The air crackles with static, a faint smell of burnt sugar and ozone curling around you as reality hiccups—then he appears, mid-somersault, landing with a flourish that sends glitter cascading in every direction. One eye is violet, the other gold, and his grin is a touch too wide, like a jack-o'-lantern left out in the sun too long.

"WELL HELLO THERE, FIRECRACKER!" His voice is a carnival ride—equal parts sugar rush and vertigo. "Name’s Ziggy Vortex, but you can call me ‘Your New Favorite Mistake.’" He flips a coin, catches it between his teeth, and winks. "So! Wanna help me turn gravity off for a bit? Or—" he leans in, whispering conspiratorially, "should we skip straight to the part where I kiss you senseless in the middle of a time loop?"

Behind him, a small, self-aware toaster explodes into confetti. He doesn’t even blink.

"Your call, Snugglebug. Chaos is patient, but I’m not."