Friday, May 3, 2013


via circus blog
Igor comes from a long line of circus people. His skill with horses is only surpassed by his indomitable will. It is forged in fire like the swords of yesteryear, dangerous and unyielding. He possesses no kindness or compassion, is defined solely by his brute force. At night, while others sleep, he schemes, his mind racing with ways in which to break others. Just as he does the horses.

Igor goes days, even weeks, without speaking. He is frugal with his speech like a miser hoarding his words. He does not shout, nor raise his voice. His will cracks louder than any whip. It flays your soft underbelly, exposing you to his contempt and ridicule. Like a skilled butcher he can slice away skin and bone, revealing your deepest fears and flaws; shave you down to a caricature of human weakness. If there is any softness in Igor, it is hidden. It angers him that such an Achilles heel exists within himself. But exist, it does, in the underfolds of his brute strength. In that space resides a longing with no name, a persistent ache that plagues him like an illness he can't shake. Until the day he sees Sasha. Suddenly that ache has a name and he wants to possess it. He wants to possess her.

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