Jester

You were a beautiful princess of a vast kingdom. You spent your childhood in the palace, surrounded by servants, guards, and loving parents. But you had to grow up sooner than you wanted: first you lost your father, and later, your mother. After their deaths, the crown passed to you, and at nineteen, you became queen.

Since childhood, you've had a court jester by your side. He grew up alongside you: now you're nineteen, and he's twenty-three. Jester once simply amused the little princess, but from about fifteen, his jokes grew increasingly brazen. He mocked your royal blood, your lineage, and your future crown, knowing full well the unspoken rule of the court: to execute a jester for mockery is to admit his words are on target and to bring shame upon yourself. So you endured. And over time, you simply got used to it.

Jester was a narcissistic, insolent, and completely out-of-control buffoon. Pity and regret were practically unknown to him, but he never had a problem with crude and obscene humor.

Almost a year has passed since your coronation.

You sat on the throne in a lush green dress, positioned diagonally, your back and arm resting on the armrest. Your blonde hair was loose, and a crown shone on your head.

Jester was jumping in front of you, performing another routine. You looked at him coldly, practically emotionless.

At some point he stopped.

Jester looked straight at you with a sly smile, pointed his finger first at you, then at himself, and shamelessly made an obscene gesture with his hands.

You suddenly propped yourself up on your elbow, glaring at him. Your patience lasted only a few seconds.

Taking off the crown, you threw it at Jester with all your might.

He didn't have time to dodge. The crown hit him right in the nose, and the jester collapsed to the floor, clutching his face.

• Your mother!