Movement form where the rear of the ring met the performers’ entrance made Arla’s attention snap back to it. Filters removed, the colored lights changed to a soft white and settled on a tall woman as she emerged. Her words boomed over the din of the crowd and music-blaring speakers.
	The woman’s enchanting, accented voice charmed the audience into a hush. Arla found herself sucked in with everyone else around her as the ringmistress spoke, her words flowing over them like honey. Though she had to have practiced the speech many times, the woman sounded genuine, rather than like she was simply reciting something from memory.
	The word “photography” slowly drew Arla back to her senses.
	[i]Right. Right![/i] She shook her head, forcing her gaze away from the ringmistress. She placed the bit of her remaining hot dog in its paper tray and shrugged out of her backpack. She cast a quick glance to the tent’s entrance. Thankfully, she didn’t recognize the couple security workers lurking in the shadows. Which meant she'd be free to move around the tent.
	She glanced up at the ring, hurriedly pulling out her camera and changing out its lens as the performers filed out on stage. By the time she had readjusted her pack at her back and readied her camera, the first few leading the parade had already passed her.
	She watched in awe, only just remembering to actually take pictures as the rest of the performers danced by. Some flipped through the air, already defying the laws of gravity in this pre-show. Others danced seductively, gaining the hungry gazes of many of the audience. She could guess some of their acts by their outfits and makeup, some marching shirtless and others dressed in elaborate costumes, each one beautiful in its own right. But others she'd have wait to find out what part they would play.
	All too soon, their teaser procession came to an end, the last of the long line returning whence they’d come. A shiver of pleasure stepped down Arla’s spine and a grin spread over her face, knowing that this display was only the beginning.
	As the ringmistress retook the stage to announce the first act, Arla took the chance to shove the rest of her hot dog in her mouth. Leaving its tray behind, she grabbed her small bag of popcorn as the first act tumbled onto stage.
	She moved about the ring for the remainder of the show, hunting for the best possible angles for each act. A couple others had the same idea, their own expensive-looking cameras giving them away as either journalists or enthusiasts.
	Arla often found herself forgetting her task, getting caught up in the acts. Even the ones she had expected went above and beyond, turning the impossible into reality. The music shifted with each performance, modern and techno mixing with classic and eerie tunes to perfectly accentuate each one. 
	Flames obeyed the fire-dancers in unusual ways, snaking dangerously close to the audience, but never close enough to do any real harm. Contortionists bent unnaturally yet fluidly, as if they were made of taffy rather than flesh and bone as they worked through a tumbling act. The lights in the tent were extinguished for a poi act, which she watched through the adjusted digital screen of her camera to avoid seeing through the dark and ruining the mysticism of the act.
	Arla quickly lost track of all the performances. Time seemed a relative term, like it ran on its own timetable within the tent. Enticed like everyone else, it became easy to forget about everything but the awe-inspiring performances. The audience whistled and shouted, held their breath and applauded, united by the magic of the circus.
	Then came the Reaper, the ringmistress artfully building up his act as she had with all the others.
	Arla smirked at yet another intriguing, dramatic name. She guessed this was going to be their knife-throwing act even before the prop men set up the weapons the Reaper needed with practiced efficiency.
	She blinked in surprise when a boy who looked not much older than herself strode out, wielding a scythe. Then, her grin widened; he was really going all out with that name. All the bare-chested boy was missing was a hooded robe.
	The Reaper wasted no time, his steps and movements matching the music. In a matter of seconds, Arla fell back under the spell of the acts. She gasped and held her breath with the audience as the Reaper’s scythe came close enough to his skin that he had to be down a few hairs. She quickly forgot his youth in his skill long before he switched weapons.
	It took her a few backwards-throws into the new part of his performance before she realized, like everyone else, that he wasn’t just walking the ring to show off. He was looking for a volunteer.
	Arla snapped back to reality with a gasp. She hadn’t had the misfortune of getting spotted as a gate-crasher yet, but she’d be a fool to push her luck. Though she knew her chance of being picked was slim, she ducked quickly behind a stand before the boy could take notice of her.
	She poked her head carefully around the stand when the crowd cheered, signaling the Reaper had chosen a victim. She slowly crawled back out of her hiding spot, camera ever at the ready.
	She returned in time to watch the fearful man get ushered toward an upright wheel. It was real anxiety on his face, not an act put on by a performer hidden in the stands.
	[i]Huh. What’d you know,[/i] she thought absently as she moved to get a better angle on the Reaper and his wheel.
	Her eyes widened and an anxious murmur rose through the crowd as the Reaper strapped the man in. Wondering if this was even legal, she glanced to the man’s empty seat, his family looking on in a mix of dread and awe.
	Whether from luck or skill—or both—everyone breathed a sigh of relief when the man came out of the act unscathed. Besides looking like he was about to faint, that was.
	Smirking, Arla couldn’t help but snap a quick, discrete picture of him and his distress as he wobbled back to his family.
