[Ever since Ted set foot in the circus, that same baleful feeling lodged in the back of his mind that if he ever disturbed the masquerade, it'd mean his doom. So long as he distracted himself and enjoyed the festivities, it was easy enough to ignore. Not now; not when their wills had crystallized and brought that fear to the forefront. Like the most potent terrors, its form was ambiguous and ever-shifting. He might die, or be cursed with a fate worse than death. He might follow in Pandora's footsteps, and unleash countless calamities on the world. The world itself might end. Every shade of fear suggested itself and roiled in his brain.
That fear proved overwhelming in his past attempts to unmask on his own. And after all, was it really necessary? Why provoke an unknown fate when one could simply leave? Wasn't this desire to spit in the circus' face a little excessive? Why such defiance? Why this senseless revolt?
Numinous horror and his own second-guessing foiled every attempt. He needed to gather every psychological and spiritual advantage he could if he wanted to overcome. The frenzy of their fight still filled his veins with fire to combat that chilling dread. Now that Namur was here, a sort of suicide pact had been formed, and it would've been shameful to back out after all that dramatic protest.
But more than the stick of disgrace were the noble carrots. Something about this fateful deed was bringing out better things. He'd never felt Namur trusted him all that much. Now, even though Ted had seemingly lost his mind and fought just as madly, Namur was willing to risk everything on this gamble, seemingly just because Ted asked, or dared.
Yet the mutuality helped most of all. Something liked it lied at the heart of Christendom. Bearing one another's burdens. It's always easier to shoulder a burden that isn't yours. What he couldn't do for himself he could, perhaps, do for a friend. Even at his lowest, he couldn't betray that trust. He felt bound by an oath; a bond stronger than any the carnival could make. Besides, what threat could an illusory, phantasmal place really mean?
He took and breath, then broke into a smile. If he's going to die, why wear any other expression?]
"All right. On the count of three. One...two...three!"
[The dread rose to a crescendo as he gripped Namur's mask. He pulled.]
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That fear proved overwhelming in his past attempts to unmask on his own. And after all, was it really necessary? Why provoke an unknown fate when one could simply leave? Wasn't this desire to spit in the circus' face a little excessive? Why such defiance? Why this senseless revolt?
Numinous horror and his own second-guessing foiled every attempt. He needed to gather every psychological and spiritual advantage he could if he wanted to overcome. The frenzy of their fight still filled his veins with fire to combat that chilling dread. Now that Namur was here, a sort of suicide pact had been formed, and it would've been shameful to back out after all that dramatic protest.
But more than the stick of disgrace were the noble carrots. Something about this fateful deed was bringing out better things. He'd never felt Namur trusted him all that much. Now, even though Ted had seemingly lost his mind and fought just as madly, Namur was willing to risk everything on this gamble, seemingly just because Ted asked, or dared.
Yet the mutuality helped most of all. Something liked it lied at the heart of Christendom. Bearing one another's burdens. It's always easier to shoulder a burden that isn't yours. What he couldn't do for himself he could, perhaps, do for a friend. Even at his lowest, he couldn't betray that trust. He felt bound by an oath; a bond stronger than any the carnival could make. Besides, what threat could an illusory, phantasmal place really mean?
He took and breath, then broke into a smile. If he's going to die, why wear any other expression?]
"All right. On the count of three. One...two...three!"
[The dread rose to a crescendo as he gripped Namur's mask. He pulled.]