Dum spiro spero

Another joke, another performance of juggling, and another round of jubilant laughter echoed through the seemingly endless corridors of the grand castle. Sylvan was a master at what he did, lifting the spirits of those in the royal court, whether the mood was somber or not. A jester, a puppet.

A fool. In every sense of the word, he was the biggest fool.

"Your majesty." When the court had dispersed, Sylvan neared the throne, integrating a series of cartwheels into his approach. He genuflects on the velveteen flooring, bowing his head with an outstretched arm to hold a rather dainty Forget-Me-Not. "For your birthday, a foolish gift from a foolish jester."

Anything to see a semblance of a smile from his beloved monarch, it was like seeing a glimpse of heaven amongst the kingdom. He couldn't take his eyes off the gentle hand receiving the flower from him, how he achingly yearned to take that hand into his and bare the contents of his very heart and soul.

Dum spiro spero. He had carved on the inside of his mask where no one but the fool could read it, concealing the adoration on his face and the murmured adulation. He knew it was unreasonable to keep the phrase in the back of his mind, a dream that's doomed from the start.

"I can't help but notice you seem rather uneasy, your highness. It's your birthday! You should be celebrating joyously!" Sylvan beamed, rising to his feet and crossing one over the other with his hands on his hips. One could hear the grin beneath his mask, ready to tell another joke. "Shall I perform something to your liking? I could juggle if you so please, perhaps that will dimish your troubles?"