forcing my trembling body upright again. The floor beneath my bare feet felt colder than ever, grounding me in the nightmare I couldn’t escape.

“Actually,” another voice cut through the noise, deeper, possessive, “she was promised to me.”

Cold fingers clamped around my arm again, the chill biting into my skin as he dragged me backward. He didn’t pull me fully against him this time—he knew too much contact would freeze me completely, and that wasn’t the kind of game he wanted to play yet.

The others erupted in protest, voices overlapping in heated argument until the ringmaster’s tone sliced through it like a whip.

“Take Nix to the next room. I’ll bring in Rin and Star for the others.”

That was all the permission he needed. His grip tightened, searing against my skin with a cold so sharp it burned. If he held on much longer, I knew it would leave a mark—a brand that wouldn’t show but would never fade.

I went limp in his grasp, knowing resistance only excited him. The sound of metal scraping across the wooden floor filled the room as he rummaged through the ringmaster’s tools—things I’d learned to recognize by sound alone. The faint clink of chains. The dry slide of leather between his hands. The soft jingle of keys that always made my stomach twist.

He didn’t take long. Soon, his hands were on me again, rough and deliberate.

A coarse rope brushed my wrists, the fibers biting into my skin as he looped and tightened them. With one sharp pull, he lifted me until my toes barely grazed the ground. My body swayed slightly in the cool air of the small adjoining room, where the scent of oil and sweat hung heavy. I couldn’t see the shadows moving, but I could hear the way he breathed—steady, measured, like this was his favorite kind of quiet.

Here, there was only the chill of his presence and the promise of what was to come.

He circled me like a predator savoring the moment, the scent of ice and frost clinging to him. Every breath I took filled me with the heavy perfume of the circus—sawdust, oil, faint sweetness from the candied nuts sold outside the tent—twisting into something darker.

Then his touch came again, exploring, testing, cruelly slow. He knew I couldn’t see him, but I could feel every inch of his intent pressing against my skin like an invisible weight. Even without sight, I sensed him studying me, his presence dissecting my every tremble. Each breath of cold air from him brushed my bare arms and neck, a stark warning that sent icy prickles racing across my flesh.

The surrounding space grew even colder, the darkness amplifying the chill until my body reacted on pure instinct, muscles tensing before my mind could process the fear. I flinched at his nearness, at the subtle shift in the air whenever he moved closer, his freezing aura thickening the atmosphere around me.

Something tugged sharply at the strap of my dress, the fabric whispering as it slipped off my shoulders and pooled at my feet, leaving me completely naked and exposed. The vulnerability hit me like a blow, reminding me how utterly powerless I was in his grasp—no barriers, no escape from his whims. The chill of him seeped deeper into my bones, starting as a shiver in my core and spreading outward until my entire body trembled uncontrollably, teeth chattering softly in the void.

He chuckled low; the sound rumbled from his chest like distant thunder, clearly amused by my helpless quaking. “I love having you shiver under my touch,” he murmured, his voice a silken rasp laced with dark satisfaction. “As a demon, you respond so easily to the cold. I don’t even need to fuck you to take pleasure in this, though if your body doesn’t shut down from the freeze, I’ll gladly still fuck you raw.”

His hands—icy and unyielding—stroked along the curve of my hips, the frigid temperature burning into my skin like frostbite’s bite, igniting a painful fire beneath the surface. He didn’t stop with just stroking; he gripped my breasts firmly in both hands, his long fingers digging in as he pinched and squeezed the sensitive flesh.

The cold from his palms seared my nipples into hard peaks, the burning sensation intensifying with every twist, leaving throbbing red marks that pulsed long after he released them. As his hands skimmed lower down my stomach, tracing the quivering muscles there, my shivering worsened, waves of cold and dread crashing through me, making my legs shake slightly under the onslaught.

Every place his icy hand trailed left a searing burn on my skin, like frostbite igniting from within. By the time those rough, unyielding fingers slipped between my trembling thighs, parting the slick lips of my pussy, I teetered on the edge of unconsciousness, my vision blurring with icy agony.

He stroked along that hypersensitive flesh, his deep chuckle rumbling like distant thunder as I cried out sharply, the pain lancing through me like shards of frozen glass.

“I wonder how you’ll scream when I bury my thick cock deep inside you,” he growled, his piercing eyes gleaming with sadistic hunger.

Without mercy, he forced two fingers into my tight pussy, thrusting them in and out with brutal rhythm. Each icy invasion sent jolts of burning cold radiating through my core, twisting pain and shivers until my body surrendered, darkness claiming me as I passed out.

******

My whole body burned as I slowly came to. Thankfully, I was no longer dangling from the ceiling. At times, they left me tied up, strung like a broken marionette, so they could return and play later—but at least this time, they were done with me.

Not wanting to stay and risk being caught by the ringmaster—or worse, becoming his entertainment too—I reached out, fingers trembling as I searched along the cold, sticky floor for my dress. It wasn’t much protection, but it was something to hide the damage. My fingertips brushed against the torn fabric, soft and frayed, and I slipped it back on with a quiet hiss. Every drag of the material scraped over welts and raw skin, the thin silk clinging in places it shouldn’t, still damp from sweat and something colder… sharper.

I moved toward the door, careful and quiet, breathing shallowly. The air inside the trailer always carried the scent of iron and old perfume, the ghosts of every performance that had taken place here. I knew the room better than I knew my own reflection—every uneven floorboard, every spot that creaked if I wasn’t light enough on my feet. I’d slipped in and out of this place more times than I could count, a habit born of survival.

The faint hum of the generator outside told me I was close to freedom. Or at least the version of it that existed between punishments. Just a few more steps, and I’d be gone.

But then I froze.

Whispers drifted from the next room—low, tense, and dangerous. Male voices. The kind that made my blood run cold. I almost turned away, ready to pretend I hadn’t heard a thing… until one name stopped me in my tracks.