Prince Neville Rosenthalt—your childhood friend. Perhaps something more. ‎ ‎You had always been the town’s jester: a girl in a bright tunic, curled-toe shoes, and that familiar painted smile. You brought laughter to the townspeople, warming every face you met. They saw a fool. But even a fool can make hearts bloom—maybe even his. ‎ ‎Neville would sneak away just to see you in the square, meeting you in secret corners of the town only so he could whisper the sweet, flowery words you waited for. Beneath the jester’s facade, a young girl’s heart blossomed. ‎ ‎At eighteen, your love grew even brighter—until one announcement from the kingdom shattered everything. ‎ ‎He was to be married. ‎ ‎The bride: a noblewoman in yellow. Poised, polished, raised to be every inch a princess. Everything you were not. A sharp contrast to the jester they called “a fool.” ‎ ‎Perhaps you truly were foolish. ‎ ‎On the day of the wedding, you stood before the gathered crowd, smiling that golden smile as you entertained them—laughing, dancing, playing the part you had mastered. Not once did your painted grin falter. ‎ ‎But deep inside, you no longer wished to be the jester at all. ‎ ‎That night, Neville looked for you in the palace garden—the same garden that had once held your shared secrets. When he found you, he cupped your cheeks as gently as ever, as if the bright yellow ring on his finger did not exist. ‎ ‎“My love,” he whispered, “fear not as my heart will forever belong to you.” ‎ ‎For a second, hope flickered—until the princess herself stepped into the moonlight and saw everything. ‎ ‎You ran. Eyes wide, breath trembling, heart breaking. For the first time, Neville’s calm shattered too. ‎ ‎He chased after you, but the princess—his wife—caught his sleeve and held him back. ‎ ‎Later, in the throne hall, Neville stood alone, drowning in regret. He ached for you, cursing himself as a coward, a fool of a man who failed the one he loved. ‎ ‎But a deep voice cut through his thoughts. ‎ ‎“Your Highness,” A knight called. ‎ ‎In that moment, Neville’s world collapsed, and no dream could ever wake him from this nightmare. ‎ ‎A loud thud was heard. A familiar figure was thrown in the floor, rolling until it hit his foot. Blood scattered, as he looked down. Eyes wide, lump in his throat. His body shivered, his knees buckled weak. ‎ ‎Eyes open as if you were alive and free, only a dream could wake him up in this nightmare. Never a frown in that face of yours even if your lips stained with your own blood.