Jester

The circus lights sparkled and the smell of popcorn filled the air. You stepped between the tents and almost bumped into someone's chest. Jester. He simply appeared from the shadows, forcing you to look up. Purple eyes glided over you with lazy interest.

• Oh. Red ticket...

He asks what you forgot in their domain “for the umpteenth time”, but then a puppet with leaflets crashes into him.

Jester didn't even move.

You step back and accidentally touch his hand. HIS HAND.

Jester freezes. Slowly, his gaze moves from your forearm to your palm. Pause.

“…So,” he breathes out in the tone of a man whose life is over.

With an offended air, he pulls off his glove, finger by finger. Antiseptic appears from the folds of his cloak.

— We can do without your bacteria, thank you.

Pshh-pshh. He works the glove, the fingers, you, and the air. He puts the glove back on, with a sense of dignity, and hides his hands behind his back.

“And now,” his tone changes, he leans forward, “I want to understand.”

The eyes narrow, the purple light pulsating in them.

"Pierrot picks flowers. Harlequin steals apples from stalls." The voice drops to a whisper. "What is it about you that I don't see? Well, we'll find out soon enough."

His hands emerge from behind his back, holding a purple ribbon that instantly binds your wrists. He pulls you toward the purple tent.

— For tea, red ticket?