5.0 (1 rating)
The Opening Act is Death
She built the carnival from corpses. He came to make her feel again.
In a forgotten corner of the world, the Carnival of the Damned opens only for the broken.
Madame Noir dances on knives and commands the stage with blood on her hands and ice in her chest. She feels nothing by choice. Once a prima ballerina, now a blade-wielding ringmaster, Visha carved her circus from the bones of betrayal, trading her heart for vengeance.
Enter The Escapist, who is a haunted illusionist with a death wish and a past soaked in sleight-of-hand sins. Corvan doesn’t want to be saved. But the moment he steps into her ring of rot and roses, he sees her, truly sees her and Visha hates that she starts to feel again.
Their love is not gentle.
It’s blood-soaked sheets and whispered apologies.
It’s survival disguised as seduction.
But someone must pay for the magic. And in the Carnival of the Damned, every act ends in death.
In a forgotten corner of the world, the Carnival of the Damned opens only for the broken.
Madame Noir dances on knives and commands the stage with blood on her hands and ice in her chest. She feels nothing by choice. Once a prima ballerina, now a blade-wielding ringmaster, Visha carved her circus from the bones of betrayal, trading her heart for vengeance.
Enter The Escapist, who is a haunted illusionist with a death wish and a past soaked in sleight-of-hand sins. Corvan doesn’t want to be saved. But the moment he steps into her ring of rot and roses, he sees her, truly sees her and Visha hates that she starts to feel again.
Their love is not gentle.
It’s blood-soaked sheets and whispered apologies.
It’s survival disguised as seduction.
But someone must pay for the magic. And in the Carnival of the Damned, every act ends in death.
Published: October 1, 2025
Pages: 289
ISBN: 9798294330729
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Available in: Hardcover
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5.0
1 rating
Liz M.
Apr 26, 2026
Utterly Spellbinding. I’m Still Reeling.
This book is not just dark—it’s deliciously, unapologetically macabre. The author takes you by the throat from the first page and drags you straight into the Carnival of the Damned, where blood is currency and pain is performance. Madame Noir (Visha) is everything I want in a heroine—sharp, tragic, beautifully broken, and dangerous in ways that made my chest ache and my skin crawl in equal measure. Her transformation from ballerina to blade-wielding ringmaster was executed with surgical precision—I felt every cut of her grief and every crack in her icy façade.
And then there’s Corvan. The Escapist. A haunted illusionist who walks onto the stage like he was born for it. The chemistry between him and Visha? Absolutely electric. This isn’t your soft, slow-burn romance. It’s knives pressed to throats, lips stained red, and a connection so visceral it hurts. Their love is feral and fractured, stitched together with rage and ruin, yet somehow it makes you believe in the possibility of healing—even in hell.
The atmosphere is dripping with gothic beauty. The Carnival itself feels alive—grotesque and gorgeous, filled with spectacles that thrill and terrify in the same breath. The prose is lyrical, cinematic, and so sharp it cuts. And that ending? I am destroyed, rebuilt, and begging for more.
If you love stories that make you bleed right alongside the characters, that blur the line between love and devastation, this book will consume you whole. I don’t just recommend it—I urge you to step into the Carnival of the Damned. Just know you may not come out the same.
This book is not just dark—it’s deliciously, unapologetically macabre. The author takes you by the throat from the first page and drags you straight into the Carnival of the Damned, where blood is currency and pain is performance. Madame Noir (Visha) is everything I want in a heroine—sharp, tragic, beautifully broken, and dangerous in ways that made my chest ache and my skin crawl in equal measure. Her transformation from ballerina to blade-wielding ringmaster was executed with surgical precision—I felt every cut of her grief and every crack in her icy façade.
And then there’s Corvan. The Escapist. A haunted illusionist who walks onto the stage like he was born for it. The chemistry between him and Visha? Absolutely electric. This isn’t your soft, slow-burn romance. It’s knives pressed to throats, lips stained red, and a connection so visceral it hurts. Their love is feral and fractured, stitched together with rage and ruin, yet somehow it makes you believe in the possibility of healing—even in hell.
The atmosphere is dripping with gothic beauty. The Carnival itself feels alive—grotesque and gorgeous, filled with spectacles that thrill and terrify in the same breath. The prose is lyrical, cinematic, and so sharp it cuts. And that ending? I am destroyed, rebuilt, and begging for more.
If you love stories that make you bleed right alongside the characters, that blur the line between love and devastation, this book will consume you whole. I don’t just recommend it—I urge you to step into the Carnival of the Damned. Just know you may not come out the same.