#executioner reader

[Tw: Death]

Jester Executioner Darling who is more machine than flesh.

Living off the blood they spill and the cheers of their people.

Jester Executioner Darling who mutters beneath their breath as they ruthlessly maim and rip apart the accused. If one were stand close enough to them they'd swear the words spoken without a sound sound eerily similar to a prayer.

Royal Yan who realizes there is a heart underneath that cold, painted exterior.

Royal Yan who is forced by the hand of their birth givers to rip it from their chest.

Royal Yan who loses themselves the moment they've lost what makes them whole - a cruel, vicious tyrant born as their jester's body collapses to the howls of joy from the crowd.

Royal Yan from a bloodline that lives centuries beyond the average lifespan of their people - mourning for decades to come.

Jester Executioner Darling who is reborn as a gentle, soft hearted individual obsessed with clowns, jesters, and the like.

Royal Yan who recognizes them instantly by the swirls painted on their cheeks.

That's pretty much the plot!

Jester was a gift to the royal family for their newborn child. They're essentially a living doll with the prime directive of making those around them smile- It was a tragedy written in the stars they were assigned to a family and kingdom as a whole who lived and breathed for the theatrics that were public executions.

They're a product of their surrondings, but put into the proper environment Jester Executioner had the potential to bring smiles in the traditional way for their occupation.

Royal Yan was a huge crybaby and against strongly bloodshed before Jester died at their hand. Their master's passive nature broke Jester Darling out of their conditioning, but unfortunately for both of them those around them would not allow such weakness.

-

"Stay away...."

You do not understand.

The adoring faces that blur together in the crowds would tear each other in two to receive your offering.

Ichor runs from the edge of the blade in hand - making no mark to the crimson dyed into your clothing as it lands on the point of your shoes.

Why? Why does your master cower from you? Shaking like a small leaf in the wind. It's strange.... Why won't they show you that face?

The disturbance in your sleeve lures attention to itself as it wriggles from your lax position - tiny eyes zipping to face your imposing stature as a red, palm sized slips from your grasp.

You catch it without as much as a blink.

The heir to your kingdom inches ever slowly from their hiding place. You toss the ball in the air, collecting it with similar speed and agility if not quicker. Stars dance in previously fear ridden pupils as you throw the ball for a final time - seizing it by the tip of your slipper.