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it needs to be in color( no weapon no book) Her fingers traced the cold iron bars. How many nights had she spent here? How many times had she counted the bars, unable to sleep? The space smelled like hay and rust and old wood. There were scratches in the walls—claw marks from previous performers, maybe. Or from her own restless nights. She curled up on the mattress, tail wrapped around herself, ears flat against her skull. "I’m a bird trapped in a cage," she whispered to the darkness. The lantern flickered. And then—movement outside her window. A tall figure passed by, silhouetted against the moonlight. Cinder sat up, ears perking. The figure wore a long coat and a plague doctor mask—the beak curved and sharp. But strangest of all, faint stars seemed to glow across the mask’s surface, like constellations trapped in porcelain. Her heart skipped. Who—? The figure moved silently through the sleeping circus, heading toward the edge of the grounds. For the first time in weeks, she felt something other than despair. Curiosity.
it needs to be in color( no weapon no book) Cinder practiced until her muscles screamed. New flips. Higher jumps. More fire. She pushed herself until she collapsed, panting, ears ringing. It didn’t matter. The crowds kept shrinking. The other performers stopped meeting her eyes. The vendors no longer offered her treats. The strongman walked past her without a word. She was invisible. One night, she overheard the Ringmaster talking outside her wagon. "The new performer arrives next week. Finally, we’ll have a real star again." "What about Cinder?" someone asked. "What about her? She’s done. Once the new act is settled, she’s out." Cinder pressed her back against the wall of her wagon, heart pounding. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps. Out. Replaceable. Done. She looked around her "room"—if you could call it that. A cramped wagon with iron bars on the windows. A thin mattress on the floor. A cracked mirror. The door locked from the outside every night "for her safety." She’d never noticed before how much it looked like a cage.
Part Two: The Decline Three months later. The tent was half-empty. Cinder flipped through the air, landed perfectly, juggled the flaming pins with the same precision—but the applause was thin. Scattered. A few polite claps from the families who’d bothered to show up. She forced her smile wider. Bowed deeper. Added an extra spin. Nothing. The little girl who used to sit in the front row wasn’t there anymore. After the show, Cinder stood alone in the center ring, staring at the empty seats. Dust motes floated through the fading spotlight. The silence pressed against her ears. "Pathetic." She turned. The Ringmaster stood at the edge of the ring, face shadowed, arms crossed. "Sir, I—" "The crowds are leaving because of you." His voice was cold. Sharp. "You’re stale. Boring. A one-trick pony—or should I say, one-trick mutt." Her tail tucked instinctively. "I can learn new tricks. I’ll practice harder—" "I’ve already made arrangements." He turned away. "There’s a new act coming. Someone with real talent." The words hit like a punch to the gut. "You’re replaceable, Cinder. Don’t forget that." He walked away, boots echoing on the wooden floor. Cinder stood frozen, flames still flickering on the pins in her hands. Slowly, she let them drop. They clattered to the ground, extinguished. Weeks passed.
it needs to be in color Part Two: The Decline Three months later. The tent was half-empty. Cinder flipped through the air, landed perfectly, juggled the flaming pins with the same precision—but the applause was thin. Scattered. A few polite claps from the families who’d bothered to show up. She forced her smile wider. Bowed deeper. Added an extra spin. Nothing. The little girl who used to sit in the front row wasn’t there anymore. After the show, Cinder stood alone in the center ring, staring at the empty seats. Dust motes floated through the fading spotlight. The silence pressed against her ears. "Pathetic." She turned. The Ringmaster stood at the edge of the ring, face shadowed, arms crossed. "Sir, I—" "The crowds are leaving because of you." His voice was cold. Sharp. "You’re stale. Boring. A one-trick pony—or should I say, one-trick mutt." Her tail tucked instinctively. "I can learn new tricks. I’ll practice harder—" "I’ve already made arrangements." He turned away. "There’s a new act coming. Someone with real talent." The words hit like a punch to the gut. "You’re replaceable, Cinder. Don’t forget that." He walked away, boots echoing on the wooden floor. Cinder stood frozen, flames still flickering on the pins in her hands. Slowly, she let them drop. They clattered to the ground, extinguished. Weeks passed.
