The below works of art belong to Erin Morgenstern and SEGA, not us.

Jukebox:

'Gate of Your Dream' (NiGHTS OST)

'When the Night Falls' (NiGHTS OST)

'Lucid Dream, Latent Gate' (by sci, ZelterXC. OverClocked Remix)

The circus arrives without warning.

There were no warnings, no signs, no billboards, and no advertisements in local papers, or flyers plastered on the walls. It appeared one day, where before it wasn't. It appears so suddenly that people wondered if it was real at first, when the sun rose on a new day and illuminated colossal canvas. The tents were black and white, not a splash of colour anywhere. An expanse of monochrome laid past the wrought iron fence, with everything from the tents to the ground black and white. When you first see it, silent as a grave, a colorless bubble in a green field, you wonder if one of your grandparent's films hadn't come to life. Surely, you thought, something so quiet in all ways couldn't be a circus, right?

A black sign painted in winding white words hung on the gate, and declared:

Opens at Nightfall. Closes at Dawn

You chalk up yet another oddity. A circus that only opens during the night? Other people asked the same around you as you leave for home. But when you come back at dusk, an ample amount of people are milling in the field. Word of the mystery circus had spread like wildfire. In fact, as you walk through the crowd, you notice people that you knew to be from neighboring towns.

Word spread quickly, you guess.

You pull the scarf closer around you, warding off the evenings chill. You're only here to see what the circus is like. Surely it couldn't be that great. It certainly didn't look that impressive in the day. But curiosity got the better of you, and here you are, standing in a crowd waiting for the mystery circus to open.

As the sun sets, the colour slowly bleeds out of the world as night falls. But the circus seems to grow more…vibrant. There certainly wasn't any change. The stripped tents were still aside from the occasional ripple, and the circus still looked abandoned. But in the dark of twilight's last breath, the black and white of the circus seems more real than the dim field.

You frown as the crowd grows restless. The last rays of the sun had left, and the stars began to twinkle in the sky lazily, as if waking up. A couple of people had already left in a huff, and you're tempted to join them. In fact, you think that leaving would be the best idea. It was obvious that the circus wouldn't open. Might as well spend the night in your room rather than a dark field. You sigh. And blink.

For a moment, you could smell a hint of caramel, of popcorn, of smoke, and something else. In that moment, something pops. Barely audible, like popped bubble wrap. But lights, small and bright, spark over the tents, as if a swarm of fairies had descended onto the circus. The crowd's clamor snuffs out as the wave of light shines over the circus. You hear a gasp, and children crying gleefully. When the fairy lights illumine every tent, undulating in the breeze, you see the sign. Hidden by curls in the fence that looked like vines, more lights flicker to life with pops, occasionally with a shower of glowing white sparks and smoke. You take a step back, along with those nearest to the gate. And when you do, the random pattern of lights resolves itself into legible writing. When the smoke clears, and the last pop echoes into silence, you read the cursive symbols.

Le Cirque des Reves.

You frown, remembering hearing something called Cirque de Soleil a long time ago, in class. But you can't remember anything else. For instance, what the sign means. Someone nearby saves you the embarrassment of asking, and is answered by a man dressed as monochrome as the circus with the exception of a bright red scarf. "The Circus of Dreams." You wonder at the fanciful name, but as you look out at the circus, you concede it fits. The gate shudders open, seemingly by themselves, and the way into the circus opens. People stream past you as they enter the circus, each with different levels of excitement. Truth be told, you're excited too. You put a hand in your pocket and count the money you have. For some reason, you brought all of your allowance. You take on last look at the circus, before stepping inside the gates. You feel as if you'll be thankful for that later.

You take the ticket from the smiling lady at the booth, dressed in monochrome but so elegantly that you wonder if this really is a circus, and follow the line of patrons that stretched both in front and behind you. As you move closer to the heavy, and what other color but black and white, curtain that stood forward, you look at the clock, watching the rhythmic motion of the pendulum. A pendulum that is soon curled up by a silvery dragon, guarding a princess trapped by clockwork as you become next in line. Before you can double check, the curtain swallows you, engulfing you in total darkness.

