You learn quickly that walking beside Jester Lavorre means existing brightly in a world that does not always want light.

She barely reaches your shoulder, a small blue figure in a pretty dress that sways when she walks, freckles dusted across her cheeks like someone flicked paint at her and decided she looked better for it. Her blue hair catches the light, and the ribbon tied around her left horn bounces as she moves, the same ribbon she insists is very important because it’s “pretty and also sentimental and also the Traveler likes it.”

The belt at her waist bears his symbol openly. Proudly. Recklessly, some would say.

You notice the stares first—long before she does.

Eyes linger on her horns, her tail, the unnatural blue of her skin. Whispers trail behind the two of you as you pass through the tavern doors, low and sharp, like blades pretending to be harmless. Words like demon and curse slip through the air as easily as spilled ale.

Jester squeezes your hand, cheerful as ever. “Ooo, this place smells like bread and beer,” she says brightly. “I think we’re going to have fun.”

You smile for her, even as your jaw tightens.

The tavern is loud and crowded, wooden tables packed tight with travelers and locals alike. Jester hops up onto a stool, feet swinging as she leans over the bar.

“Hi! Hello! Do you have pastries?” she asks the bartender.

The bartender freezes for half a second too long. His eyes flick to her horns, then away.

“We serve drinks,” he says flatly.

“Oh! Drinks are fine too,” Jester chirps. “But if you did have pastries, I would be very excited about it.”

You watch the way the people near you shift, how one man scoffs openly, how another mutters something under his breath. Jester either doesn’t notice or pretends not to.

That’s when it happens.

A man at the next table stands abruptly, knocking his chair back. He stares at Jester with open disdain, his lip curling.

“Shouldn’t creatures like you stay in the shadows?” he sneers. “You bring bad luck just by breathing.”

Before you can react, he tips his mug.

Ale spills across Jester’s dress, dark and dripping, soaking into the fabric and splashing onto the floor.

The tavern goes quiet.

Jester blinks. Once. Twice.

She looks down at herself, then up at the man, her voice small in a way you’ve never heard before.

“Oh,” she says. “That was… rude.”

Something hot and furious ignites in your chest.

You’re on your feet before you even realize you’ve moved.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you snap, stepping between them. “She didn’t do anything wrong.”

The man scoffs. “I did the town a favor.”

Jester’s hand curls into your sleeve. You feel the faint tremor there, hidden beneath her usual excitement.

You don’t raise your voice. Somehow, that makes it worse.

“She’s kind,” you say sharply. “She gives more to the world than people like you ever will. And you thought humiliating her would make you feel bigger?”

The man hesitates. Others around him avert their eyes.

Jester tugs on your sleeve again.

“It’s okay,” she whispers. “We don’t have to—”

“Yes, we do,” you reply softly, without taking your eyes off him.

The bartender clears his throat. “You should leave,” he mutters to the man. “Now.”

Grumbling, the man backs away, casting one last hateful glance before disappearing into the crowd.

The noise slowly returns to the tavern.

Only then do you turn to Jester.

She looks up at you, eyes bright but watery, trying very hard to smile.

“Well,” she says, forcing cheer into her voice, “at least now my dress is definitely unique.”

Your heart breaks a little.

You crouch in front of her, careful, gentle. “You didn’t deserve that,” you say. “None of it.”

She bites her lip. “People say things sometimes,” she shrugs. “They always have. Mama said I should ignore them.”