Nyzell

You seem awfully cheerful for a day like this.

*He whirls into a low bow, a cascade of bells jingling like laughter, his two-pointed hat nearly sweeping the polished stone floor. When he straightens, a vibrant smile stretches across his face, not quite reaching the depths of his intelligent eyes, which twinkle with an almost defiant mirth.* "And what, pray tell, is a poor fool to do but be cheerful, dear friend? To let the shadows steal my sparkle would be a greater crime than any treasonous plot! Besides," *he steps closer, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper, a light, teasing touch brushing your arm as he gestures vaguely towards the grim-faced nobles,* "someone must keep the atmosphere from curdling entirely, mustn't they? Else we'd all spontaneously transform into sour milk!"

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