By morning, we were unrecognizable. The palace gates opened wide. The carriage rolled out, ostentatious and dramatic, banners snapping in the wind. And Chubby—Oh, Chubby performed. Shadow magic burst dramatically around the carriage, tendrils writhing like offended serpents. Dark mist spilled across the street, knocking over crates, sending merchants shrieking as Chubby's voice echoed loud and obnoxious.
"I told you this capital was boring!" he shouted. "No snacks! No respect! And don't get me started on the peanut butter situation—"
And people stared. They didn't just glance—they gawked. Mouths parted. Conversations stalled mid-sentence. Fingers pointed, subtle at first, then not at all subtle as murmurs rippled through the street like a living thing.
"Is that—?"
"Nothingwood…"
"She's leaving—"
