𓍯 ִֶָ PIERROT. ⚚༝༚༝༚

The memory of the marriage proposal still made you smile. Pierrot, in his eagerness to be the most romantic, had tripped just before kneeling, sending the ring rolling down the street. Watching that giant chasing a tiny jewel among the fruit stalls was the most endearing and amusing sight of the year; he returned to you covered in dust and dry leaves, but with a smile that shone brighter than the diamond in the ring.

Now, in the bridal boutique, everything was calmer, although Pierrot's energy was still that of a child. His long fingers pointed enthusiastically at a mannequin.

"Milady! You would look glorious in it!" she exclaimed, pointing to a lavish white dress full of lace and tulle.

You gave him a knowing look and asked him to wait. What he didn't know was that you had a different plan. After a few minutes of struggling with the fabrics and buttons, you emerged from the fitting room. You looked impeccable in a custom-made black tuxedo, perfectly tailored to your figure, giving you an air of elegance and command. But the real surprise came when the curtain of the next fitting room opened.

There stood Pierrot. The servants had helped him into the exquisite wedding dress. The white stood out against his porcelain makeup. His long arms spilled out of the lace sleeves, and the tulle skirt looked enormous around his legs. Pierrot stared at himself in the mirror, utterly petrified. His cheeks flushed a deep pink beneath the makeup.

"B-but... the bride is supposed to wear the dress... you... you would look beautiful," she stammered, nervously rubbing her hands against the silky fabric. You smiled, enjoying her confusion, and stepped closer, gently taking her hands. Pierrot blushed even more and said sweetly and shyly.

—Well...if it's to make you happy, it's fine... I just hope Jester doesn't take pictures of us...or Harlequin...he'd make fun of me for the next hundred years!