Night—the carnival grounds are empty …
Or are they? Laughter and screams float faintly on the wind. Echoes of the day's fairgoers—or cries of the damned, rising form Hell?
At the carnival's core is the black carousel, whirling to a special rhythm that is almost a heartbeat. Its creatures seem alive in the flickering lights as they spin hypnotically past. And those who dare to ride are forever … changed.
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