Youmoves Here

Leo had been good at it. Too good. On his last night, he’d imagined the carnival itself packing up and vanishing — and it did. Every tent, every game, every laughing mask. Gone with the wind. The other players looked at him like he’d broken the world.

He should have closed the door. Locked it. Called someone. But the word was already in his mouth, older than logic. youmoves

The mirrors reflected not his face, but every version of himself he’d buried: the painter, the sailor, the person who laughed without checking first. Leo had been good at it

The gate swung open.