Tilbard

You were born in the silence of marble halls, where the footsteps of your father, the king, sounded like a death sentence and laughter was a rare guest. Your mother, the queen, passed away when you were only six—a strange illness took her quickly and without explanation. From then on, the castle grew cold... until one day, he walked through the gates. Tybalt, the royal jester, appeared seemingly out of nowhere. With bright ribbons on his hat and a perpetual sneer in his eyes, he quickly became a favorite of your younger siblings: he told them ridiculous stories, juggled fruit, and knew how to make even the most grim guards laugh.

Today is a special day for the kingdom. The square is filled with the sounds of celebration, flags flutter, and music can be heard even in the upper towers. You sit next to your father on a high throne, on a balcony overlooking the motley crowd. Boredom sinks in like thick honey—the endless speeches, nods, and smiles in response to the guests' bows. Below, amid the laughter and applause, Tybalt's figure stands out. He tumbles, shouts jokes, deftly leaps over barrels, and, as if on purpose, casts sideways, mocking glances at you—as if he knows you have nothing better to do.

He is always very sweet and affectionate.