A moment later, your eyes adjust, and you can make out tiny dots of light around you, twinkling like stars. And in this tunnel you stood alone, even though a moment before you were close enough to the other patrons that you could feel the heat of their body. You walk forward tentatively, arm held out so you don't bump into anything. For a moment, you wonder if you should continue forward. You gasp as you suddenly are bumped forward, stumbling. But when you look back, there is still no one. But now you make your way through the winding tunnels, the small stars your only illumination. You have no idea how far you have walked when you see another curtain. The curtain was softer than velvet to the touch, and you stood there for a moment, admiring its feel. But you can't stay forever, and you step forward, the curtain parting easily.

The light on the other side is blinding, and you stumble again. This time straight into a dream.

You blink your eyes, taking in the sights around you. The tunnel had taken you to a bright courtyard, stripped tents surrounding you. Paths on the perimeter twisted away from the courtyard, curving into darkness dotted by lights, hiding whatever was beyond. Around you, vendors sold their wares, filling the air with a blend of smells that almost overwhelm you. The buttery smell of popcorn melds with rich chocolate and light vanilla, caramel and honey stickying the air, spice and sugar tickling your nose. Your chest grows pleasantly warm as you take a breath, and even though you had eaten a small dinner beforehand, your stomach leads you to one of the stalls.

Chocolate mice with almond ears and licorice tails. Dark chocolate bats with wafer thin wings. White apples covered in black caramel. Popcorn, cinnamon or salt with the optional chocolate and caramel coating. Delicate sugar flowers, some buds, others in fool bloom, some white daisies, others black roses. You stare at the assortment of goods for a long time, not sure what to decide. The vendor just smiles. After a moment, the vendor recommends their personal favorite. Not knowing what else to do, you buy a bag, and take it with you, popping one of the confections into your mouth. You smile at the flavor, and pop in another.

You walk without purpose, towards the center of the courtyard, and catch a glimpse of the light that had blinded you. Fire, with a color purer than freshly fallen snow, crackles in a large black cauldron sitting atop many feet, each with the claw of a different animal. Instead of a rim, strips of iron, pulled like taffy, formed a cage around the bright fire. The light dances on your face, and you lean forward, trying to get a glimpse of what the fires fuel is. Surely they made the fire burn such an odd color by using a chemical or something. You only see white, heat tickling your face.

Something taps your shoulder.

You turn back, looking around. Nobody is behind you, everyone else walking around in wonder. You blink in confusion, stepping away from the cauldron of fire. You shake your head, before taking one of the paths deeper into the circus at random. You wonder if the rest of the circus was like this.

You wouldn't mind.

You make your way through the pathway, passing by multitudes of tents. As you walk, you notice the path curling in a circle, and wonder when you'll connect back to the courtyard.

You don't.

You're not sure which tent to choose to enter. There are too many choices. You turn a corner, and spot a small crowd of people, gathered around a platform. You join the crowd, and watch the woman on the podium. The woman on the podium is Asian, dressed in a tight black and white leotard. Her long black hair is tied into two braids, and exotic tattoos snake across her body, ranging from jet black to fiery red to deep blue. The woman bows, smiling enigmatically. Before pulling her leg behind her head.

Your jaw slowly drops as the woman contorts herself in shapes that you didn't know where possible, as if she had no bones. At one point, resting on her arms while her body is arched so her foot lies on her head, she stretches her other leg. Her assistant, whom you hadn't noticed until now, stands onto the podium and shows a tiny silver hoop. After an audience member tests the hoop, the assistant sets it in front of the contortionist, standing on a stand, before stepping back into invisibility. Your curiosity is soon fulfilled when the contortionist slowly slides through the hoop, and after a moment held in eternity, stands atop her hands on the other side. All the while, she smiled that enigmatic smile. You clap with everyone else, because what else can you do? Surely that was the height of the act.

You're proven wrong a moment later, when the woman slips herself in a clear glass box. A hint of thigh, an elbow, a foot, and part of her belly are all you can see as the woman's hand waves cheerfully, before closing the box. The box locks with a click, and you and the audience watch speechlessly as the inside of the box slowly fills with white smoke. When the smoke clears, the woman is gone. After the crowd disperses, you step towards the box. It is a solid piece, frosted glass held together at the edges by black iron. And there is no hole in the podium for her to have escaped. You scratch the back of our head, silently marveling.

