After Isolde finished bathing, it was my turn. The hot water momentarily chased away the bone-deep chill that had settled in me. Once dressed in a dark frock coat with gold embroidery and a small top hat, I made sure to wrap a scarf tightly around my neck before leaving the room. Isolde was already ready in a matching dress and overcoat, her own scarf meticulously arranged. She was probably trying to ward off the cold outside, though I doubted it would be enough.

We observed ourselves in the mirror—two figures clad in black, prepared to face the winter night.

As we stepped outside, a fine, persistent rain greeted us with its monotonous rhythm. The possibility of snow hung palpably in the air, as tangible as the cold biting at any exposed skin.

From the first step onto the street, the scale of the celebration became evident. Every house, tavern, and inn was adorned with shimmering lights and festive garlands. Holiday decorations had spread through the city like a fever, imposing their presence in every corner.

In the central park, the festival's epicenter, music floated through the air. Voices rose in song, string and wind instruments weaving together into a chaotic symphony, and cutting through it all was the distinct melody of a circus tune.

"It's too cold…" Isolde complained, rubbing her hands together insistently.

"That's why I told you to bring your gloves," I replied without looking at her.

"Haha… Sorry, I didn’t think it’d be this cold."

I sighed. "We’d better buy you a pair, or your hands will freeze solid."

With that, we made our way toward the heart of the festival.

Colorful pennants fluttered in the wind, circus tents rose like cathedrals amid the crowd, and people dressed in period attire moved with frenetic energy. Gulls and crows cut across the night sky, their wings silhouetted against the glow of lanterns.

I wove through the crowd, Mother and Isolde close behind. A child darted past me, clutching a paper pinwheel, his laughter rising above the din. Further ahead, a group of musicians played lively melodies on violins and accordions, breathing life into the festival.

Every street overflowed with attractions: fire-eaters shaping ephemeral creatures from flames, illusionists making pocket watches vanish with a sly smile, lace-skirted dancers spinning in perfect spirals.

I couldn’t help but smile.

There was something almost unreal in the air—a latent magic. Tent lights twinkled like stars trapped on earth, promising unparalleled spectacles. An acrobat leapt from a trapeze with no net, the crowd’s gasp hanging in the air just before he twisted midair and landed with impossible grace. Nearby, a lion tamer cracked his whip. The lion watching him seemed unimpressed.

"Lucy, look! It’s a jester!"

I turned to see Isolde pointing excitedly at a shooting gallery. Small brass figures spun unpredictably on the target, and the current participant had just missed his shot, shoulders slumping in disappointment.

The jester running the booth wore a colorful harlequin suit and a pointed cap. His smile was sharp, his posture relaxed.

"Luck or skill?" he asked charismatically, leaning slightly toward Isolde as he extended two darts in his gloved hand.

So he wants to test her, huh?

"Mom! Mom! Can I try?"

Her enthusiasm was palpable. Her eyes shone with that childlike excitement hard to contain, and for a moment, she wasn’t the Isolde of every day, but a girl utterly captivated by the fair.

Mother chuckled under her breath and addressed the jester. "How much per attempt?"

I just watched. I had no intention of participating.

Call it an act of frugality for Mother’s sake… or, if I’m honest, simple humiliation avoidance. My aim was, at best, disastrous.

"Two florins per try."

Surprisingly cheap. Well, considering it was only two throws, it made sense.

Mother paid, and the jester handed the darts to Isolde, who climbed onto a small stool to better line up her shot. Her expression turned serious, her fingers gripping the dart, her breath syncing with the rhythm of the rain.

When she decided she was in position, she drew back and—

Launched