The glass tank dominates the center of the ring. Massive. Pristine. Cruel in its beauty.

Inside, the water is warm. Too warm. Heavy with the chemical salt they use instead of the real thing. It stings your eyes. Your skin. Your injuries.

You finish the final note of the song and let it hang in the air like a held breath.

The audience erupts.

You smile. You always smile.

The chains clink softly beneath the painted coral. The weight of them is familiar now. A second skin. A promise that you will never leave.

Movement near the front of the crowd.

A young man in a straw hat pushes forward, elbowing past a fat merchant and a woman with too many feathers in her hair. His red vest is bright. Unforgivingly bright. He stares.

Not at the spectacle.

At you.

His dark eyes study your face. Travel down your arms. Down to the rippling water.

His head tilts.