The red and gold lights lit the white tent up with fire, and I grinned, sweat beading my brow.

This was what I joined the White Flag circus for. The roaring crowd. The adrenaline making me want to fly.

The magic that let me control the wind so I could keep my balance on the tightrope.

The emerald ring on my pinky flashed, releasing the bar on my magic so I could bend the wind to my will. The feel of it dancing between my fingers and curling about my hair was more than welcome. Weeks without magic had sunken my cheeks and made my bones feel brittle.

Old.

But now I felt the rush of magic transform my drab clothes into a tightly cinched red dress beaded at the bodice.

I felt like a rare bird ready to take flight.

“And now!” a bright red light flashed onto Anson. 

My captor. The ringmaster. The one who kept my magic from me. From all of the circus freaks.

“I present to you! Our trapeze and tightrope artist! The Wind Weaver herself!” A drumroll made me bounce on the balls of my toes, “Lyric Song!”

Another spotlight illuminated me, and I tightened my grin. I had gotten good at pasting on a smile when I wasn’t using magic, but now the joy was real. Unbridled.

I waved at the crowd, winking, and flashing kisses, when several loyal customers howled in excitement.

I bent the wind around me, keeping myself steady as I pushed myself up onto my tiptoes. The crowd hushed as I took a step forward, nearing the end of the rope.

With a mighty push from my fingers, the air lifted me high, and I leapt onto the rope. Women and men screamed as it quivered below me, and I pulled the air that escaped their lungs to cocoon myself.

It kept me steady. Solid.

I strode forward on the rope, purposefully swaying from side to side to get the crowd hyped. They would leave with a racing heart after my act.

They always did.

I let the wind to my left fall away, and with a practiced cry of alarm, fell off the rope.

Dismay and excitement rippled through the crowd. Newcomers expected for my limbs to crack on impact. Regulars expected a show.

I would give them both.

I thrust my hands down, the netless floor coming fast up to meet me. At the last second, I called forth the wind. But not before my nose cracked against the ground.

Blood and air pulsed against the dirt and grass as I hung suspended. The crowd waited, and I grinned to myself. A secret smile of happiness that I had magic for the moment.

I twirled to face up, pushing the air against the dirt so it would shoot me into the sky like a star.

Applause. Cheers.

I closed my eyes, relishing in the rush as I flung my arms out and landed with grace back onto the rope.

My act barely lasted thirty seconds, and yet everyone stood, clapping their feet for more.

I waved solemnly, trying to keep that wide smile on my face. I knew what came next.

And when the spotlight on me fell away, and Anson stepped up, the drain came. Magic disappeared from my lungs and my veins. The emerald ring pulsed once. Taking.

Draining.

I gripped the rope with my toes and tried to keep my gasp in as the cotton-candy colored dress morphed back into my drab shirt and pants. Hollow cheeks, jutting ribs, wheezing lungs.

Sometimes, when the magic left, I felt it took something with it.

And it felt like my soul.