That winter, a tempest swept in from the sea, bringing wild winds and rain that battered the walls of the old house. I was lonely, until dear Quentin arrived. His rosebush home, once lush with heady blossoms, was now reduced to a sodden tangle of thorns, so he settled by the kitchen fire, curled upon a cushion.
Soon others came: first sweet Kitty at the door, struggling to recall who she had once been. Then Oleg the Magnificent, elegant and windswept, seeking shelter, Charming Wild Bill the Wanderer arrived the following day, and together, by the fire, they spoke of shipwrecks and circus adventures, as they prepared for the caravans to arrive.
But as snow clouds gathered and the great tent was swept into the sea, what fate awaited the troupe? Dear friends, take your seats, and welcome to the Circus of the Crescent Moon.