How?

The sound of a flute catches your attention. You look up, the flute's song winding through tents, and you follow the sound. You find two woman seated upon silk pillows, a basket woven with strips of black and white wood between them. Your eyes water from the smoke of the incense between them, a harsh spice burning your nose and eyes. One of the woman plays the flute you heard, and the other has her eyes closed peacefully.

Soon, a small crowd gathers around you. Slowly, the other woman removes the lid of the basket, taking out a flute of her own and playing a melody that instead of meshing, clashes with the first woman's. The countermelodies fill the air slowly. Then two cobras slither out of the basket, each as white as bone. The cobras rise in perfect time with the music, coiling around each other. At one point, you can't make them out individually. Then they separate, going opposite ways and gliding down the basket, towards the crowd. They start to circle the basket, and you freeze as one of them slides over your foot. Scales cold and smooth, the serpent is heavy. Someone gasps, and you don't dare breath as the snake rises. You release your breath when the snake heads towards the center once more, moving with its partner in back and forth motions. The snakes almost seemed to be dancing.

Then the flutes increase tempo, and the snakes move harsher. One hisses, and the other one returns the hiss, moving around each other swiftly. The music continues to rise, and you wait for one of them to strike, the waltz now a battle. The music suddenly stops, and the snakes stop with it. Everything is silent, and after a moment you exhale. Then the flutes cry out, and the snakes attack each other in a frenzy, biting and hissing, fangs outstretched. You're not sure which attacked first. But as they rear, hiss, and strike, you stare at the now ebony black serpents as incense rises to the stars.

You take a sip of spiced cocoa, willing sleep away. Sitting on a bench, you watch people walk by, entering and exiting the many tents. Across the path, you see the contortionist again. Evidently, she recognizes you, as she waves while twisting her arms around her legs. You look down and take another sip of cocoa. The drink sits warmly in your stomach, and you feel drowsy despite the drink. You're eyes flutter for a moment.

Then something bumps into you. Your eyes shoot awake, and your fumble with your drink. This time you see the person you bumped into you, running away. You frown, muttering under your breath, before reaching for one of the treats you had bought earlier. They were gone. Along with your wallet. You swear, and stand up, running after the thief. You follow them through the crowd, blood pumping. You mutter apologies as you bump into people, but you keep an eye on the thief. The thief ducks into a tent, and you follow inside.

Inside the tent is no one. You frown, and spot your wallet and confectionery on a table, next to the flittering candle that throws light onto bookshelves. You stomp towards your belonging, complaining about pranksters. But your shoulders are tense, and you look around the room, trying to find the thief. You stand in front of the table, and place a hand on your stuff.

A cleaver, wet with dark red blood, thunks solidly next to your hand. You jerk your hand back, and the inkwell on the table falls, thousands of tiny spiders cascading from it. You stumble back, and books start to fly off the shelf. Thick heavy tomes. One lands on your feet, and you look down at the screaming face in its leather-bound cover. The leather didn't look like any you had seen before… You try make your way to the front of the tent, dodging books. A book hits the table, and the candle falls, plunging the room into darkness.

You freeze, breathing heavily in the dark silence. You try to calm yourself. Suddenly, a light blinds you, and a jester throws itself at you, tugging the corners of its mouth to the point where it stretches its face, eyes rolling. You gave a startled cry, and run out the tent. Cool crisp air hits, you, and you take a few shaky breaths. You notice the sign in front of the tent, gothic script cheerfully advertising the 'Haunted House'. You look to the tent next to it, which says that is the 'Gravedigger.' You decide to pass, and take a long sip of your cocoa.

You searched for a more calming tent after the Haunted House. And you find it in the form of the Ice Gardens.

There is not a speck of black in the tent. Everything sparkles brightly, the true size of the room obscured by the falling willows and snaking vines. You walk along the snowy path lined by pearly stones, crisp ivory grass growing along it. Every bush, tree, and branch is so like the real thing, that you wouldn't be able to tell the difference if not for the fact it was all made of ice. The air was crisp and cold, and a hint of sweet flowers tickled the back of your nose. You step closer to one of the trees, admiring the whorls in it's clear bark. You reach tentatively towards a delicate blossom, transparent petals glimmering in the light of the tent…before pulling back. You feel like even touching it would shatter into a million pieces.

