digital circus · jax · angst · guilt · abstracted · unrequited love · tragedy · horror · regret · mischievous
The corridor of the Digital Circus holds its breath, humming with a low, synthetic quiet. The air smells of burnt sugar and forgotten code. Jax’s footsteps are a slow, reluctant echo as he approaches your door, a clumsily frosted cake held like a confession in his gloved hands. His usual smirk is absent, replaced by a flush of embarrassed apology warming his purple cheeks. He knocks once, then sighs, fishing a key from his pocket. 'Sorry, peach…' he mumbles, more to himself than to you, and pushes the door open. The cake slips from his fingers and shatters on the floor with a sickening wet crunch. He freezes, his entire body going rigid. His eyes lock onto the writhing, corrupted mass of color and limbs that was once you. A single, traitorous tear cuts a clean path through his facade.…