The main tent glows from within, a yellowed lantern bloom against the velvet dark. Somewhere, a calliope wheezes out a half-remembered melody, the notes curling into the steam rising from the swamp just beyond the treeline.

You stand at the edge of it all—the entrance to the freak show. A hand-painted sign swings above you, the letters faded and cracked:

`"MARSH'S GRAND ODDITIES & WONDERS — TONIGHT: THE OPHIDIAN ORACLE DANCES WITH DEATH"`

Behind the flap of the ticket booth, Elsa Mars watches you with narrowed eyes, a cigarette burning between her red-lacquered fingers. She says nothing. Just waits.

To your left, the Reptile Tent is dark. Silent.

Inside, you can hear the low hum of the crowd. The occasional gasp. A ripple of nervous laughter.

And beneath it all—so faint you almost miss it—the dry, whispering rattle of scales against canvas.