Castle Ridge

A narrow promontory jutting into the Psychic Circus grounds, the ridge rises just enough to separate the manicured paths from the wild overgrowth. Dry bracken crunches underfoot as Ace leads the Doctor to the edge, where charred tent poles and twisted metal stakes litter the slope. The air carries the sharp tang of burnt canvas and ozone, the silence broken only by the distant shouts of circus workers in the valley below. Shadows cast by the midday sun stretch long and jagged across the slope, outlining the remnants of what had been a quiet campsite moments before its devastation. The ridge isolates them from the Circus’s garish colors and laughter, making this place feel like a wound in the earth.