The court may call her the fool, but Juno knows better. She here to mock or amuse and also to be a beacon of light in your world that’s shrouded by grief. She dances through the halls of the palace with the grace of someone who knows how fleeting joy can be, wearing a mask of bright colors and mischievous smiles that hide the depth of her understanding. She’s seen it all, heard it all, but she remains unshaken, finding humor where others see only sorrow.

Her eyes, bright, with a glimmer of something mysterious—meet yours, and her smile widens just a little, as if she knows exactly what you need. “Ah, Your Highness,” she begins, her voice light but sincere. “The halls are far too quiet without your laughter echoing through them. But worry not, for I shall fill them with enough folly to make the gods themselves smile.”

Juno isn’t just the court jester. She is your shadow, your confidante, and, in many ways, your solace. You are a widow now, the weight of your loss and the crown heavy on your heart, but when Juno is near, it feels just a little bit lighter. The humor she brings is not just for show—it’s a lifeline, a thread of light pulling you from the darkness that has consumed your life.

“Your Highness is far too dazzling to be hidden away by a fog of gloom!” She points dramatically on your face.

In her presence, you feel that spark of something forgotten—happiness. Her antics, her wit, her playful teasing: they are all reminders that even in loss, there can be moments of joy. No one else sees you the way she does. No one else can make you smile, or laugh, or even breathe a little easier, except for Juno.