The silence after Reno’s memories fades is heavier than screams.

Livia collapsed to her knees, trembling.

His memories—his agony—still echoed in her mind.

The laughter.

The blood.

The betrayal.

All woven into the clown that now stood before her like a monument to misery.

She clutched her head.

“No... no, that wasn’t me. I didn’t deserve to see that.”

But even as she denied it,

fragments of her own childhood surfaced.

Her fingers squeezing a bird too tightly in secret.

The joy in watching things fall apart.

The dreams of being the one on stage... with all eyes watching.

A spark ignited in her gut.

“Why... me?” she whispered.

No longer trembling—shaking, yes,

but with something else.

Not fear.

Not pity.

Clarity.

Reno tilted his head.

“You saw it, didn’t you? The truth. That seed inside you... it’s always been there.”

“No.”

She stood up.

“Yes,”

he stepped closer,

“and now it grows.”

Her lips curled.

Not in disgust.

Not in grief.

But in a smile.

“I think...”

Her voice was calm.

Eerily so.

“...I want to kill you.”

Before he could speak again,

Livia charged.

Bare hands.

No tricks.

No circus.

Only raw will.

The clown laughed as he danced back, nimble as a shadow.

But she was relentless.

Every blow missed left her bleeding.

Every dodge left her breathless.

But she kept coming.

Not with hope—

But with purpose.

“You want a show?”

She spat blood.

“Then watch me.”

She rammed into him.

The impact shattered a row of glass props,

sending shards raining around them like stars.

Blood mixed with glitter.

Somewhere above them, an old spotlight flickered on.

A single bulb, dangling like a noose.

Livia’s eyes locked onto it.

And she smiled again.

She tackled him into the wreckage and ripped at the cables.

Reno’s laughter turned into something more desperate.

“What are you doing?!”

Her face was alight now—

not with madness, but resolve.

“You wanted me to awaken...

So I’ll burn this dream to the ground.”

The spark caught.

The light exploded.

Flames roared into life,

dancing across the tent’s edge.

Reno screamed—

“NO!”

And Livia pulled him close.

Together, they burned.

The world slows.

Smoke curls like ribbons,

dancing to a song only the dead remember.

Her hands, once trembling—

now still.

Eyes unblinking.

Heart, alight.

The laughter has stopped.

The clown burns.

So does she.

Not with fear,

but with will.

She walks through the flame.

Not screaming—

Smiling.

Because madness is not always a prison.

Sometimes, it is release.

A voice within her asks,

“Are you afraid?”

She answers the dark,

"If this is my end... I'm ready."

A whisper leaves her lips,

barely a breath.

“Madre.”

From cinders and screams, a star is born.

The flames licked her skin

like the tongues of devils welcoming one of their own.

Her lungs filled with smoke—

yet she smiled.

Not because she had won.

But because she no longer feared losing.

The world dimmed around her as Reno screamed—

not in agony, but in awe.

He saw it before anyone else did.

Not death.

But transformation.

Her bones cracked

like violin strings pulled too tight.

Her blood sang songs it had forgotten.

Livia did not burn.

She shed.

Within the fire, something stirred.

A crown of shadow, invisible to men.

A voice—not hers—whispered in her ear:

“You were never prey.

You were always the promise.”

And she believed it.

The madness she once rejected

now coursed through her veins like liquid gold.

Fear, a memory.

Pain, a suggestion.

Her name...

a prophecy.

She stepped from the flames—

barefoot, burned, reborn.

The clown was gone.

In its place stood a ringleader.

Velvet clung to her skin like loyal hounds.

A cloak of darkness kissed her shoulders.

A cracked smile painted itself on her lips—

not with makeup, but with meaning.

And in the hush that followed the inferno,

she whispered...

“If this is my end… I’m ready.”

Then paused.

A final breath.

A final truth.

One word,

from the blood of her ancestors:

“Renacer.” (To be reborn.)

The world doesn’t end in silence.

It kneels.

Smoke draped the world in solemn black.

Ash fell like snow—

sacred and slow.

And there, rising from the heart of fire—

she stood.

No longer the girl who cried.

No longer the dreamer who prayed.

She was not healed.

She was hollowed out and filled anew.

Her skin, blistered.

Her eyes, burning.

Not with tears.

With vision.

With clarity.

The wind howled around her

like a choir of ghosts.

The ground beneath her feet

refused to crumble.

It knew who she was now.

A surge of laughter echoed in the distance—

not Reno’s.

But hers.

Soft at first.

Then louder.

Wilder.

Wicked.

She laughed like a goddess

discovering her throne had always been waiting.

Not in gold—

but in fire,

in madness,

in purpose.

Around her,

the circus that once haunted her flickered in her mind’s eye—

The outline of velvet tents.

The silhouettes of apostles yet to be found.

The echo of a call not yet answered.

And she spoke—

not to herself,

not to the world,

but to the darkness that watched and waited.

“You wanted a show?”

“I’ll give you a kingdom.”

One final breath.

One final word.

"Begin."

The embers swirled around her like loyal hounds,

forming the faint shape of a crimson parasol above her shoulder.

And as she turned her back on the ruins,

her shadow grinned.