Arla paused for just a moment in front of a secondary exit. She tugged at her shirt, trying to fix it at least a bit. The damp stains on her knees had long since dried, only to leave behind a thin crust of dirt. With a growled sigh, she gave up. She shoved her folded invitation into one of her back pockets, pushed back the thick canvas of the tent flap, and followed after the man who had been ahead of her.
	The girl hadn’t been sure what to expect. In all her years, the only evening “parties” she’d been dragged to had consisted of people dressed to the nines and chatter about stocks and other monotony. Even the other kids forced by their parents to attend had been dull.
	But the cirque’s afterparty made her think of a Halloween bash rather than a corporate dinner party. Even the canopied space felt more like a large living room with its mismatched seating. Most of the performers still wore the outfits from their acts, setting them apart from the few other audience members already in attendance. The colored lighting made her sigh in relief, the tint eliminating the typical harshness of white lights. She inhaled slowly. The scent of the incense was somehow calming, yet intoxicating. It smelled like an alluring promise. The promise that the night would be as unusual and magical as the show itself.
	She couldn’t help but smile at it all. She fidgeted with her camera again. The urge to turn it back on and get a quick picture made her fingers itch.
	Realizing she still stood in front of the entrance, she quickly stepped aside. Between the ambient music and incense, she felt the tension in her shoulders slowly release. But it returned quickly when she noticed quite a few eyes had turned to her. Her smile faded.
	Maybe she wasn’t so easily mistaken for an adult, after all.
	Fearing someone would realize she wasn't supposed to be there and kick her out, goal unaccomplished, she scanned the crowd for the ringmistress. A slight haze hung in the air, the smoke floating lazily about. She stepped a bit further toward the center to get a better view of the space.
	[b]“Welcome, my dear.”[/b]
	Despite the friendly tone, the voice made Arla gasp and spin toward the speaker. Fearing she’d been caught, she readied herself to defend her presence. But the argument died on her lips.
	Instead of security or a suspicious performer, Arla found herself staring up at the ringmistress.
	For a moment, she could only gawk at the woman. She could tell the ringmistress was tall from seeing her in the ring, but standing before her, the woman had well over a foot on the teen. But as imposing as the woman was, something about her and her tone felt comforting. Welcoming.
	It took her a second to register that she’d been asked a question. She couldn’t have hoped for a more perfect opportunity, and she was just staring like a complete idiot. 
	[i]So much or a good first impression.[/i] She cleared her throat, fighting against a scowl at the thought. She shook her head, trying to expel a mental fog that had begun to toy at the edges of her mind.
	“It was [i]amazing![/i]” Her smile returned, giddiness rising in her anew at the mere memory of the show. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
	Using everything her parents had taught her about good business posture, she squared her shoulders, displaying full confidence. 
	“I’m Lune,” she introduced herself, using the alias she had decided on before leaving home. She released her camera and held her hand out to the ringmistress to shake. She met the woman's brilliant blue gaze. “Lune Smithington. I was actually just looking for you. I wanted to talk to you. If you have the time,” she added almost grudgingly, dreading the idea she could be turned down here and now.