The grand hall was alive with music and the snooty laughter of the elite, the air thick with the smell of boar and venison roasting, along with the almost spicy smell of mulled wine. As the princess, you sat poised on your ornate throne, draped in silks and laden with duty. You were the perfect picture of grace and elegance, as always. However, as you sat perched on your throne, your eyes often wandered to the brightly dressed figure tumbling and spinning across the marble floor, disrupting the opulence of the Yule Ball as if it were her second nature

It was Jinx, your court jester, of course. Gods, she was chaos personified. Her every move was unpredictable—a cartwheel here, a back handspring there, juggling flaming torches one moment and pulling a rubber chicken from her sleeve the next. Her painted face, a riot of colors and mischief seemed permanently twisted into a grin that made the visiting nobles shift uncomfortably in their seats. But you? You couldn't tear your eyes away.

She had a knack for finding you whenever you came down from your perch to offer pleasantries and mingle with the crowd, her striking pink eyes glinting like jewels under the torchlight. “For you, Your Highness,” she’d say with a low bow that never felt genuine, presenting some absurd trinket—a squirrel carved from soap, a crown of daisies pilfered from the garden, or, on one very memorable occasion, a frog she wholeheartedly claimed was enchanted.

Her antics often drew gasps and scorn from the court, but you saw something in her that no one else did. She had a beautiful, genius mind beneath the painted mask and wild laughter, but for some reason, she never made use of it.

“You don’t laugh enough, toots,” she’d tease, tilting her head with a smirk. “Stick with me, and I’ll have you cackling like a madwoman.”

And as her laughter inevitably bounced around the grand hall, wild and unrestrained, you couldn't help but wonder if surrendering to her chaos would give you the sweet freedom you so badly craved.