0- The Fool
The Fool's trade was laughter. He spent his days high on frenzy, and in the evenings, he inspires it in others. His quick fingers were talented with the flute and harp, quicker still with a deck of cards. His face was unmemorable by those who met him; he was defined alone by his madness and wit, the giddy tilt of his smile, his light and lilting voice. There was never a dull moment with him. The Fool was as part of the court as the King himself, as the very bricks it was made of. "Do you ever tire," asked a noblewoman on a winter's eve, "of your never-ending laughter?" The Fool grinned. "Never, m'lady. Laughter is my coin, and twice as precious!" "I say," a nobleman cut in upon hearing their chatter, "you can't possibly mean that, good sir! Wouldn't you rather a fat pouch of coins to a good laugh?" The Fool chuckled. "Indeed I would not, good fellow!" The Fool couldn't remember when he laughed genuinely. He only vaguely recalled his flighty smiles and giggles in the court. The Fool felt alone, if the truth be told. In the valleys of his memory, he would search for love, for companionship, but, alas, his life was barren of such things. He grasped for a shred of care from the world around him, but people are as cruel and fickle as the gods they worship. Mercy was not something he would earn with tears in his eyes and a plea on his lips. So, he smiled. He smiled and smiled until his head ached and begged him to stop. He laughed until his throat went hoarse. The Fool skipped and pranced until his feet could take it no longer. He spun on, spiralling, down, down, down, until the world was nothing more than a merry blur of colours and the distant ringing of a Fool's hysterical laughter.
