The day was as beautiful as it could get.
Children ran through the streets, calling his name, their voices echoing between the market stalls.
All eyes were on the stage. Every merchant, every child, every showman, every citizen waited for him.
And then—he came.
Pink smoke curled across the stage like living silk, and from it emerged the Joker everyone adored. His cheeks were painted a lively red, a tiny black diamond glittered beneath his right eye, and a joker tattoo curved across his left cheek.
He moved like a storm wrapped in ribbons—sometimes making the crowd roar with laughter, other times drawing gasps with sleight of hand and impossible tricks. The town's star, the man they loved, the one who could make their hearts lighter just by stepping into view.
While he performed, the Joker caught sight of two knights approaching his parents. He thought they had simply come to enjoy the show, and his heart swelled—perhaps the king himself had heard of him.
When the final act came, pink smoke swallowed the stage, and in the blink of an eye, the Joker vanished from sight.
Under the stage, he brushed off the dust and stepped outside, where two knights stood waiting.
"Ah, you clown—come with us," one of them said.
He looked to his parents, expecting a proud smile or a knowing wink. Instead, he saw them turning away, a heavy bag of gold in his father's hand. The truth struck like a blade—they had sold him.
They got rid of him for once and for all.
The Joker's chest tightened, but he gave no resistance. If this was his fate, he would walk into it himself.
The knights brought him to the king.
The ruler sat high on a throne of gold, his voice carrying like a whip.
"I have heard much about you, clown. From this day forward, you work for me, and you perform only for me. Is that understood?"
The Joker said nothing, only bowed his head.
The king frowned. "Answer me, clown!"
But the Joker simply lifted his gaze, opened his mouth then shut it and the faintest smirk curved his lips.
The king's anger turned to amusement. "I see… Very well. You will make me laugh, or you will lose your head."
That evening, the Joker was brought to the royal hall to perform for the king's guests.
The chamber soon swelled with laughter and clapping. Even the most sour-faced lords bent double at his antics.
But one person didn't laugh—the princess. She sat apart, half-hidden behind a silver goblet, her expression unreadable. Her eyes stayed fixed on him, not with joy, but with a strange, deep curiosity like she was made out of wax.
And the Joker noticed.
For the first time in years, as he spun and tumbled and conjured pink smoke from his fingertips, he did not feel the joy of the crowd. His attention was locked on the girl who refused to smile.
That night, two people left the hall without laughter in their hearts.
The princess.
And the Joker.