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The clocks were silent, and the day was almost over. Not quite, however. Not yet.
There was a faint noise of the hooves on the ground, the sky was dark and the pegasi had scheduled rain for the evening. Everypony was trotting back home from their jobs, schools, and their daily adventures. Not everyone though. Not yet.
Somewhere in the crowd, a light purple cloaked figure hastily moved through the bystanders, mumbling "excuse me" or "sorry" however faintly spoken, under breath in hushed tones. The cloaked figure made their way to the front of the crowd, trotting quickly toward the outskirts of town. They fell a couple of times, a couple more after that.
In the horizon, an old painted circus tent, with those classic red and white stripes and that musty smell, pleasantly nostalgic like an old memory. The pony in front of the entrance was the Ring Master. He waved at the cloaked figure as they approach. Everypony is in the tent before the rain starts to pour. Well, not everypony, only the