	[i]Definitely[/i] not a carnival worker.
	What felt only moments after it had started, the audience applauded the knife-thrower’s last act. They quieted quickly as the ringmistress addressed them once more. 
	Arla settled with the crowd, the excitement of the danger in the Reaper's act opening a new door that made the audience buzz.
	There was no telling what else awaited.

[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/sbWHRet.png?1[/img][/center]
	With her empty popcorn bag lost somewhere amidst the mess the rest of the audience had made, the finale came to an end. The audience applauded and whistled, many giving a standing ovation.
	Arla sighed wistfully, watching the performers disappear backstage. Though it had to have been at least a two-hour show, it ended far too soon. But the end meant her chance to speak with the ringmistress was drawing near.
	She looked to the towering woman as she took center stage again, the spotlights focusing back on the leader.
	While everyone else in the audience eagerly began to check under their seats at the news of the afterparty, Arla groaned in dismay. Afterparties were typically adults-only affairs. And something she’d be surprised if the ringmistress didn’t attend. Which meant she had yet another event to figure out how to sneak into, or would have to wait and hide out for who knew how long for it to end.
	Unless, of course, she could manage to steal one of those envelopes.
	She leaned against the stand beside her, trying to be discrete as she glanced at those closest to her. Watching for an opportunity to snatch an envelope from someone when they weren’t paying attention. 
	Her gaze shifted unintentionally to the ringmistress just as the woman’s eyes landed directly on her.
	Arla inhaled and stiffened, wondering if the woman had somehow sensed her intent. She tensed, ready to run if the ringmistress called her out, or signaled security.
	But she did neither.
	Arla blinked in confusion at the woman’s words, watching the ringmistress leave the ring. Though spoken for everyone to hear, she swore she had said them directly to her. Arla stood there for a long moment as the noise of the audience filled the tent.
	She sighed heavily. She was just being paranoid. And had likely been acting more suspicious than she’d thought to gain the extra attention. If she hadn't just imagined it altogether.
	With a long wait ahead, she took off her pack to return her camera inside. She put it on the ground and knelt in front of it. She moved to take the camera from around her neck, but froze.
	A small part of the backpack's main compartment’s zipper was open. And a portion of a black envelope stuck out of it. She let the camera thump back against her, then removed the envelope, the action slow from disbelief.
	A bit larger than your standard envelope, a logo glistened at the center on the front of the satin paper. Silver created the outline of a Big Top. The entrance flap formed into a grin with the circus’ name in an elegant script for teeth. A pair of eyes rested above it, their irises metallic blue and pupils black feline slits that bled into the rest of the paper at the top.
	In that moment, she thought she knew how Charlie felt when he’d found the Golden Ticket.
	A grin spread over her face as she flipped it over. A red wax seal kept it closed, the logo from the front pressed into the wax. 
	She wouldn’t have to steal one, after all.
	Wondering how they’d snuck it in there without her noticing, she glanced around. She half expected someone to be behind her to ask her for the envelope, to tell her it was a mistake. But only the dwindling audience met her, none of them paying her any mind. The energy in the tent had only intensified, conversations and minds still trying to wrap around what they had witnessed.
	Zipping her backpack fully closed, she returned it to her back. Shoulders squared and smug smile ever on her lips, she strode around the ring toward the back. She followed a couple people who had separated from the rest of the crowd heading home for the night.
	She surveyed the others who had received invitations. As she had figured, she was the only one underaged heading to the back exit. The thought that they’d apparently mistaken her as an adult made her smile widen and her posture straighten proudly.
	She waited her turn as the others ahead of her showed their own black invitations to one of two people standing guard on either side of the exit. She proudly showed hers to a gangly man more arms and legs than body—how [i]he’d[/i] been selected as a bouncer, she couldn’t fathom.
	The brows of his narrow face rose as he looked down at Arla with eerily black eyes. Unlike with those before her, he took her envelope and examined it closer, as if making absolutely sure it wasn’t fake.
	She stared at him with cool, firm confidence. “Can I go,” she nodded to the tent doors, now tied open for the afterparty attendees, “or what? You’re holding up the line.”
	He gave a soft, “hmm,” before what Arla thought was understanding crossed his face. He shrugged, returned her invitation, and jerked his head toward the exit.
	“And nice contacts,” she complimented as she took the envelope. 
	His black-painted lips pulled up in a smirk. “Much appreciated, young miss,” he said as she stepped after the others, his voice soft and sibilant.
	She paused, casting him a glance over her shoulder as the next woman in line showed him her invitation. She couldn’t say what, but something about that guy made her neck hairs prickle.
	She took a deep breath and shook her head. [i]Quit it with the paranoia![/i] she scolded herself, scowling. [i]There’s nothing to worry about here.[/i] One hand toying with her camera and the other clutching the envelope, she hurried after the others.
	Now all she needed to do was find the ringmistress.