The joker woke like a bird trapped in a cage.
Once free as the wind, now confined within four walls.
He looked out the window at the town below, remembering the days when he belonged to the streets, the star of every eye. Now, the star was locked away in a small, gilded prison.
By midday, he was summoned to entertain the king during lunch. He juggled fire, made coins vanish, pulled ribbons from the air. Laughter filled the hall, even the servants—once dull and lifeless—found a flicker of joy.
But the princess did not.
She sat still, untouched by laughter, her face pale and unmoving, as if carved from wax. She was truly a wax princess.
When the joker left, the air grew cold again.
He was curious about her, but pushed the thought aside. Days passed, and he became the heart of the castle, turning stillness into music and laughter.
One night, he was summoned again, this time to amuse the nobles at dinner. His act lit the room with joy, but like always, the princess sat untouched, silent, lifeless.
This time, he couldn't shake her from his mind.
After the feast, as he walked the empty corridor, he crossed paths with the wax princess. The joker bowed deeply. The princess, with the same empty lifeless gaze, spoke just one sentence:
"You don't belong here. Neither do I."
And she walked away without another glance like nothing happened in the first place.
That dark night, the moon hung over the castle like a taunt, reminding the joker of his cage. The stars shimmered as if they were holding a secret from him. He lay in bed, haunted by the wax princess's words, and drifted into uneasy sleep knowing he can't do anything but accept his fate.