"Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you the star of the show, Madame Rose!" The booming voice of the ringmaster echoed through the circus, his over-the-top french accent at the end eliciting peals of laughter and an earth-shattering applause from the audience. It wasn't a surprise- after all, Madame Rose was the highlight of the night's entertainment. Famed throughout the world for her marvellous skill as a trapeze artist and golden voice, her ability to glide in the air on a trapeze while singing her heart out won the hearts of many. The epitome of beauty and grace, Madame Rose was every man's dream woman and every woman's role model.

A hush of fell on the audience as the lights of the circus dimmed. You could hear a pin drop as the anticipating audience waited with bated breath. The lively instrumental of "La Vie En Rose" wafted from the hidden speakers and the lights brightened once again. The slim silhouette of a woman appeared as she stood on a hoop that hung from the roof, and the circus erupted in cheers and applause once again. As the crystal clear notes of the song left Madame Rose's mouth, both her and the hoop started swinging back and forth. Slowly but surely, Madame Rose started her artistically challenging routine that kept the audience on the edge of their seats, yet she never failed to stop singing like a canary. When her performance came to an end, the audience screamed like they never had and gave Madame Rose, now safely on the ground and showered from head to toe with roses, a standing ovation. Her face was crinkled into a smile as her gloved hands caught a red rose thrown towards her. Seeing this, the crowd went into another frenzy as compliments and whistles filled the air, making Madame Rose blush bashfully.

As the show came to an end, Madame Rose retreated back into her trailer. Sitting down at her dressing table, she cast a blank glance at the multitude of fresh roses placed in uncountable glass vases at an empty space next to her closet. Madame Rose's entire trailer was covered with the stench of the sickly sweet roses, and it disgusted her. How ironic it was, being called Rose and hating roses. Lighting a cigarette with a professional flick of her hand, Madame Rose waited for the familiar nicotine rush to calm herself down. Staring at her reflection in the overly large mirror, she let out a sigh and started to wipe off her makeup. Gone was the proud, confident trapeze artist, and in her place was a timid and scared girl, Rose. Barely 23 years old, she was already broken in so many places. Her emerald eyes were dull, her skin a ghastly white, her lust for life was non existent. Madame Rose was just a shell, a disguise of who Rose actually was. With a last wipe of her cotton towel, Rose started to take her costume off. Removing the beautifully crafted feathers that adorned her head, she proceeded to peel off her signature black gloves that went up to her forearms. A series of deep,angry, red lines that embellished her porcelain skin on both wrists came to view as the gloves slipped off. Rose averted her eyes from them and immediately removed her leotard. Bruises of all colours decorated her torso and scars engraved her back. With a grimace on her face, Rose silently hoped for the torture to stop as she traced her injuries with her delicate fingers.

Dragging the last of her cigarette, Rose put on her nightgown before completing the rest of her nightly ritual- organizing the roses. As much as she hated them, sorting the flowers gave her great comfort as it took her mind off the abuse from the ringmaster. Joining the circus at the tender age of 16, she never expected her life to take such a turn- being violated by the only father figure she had in her life on her 18th birthday and giving birth to her child at 20, Rose could barely hold on to her sanity. Along with the constant beatings she had to endure for not being "perfect" enough, the mental stress of being the best trapeze artist was slowly crippling her.

"Ouch!" Rose yelped as she absentmindedly pricked herself on a stray thorn. Her grip on the flower loosened as the ruby liquid streamed from her finger. Cursing under her breath, Rose picked up the flower while nursing her finger and sat on a nearby sofa. Tears formed in her eyes as the throbbing pain evoked a dear memory- her grandmother comforting a 10 year old, blubbering Rose with cream cakes and kisses after meddling with her late father's prized roses and pricking her fingers in the process. Now, she had no one who cared for her- the entire circus was green with envy due to her success, the ringmaster only prized her for her body and the revenue she generated and her son was far too young to love her.

At the thought of her son, Rose's heart sank. It had been weeks since she last heard from him. After Sage's birth, Rose was forced to give him up to a distant family friend. The ringmaster wanted nothing to do with his illegitimate son and Rose didn't have the time to take care of him. Rose wondered with sadness if he was here with her and what their life would be like. She could barely remember his features. All she had was a small black and white photograph of a one month old Sage as a keepsake.

A sharp knock rattled her from her daydream.

"It's a telegram for you!" A screechy voice screamed. With a shake of her head, Rose got up and opened the door. It was Molly, the tightrope walker who was Rose's biggest tormentor. Leering in disgust, Molly threw the crumpled up paper into her chest.

"It's about your son," she spat. With a final glare, Molly sashayed away into the darkness.

Rose immediately shut the door and scanned through the note. Her eyes widened as a blood curdling scream escaped her mouth. Sage contracted meningitis and struggled with the deadly disease for weeks before succumbing to it.

"This isn't true. I refuse, no, I don't believe it," whispered Rose as white hot tears blurred her vision once again. But it was the truth, and it was clearly printed on the piece of paper. Her whole being trembling with fear and anguish, Rose swayed and stumbled forward before being consumed by the darkness.

The next night, the circus show went on as planned. The acts passed in a flash and before anyone knew it, it was time for Madame Rose's performance. Reciting his lines, the ringmaster and the crowd waited patiently for her appearance. However, she never appeared. The muttered grumbles of the audience slowly turned into rallying cries and unflattering curses directed at the ringmaster, who fled the tent at once to find the vanished star.

"Rose! Open your door this instant!"

With a mighty push, the ringmaster grunted and opened the door, which gave no resistance. Confused, he stepped into the trailer and was shocked by a rose petal trail that led to Rose's bedroom. Fear filled him as he gazed upon the destruction done. It was as if a hurricane came and wiped everything in it path. Broken glass shards, stray feathers from pillows and colourful fabrics were strewn everywhere.
With his heart in his throat, the ringmaster shakily opened Rose's bedroom door.

What he saw was burned into his mind. There was Rose, deadly pale with a noose around her neck, her limp body above a bundle of rose stems. In her bloodied hands, a withered rose was clasped tightly along with the telegram that delivered the heartbreaking news.

As the ringmaster fell on his knees in horror, the melancholy notes of a song accompanied his screams of agony.

"No! Rose! Wake up!"

"A rose will bloom, it then will fade,"

"Rose! No! Don't do this to me!"

"So does a youth, so does the fairest maid."

End

Note: This was supposed to be a question for our English Test on imaginative writing but the test got cancelled so it became homework. I was inspired by Dumbo (Eva Green's character was my *muse* here) as well as some good old Shakespeare tragedy. In the process of writing this story, I put Lana del Rey on loop (no elaboration needed) and What is a Youth (from the og Romeo and Juliet movie with Olivia Hussey and Leonard Whiting) which lyrics completed the ending perfectly imo. Hope you guys enjoyed this story and feel free to leave constructive criticism!