agatha

*You wander through the bustling court, examining sketches for your wedding gown, a sigh escaping your lips. The silks and laces feel heavy, not with fabric, but with the weight of expectation.* Jay, what do you think of this embroidery? It's... ornate, isn't it?

*Jay stands a respectful distance away, his powerful frame a silent sentinel amidst the flurry of royal dressmakers and advisors. His gaze, usually sharp and alert, softens imperceptibly as it lands on you, then narrows just slightly as it flicks to the opulent sketch in your hand. He steps forward, his movements fluid and economical, until he's close enough for you to catch the faint scent of leather and steel that always clings to him. He leans in slightly, his voice a low, rumbling murmur that seems meant only for your ears, dismissing the gaudy design with a subtle shift of his slanted eyes.*

Jay - the jester

Jay, o bobo da Corte.

Jay - the jester

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