it needs to be in color Part Two: The Decline Three months later. The tent was half-empty. Cinder flipped through the air, landed perfectly, juggled the flaming pins with the same precision—but the applause was thin. Scattered. A few polite claps from the families who’d bothered to show up. She forced her smile wider. Bowed deeper. Added an extra spin. Nothing. The little girl who used to sit in the front row wasn’t there anymore. After the show, Cinder stood alone in the center ring, staring at the empty seats. Dust motes floated through the fading spotlight. The silence pressed against her ears. "Pathetic." She turned. The Ringmaster stood at the edge of the ring, face shadowed, arms crossed. cinder said "Sir, I—" "The crowds are leaving because of you." the ring master said His voice was cold. Sharp. "You’re stale. Boring. A one-trick pony—or should I say, one-trick mutt." Her tail tucked instinctively. "I can learn new tricks. I’ll practice harder—" "I’ve already made arrangements." He turned away. "There’s a new act coming. Someone with real talent." The words hit like a punch to the gut. "You’re replaceable, Cinder. Don’t forget that." He walked away, boots echoing on the wooden floor. Cinder stood frozen, flames still flickering on the pins in her hands. Slowly, she let them drop. They clattered to the ground, extinguished. Weeks passed.
Panel 1 (Full-width splash, establishing shot) Wide exterior view of Blackspire Keep at night, snow falling gently. A lone rider (Lady Seraphine in dark cloak) approaches the gates on horseback. Caption (top): "Midnight. The eve of his nameday." SFX: clip-clop… clip-clop… Panel 2 (Medium shot) Seraphine dismounts in the courtyard. Servants scatter in fear at her expression—eyes narrowed, lips pressed thin. Close-up inset on her face: subtle disgust already flickering. Thought bubble (small): …I only wished to surprise him. Panel 3 (Tall vertical panel) Seraphine strides down a torch-lit corridor, riding crop dangling loosely. Her boots echo. Background: shadows stretch long. SFX: thud… thud… thud… Panel 4 (Wide panel, door POV) The heavy solar door creaks open. Warm candlelight pours out. Foreground: Seraphine's silhouette in the doorway, cloak billowing slightly. Inside: chaotic bed scene just visible—bare limbs, tangled sheets, laughter frozen mid-breath. Panel 5 (Large panel, reveal) Full interior shot of the decadent bedroom: massive four-poster bed, candles guttering, furs and silks strewn everywhere. Center: Fat Lord Fortinbras sprawled naked, belly shining with sweat, surrounded by four equally naked noblewomen (two mother-daughter pairs: Mirene & Celine Varnholt; Elira & Lyssia Drayce). They freeze, eyes wide in horror. Under the bed: two more half-hidden girls in shifts, peeking out in terror. SFX: gasp! Panel 6 (Close-up on Seraphine) Tight on her face—eyes half-lidded, upper lip curled in revulsion. No shout. Just quiet, visceral disgust. A single bead of sweat rolls down her temple (not from anger—from sheer distaste). Thought bubble: …This… is what my husband chooses. Panel 7 (Medium group shot) The women scramble in panic: sheets tear, bare feet slap stone, arms cover themselves. Mirene clutches fabric; Celine bolts; Elira drags her daughter. The two under-bed girls crawl out, red-faced, fleeing past Seraphine like rats. Background: Fortinbras wheezes, trying to sit up, belly jiggling pathetically. Panel 8 (Over-the-shoulder from Seraphine) She stands motionless. View past her shoulder: the fleeing women disappear down the hall. Fortinbras in foreground, small and ridiculous on the ruined bed, mouth open in excuse. His speech bubble (stammering): "S-Seraphine… my love… this is—" Panel 9 (Extreme close-up on Seraphine) Her eyes only—cold, contemptuous pupils reflecting candle flames. No dialogue. Just a slow, deliberate blink of disgust. SFX: soft … Panel 10 (Medium shot) Seraphine steps forward one pace. She reaches out slowly and plucks a long auburn hair (Mirene's) from his damp chest. Holds it up between thumb and forefinger like something diseased. Her expression: lip curled further, nostrils slightly flared. Panel 11 (Tight two-shot) Close on Fortinbras's face—sweat pouring, small eyes darting, pleading. Inset panel (small): Seraphine's mouth, corners turned down in pure revulsion. Her dialogue (quiet, flat): "You are… disgusting." Panel 12 (Full-page splash, final blow) Seraphine turns her back and walks out, cloak swirling. The door begins to close behind her. Foreground: Fortinbras alone on the wrecked bed, naked, small, surrounded by cooling candles and the stench of his own excess. His face: crumpled in shame. Background fades to black around the edges. Caption (bottom, small text): She feels no fury. Only nausea. SFX: click (door shutting) (End scene.)
