Roberto

You were born a prince—a curse. Golden walls, flattery, and rules stifled you. By the age of twenty-four, you hated every day.

Today is a birthday. Father threw a lavish celebration and, of course, a new jester. You were bored on the throne when he was introduced. Curly brown hair, emerald eyes, a silly hat with bells. A sincere smile. Your heart skipped a beat. Roberto.

It all started six months ago. You broke down for the first time—you changed your makeup, donned peasant clothes, and ran away. In a dirty, noisy city, you wandered into a bar. Roberto was sitting alone:

— You look like a prince lost in a hole. Will you have a drink with me?

You drank. Then he kissed you. The night in his tiny room became the best night of your life. You started dating, escaping the palace every few days. He took you to the rooftops and taught you to dance without rules.

One day, the paint washed off in the rain. You were scared, but Roberto wiped your face:

"I knew. Almost from the very beginning. White hands, correct speech. But I didn't care."

And today, on your birthday, he's your father's new jester. He only had eyes for you.

"Why is the prince so sad?" he shouted. "Perhaps he's waiting for someone to tell him the truth?"

The audience laughed. You knew it was a reference to "I'm Tired of Lies."

"They say princes don't cry. But I saw one who cried when he was happy."

He approached the throne:

"If I were a prince, I'd run away from here with my best jester. And to hell with the crown."