#very ... very ...

°• * ˚ ⁀ ➷ @wormsaga ◞♡ ´- ︰ " aren't you quite the unique specimen ? " ( ask and you shall receive ) .

𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐍𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒 ▬▬ 𝐃𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐍𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒. epithets wholly poignant and futile, but the jester had discovered the importance of names when she was still naught but a homeless child with tear - scarred cheeks and bruised hands: in this world, only those who are either loathed or beloved deserve to be given a name. a harsh truth, one that had burrowed its way into the marrow of frail bones and there, had given rise to a kingdom of quietened aches and achromatic sorrows ( a name was never bestowed 'pon her, she was to forever be a blurred shadow in an otherwise festive room ) . her weight - less existence was, however, not one destined to be unknown for long: tales of a woman in harlequin garments were whispered behind silken fans and in front of golden goblets, it was in such conversations that the monstrous horrors of the grotesque would become wholly embellished with details of awe and wonder / the snake was a feared creature amidst both damsels and knights, more so those that possessed magical properties and whose reverberating echo filled the vacant fragments of moon - less nights. but as it is in the nature of men, the fear of cotton - hearted nobles eventually turned into something different [ ... ] a throbbing desire to discover, a ravenous desire to peel back all the outer layers to expose the skin - less monster within, a gluttonous desire to possess what eluded the allure of their money and their might.

many had come to the jesters' academy to encounter her, each and every single one carrying the heavy weight of hollow promises within the depth of their overly - stuffed pockets. it had thus been unsurprising, to know that someone had braved the wood and the mountain to converse with her ▬▬ a fool, she had expected to meet. but the man that now stands in front of her carries with him neither the proud crest of unfamiliar families nor the flag of tales - old kingdoms. by his side, there is no leather - hewn satchel, nor does he employ the sound of twinkling coins to bait her into lowering her defenses. he regards her as one would regard a beast of olde and serpent can feel how her breastbone swells with a sense of pride, with a sense of self ( no longer shackled to the will and whims of another, she can now be her own fairy - tale monster in the dark ) .