A pleasant day in Swastik Residency, Thane. Children can be heard playing games in the Society playground. Amidst the Jolly mood of the society, A rather timid boy sits in the verandah glancing over his book, on the blissful interactions he sought after. Enter Archit, our main character. He was a bright boy and a quick learner. However, appearance-wise, He was just any other boy, you'd find every 2 doors. He would have loved to go play with others if not for his series of tests at his school soon. However, he had some friends who’d come to visit him & study with him. One of them was Jash, also known as "J wala Jash”. Archit hoped at least he would visit on this gloomy day, and so did he. Jash came in and started bothering Archit. He pulled him and asked him to stop being a bookworm for once. Archit was enraged, yet Jash had a point. It had been ages since he had a nice walk, so he agreed. Jash told him he had something to show Archit. Curious, yet nonchalant, they walked the length of their lodge all the way to the nearest elevator. But something was strange. Archit had never seen Jash so excited about something. The elevator dinged and they teetered out the apartment into the large open space. That’s when Archit realised Jash was dressed rather well for a normal day. A matte-brown corduroy over a pleasant white Tee. His trousers hung low yet went well with his outfit he had a musk essence coming off of him. While our man, well, he looked as if he had just woke up from a nightmare and wet his pants. Yet they trotted their way all the way through the society gates to the main road. Archit having not walked for a while, felt tired and uninterested in whatever Jash was so excited about. Jash took Archit to the famous “Tapas Ke Golgappe”. It was a Pani puri shop famous for its “Dhaakan Pani Puri”. Archit slightly annoyed asked the reason for visiting a Pani Puri shop, when he had so much work to do. Jash informed that they were waiting for someone, just a few more minutes. Jash convinced Archit to stay by buying him a ‘Golgappa’ plate while treating himself to Sev puri. While eating a golgappa, Archit saw a charming girl come over. She was gorgeous and stunning. Her smile kept his mouth gape open. Then all of a sudden, Jash took hold of her and introduced her to Archit as his girlfriend. Bamboozled, Archita choked on his golgappa and coughed the life out of him. The girl pitied and grinned at Archit's sorry state. The girl introduced herself as Paulami, Her voice, honey to Archit's ears. At that moment, Archit experienced something, he had never experienced before. his stomach. tickled and his face turned red. Her voice echoed in his ears and his face couldn't stop smiling. Jash & Paulami held each other's hands and started talking like lovebirds. The conversation could be interpreted as a script for a romantic movie. The more they talked, the closer they got. Even the reader could predict what was gonna happen next. Both the lovebirds leaned in for a kiss when it was interrupted by a loud, hoarse voice. from the owner Tapas, “DON'T DO THIS TAATI POTTY IN FRONT OF MY SHOP, DHAAKAN". Scared the shit out of them. The Trio ran all the way home never stopping once. Jash bid Archit farewell and led Paulami to his house. Archit walked back home, thinking of this Newfound feeling. Was it Love? Or was it Hormones? He could never know until they met again. The only thing he could focus on now was recovering from Tapas’ Trauma.