The outside of the caravan showed heavily frosted windows: hard rocky plains off of which wafted ethereal drifts of white mist, existing only for a brief moment before dispersing. The air in the caravan was bitingly cold; the woman who stood, arms slightly lifted at her sides, in the center was surrounded by a translucent cloud, the omphalos of a personal tempest raging inside the cart violently. Hail and snow roiled around her in a storm; her belongings thrashed forcibly into debris and crashed into masses of broken wood and glass, showering the mage and bringing about lacerations and angry red splotches to her delicate ivory skin. Her skin was raised in gooseflesh, and her limbs quavered as the temperature seeped through her scant clothing and settled on her bones. Her hair whipped around her, icicles and flakes of snow lingering on her lavender tresses. Her robes flapped in the howling wind, belts and pouches flailing on loosening cords, necklaces and bracelets twinkling as they clashed against each other. The chamber was illuminated by the snow reflecting the light coming through the ice-laden windows with vigor. 

Calista watched the paroxysm with keen eyes, searching the hurricane with a countenance of pure concentration. Her eye caught every snowflake, and each piece of the storm’s flotsam with gnostic perception, her learned eye catching every imperfection: either a flake was too similar to its neighbor, or the surface of the rubble that was once her room was too slick or too abrasive, never perfect. Her mouth contorted to a frustrated pout of sorts, brow furrowing. With a curt wave of her hand, the air suddenly stilled, raging blizzard disappearing in a blink, leaving her ears ringing and vision fuzzy. As her eyes adjusted to the sunlight that now made it through the glass panes of her window, she looked around with distaste. The caravan was as it once was, before she had started practicing, unaffected by the ersatz storm. She sighed as she lifted her staff, the circular mirror atop it flashing briefly. She left her cart in a somber mood, but it turned to her normal anxiety as she immersed herself in the reality that was the Carnival. 

The overcast sky loomed overhead, imposing a dreadful feeling of pretense in the heavy air permeating the transient walkways that led through the still carnival. Other carnival employees drifted hurried through the labyrinth of stalls and carts that comprised the circus. A few glances were thrown her way, showing no outward malevolence, but her own gaze followed them until they were out of sight. She hesitated a moment, casting an encompassing look over her surrounds, before melting into the meager crowd the best she could. The day was terribly dreary, and the witch thought it fitting for such a wretched place. She withheld a snort at the ironic thought as she made her way toward the amphitheater, intending to get a start on her daily tasks. 

There were people of all kinds within the amphitheater, all in various states of dress and clarity. Lights, tapestries, and other items of decor littered the ring as the sets were changed from the previous night’s show to the upcoming performances of this night. After spotting the event coordinator, she made her way through the scattered debris on the ground to speak to him. 

“You? What’re you doing here?” He asked distractedly, attention being diverted between herself and a gaggle of performers trying to erect a pole. “You’re suppose’ to be at a meeting soon, aren’t ya?” He asked, the end of his dialog with her sounded with a crash of the pole, and a yell of “What are you idiots doing?!” He trampled toward them in a huff, and Calista turned away. Dread pooled in her stomach in regards to the meeting, unsure of its nuances having heard it secondhand. She scowled as she took her exodus from the tent, eyes lingering on the shadows in the tent for a short moment.

Stepping outside, the air was warm, but the clouded sky kept it slightly humid. Her cloth robes swayed around her as she walked, long strides carrying her purposefully toward the routine meeting place. She scrutinized those who came too close behind a warm smile and wide gray eyes, but would whip her head around to watch their retreat once they passed her by, or raised her staff slightly to utilize the mirror at its tip. She looked to the sky worriedly because she was not sure when the meeting was to begin. A slight feeling of horror overcame her as she realized that meant she might be late, and took only a single dainty step more before gently hoisting herself in the air a few inches from the ground, leaning forward as she carried herself to the assembly; levitating would take her there much faster than walking or running.

Calista scowled as she made her way deeper into the carnival, dread growing with every step, her thoughts cluttering her head agitatedly. The meeting must not have been private, or else the news would’ve probably been brought to her attention specifically. Although that in and of itself brought some solace, in that there was nothing directed at her individually, she also knew that there are such times where extensive cooperation with the others stuck in the Ringmaster’s palm left an aftertaste of bitter bile in her mouth. Whether it be from the pregnant glances that would throw her way, or the way they whispered together when she was just out of auditory range, she knew not, but their presences was something she only tolerated. It mattered not, alas, for she really had no choice in the matter. She would merely have to watch them all.