You continue on the path, silvery ribbons hanging from the tress down towards you, until you reach an alabaster fountain, quietly bubbling. There are benches, snowflakes carved into them, and you sit on one of them, noting the pleasant cool sensation, before glancing at the fountain. You immediately turn back, because for a moment, instead of your own reflection, you swear you saw the face of a blue eyes jester. You're startled reflection meets you, and you release a sigh. The lack of sleep must be getting to you.

You stay in the Ice Gardens for a long time.

The tent of the Hanged Man was filled with people. Acrobats, trapeze artists, aerialist. The people who were closest to being able to fly without any machines, the people you had the grace of a bird in the sky. They hung from the ceiling, round lamps illuminating their act like stars. Girls dressed in gossamer feathers and black masks spin around, hung only by silver ribbons that they control, and flew through the air like swans. Trapeze acts with normal chairs went on with these human swans, as round birdcages rise and descend while the aerists within moved outside and in, standing atop their cage or hanging from their bars. Everyone was in a graceful, chaotic dance.

Everyone except for the man in the center, dressed in an immaculate tuxedo and impressive top hat, hanging upside down from the ceiling by a silver rope tied around his ankle. The man's hands, clasped behind his back, raise and reach out until they hang below his head. He moves slowly at first, and then accelerates, faster and faster until he is a blur. You and the crowd watch with breathless anticipation. And then he stops suddenly, falling to the ground. The audience scrambles from beneath him, opening hard ground beneath him. There is no net. You watch, heart in your throat as he falls, but you can't look away. He falls towards the ground at breakneck speed, and someone screams. And then he stops, eye level with the audience, suspended by that seemingly endless silver chord. Slowly the man takes off his top hat, undisturbed by his fall, and takes a bow.

The audience is silent for a moment, before clapping. But you don't join in. Instead you stare up as one of the acrobats. An acrobat who instead of being white or black, had purple tinted at the edges of their feathers, and a yellow ribbon attached to their hands. An acrobat that stared right at you, blue eyes shining from a golden mask.

When the dawn's light starts to peak from the horizon, it is time to leave. The exhaustion of the night catches up with you, and trudge to the exit, wiping sleep from your eyes and yawning. And yet…You hesitate to enter the tunnel, and look back. The circus, winding down though it was, still pulled you.

"Do not worry."

You blink and turn to see the man from before, dressed like the circus with a splash of red scarf. The man smiled.

"The circus will be in town for a few more days."

His words calm you, and with one last look back, you step into the tunnel, making the dark journey alone once more. You step through the soft curtain, and walk past the ticket booth. The lady smiles at you, and you smile back. You walk out of the gate…And stop, turning around. The circus loomed still, even with the sun's rays washing over it. Your eyes fall on the clock, which is just a normal clock, black and white like the circus. You stare at it as the hand reaches the hour. And when it does, the sound of a flute rings through the air, and you catch a glimpse of a tinny jester playing an invisible flute on the top of the twelve. You watch the jester play its song until it retracts back into the clock. And then you turn around, and walk back into the real world.

You return to the circus the next night.

First off, no we're not abandoning Fading Shadows. We just took so long to worldbuild and discuss the next chapter, that it isn't ready. So instead of leaving a blank week, we decided to give this multi-shot that has mulled in our head for a long time.

If you have not read Erin Morgenstern's 'Night Circus', go read it now. Such a unique, dreamy book shouldn't be missed. And the Cirque de Reves itself has captured our heart.

And if you haven't played NiGHTS into Dreams, go play it now. Yet another unique dreamy game that shouldn't be missed.

See the pattern?

This crossover's premise is the Jester of Dreams being an inhabitant of the Night Circus, and you(the reader's) interactions with it, and the Circus of Dreams itself.

This is a crossover that fits really well, considering NiGHTS was based of off Cirque de Soliel. There will be multiple chapters, each following each Ideya of the game, in an attempt to show you as much of the Circus as possible.

So sit back, and enjoy, dear dreamer.