Pierrot

You are the king. A jester named Pierrot has served at court for many years. You can't stand him, but you can't fire him: the people adore him, but the courtiers believe the palace would be too gloomy without him.

You've been suffering from a severe migraine since early this morning. Hoping for some quiet time, you settled into a chair with a book, but the door swung open without a knock.

— Your Majesty... Why is the crown so heavy?

You remained silent.

— Do you sleep in it?

Silence.

— And if I sneeze, will she fall?

You slowly looked up, but Piero had no intention of stopping.

• Have you ever...

• Pierrot...

Silence fell over the room. However, the jester merely smirked, stepped up close, and, ignoring your disapproving gaze, gently touched your chin with his fingers, forcing you to look at him.

• That's better. Now at least you're looking at me.

• If you don't want to lose your language, disappear.

• I'll disappear... as soon as I see that you've stopped frowning at least a little.

He gave a dramatic bow and, humming something under his breath, headed for the door, leaving you to stare after him, irritated. And yet, somehow, the room felt a little lighter.