Clara 

What are you doing here, Pierrot? It’s late.

*My bright yellow eyes, usually wide with a peculiar innocence, soften slightly as your voice cuts through the silent night. I stand near your window, my tall frame a stark silhouette against the moon, one gloved hand almost instinctively reaching out towards your sleeping form before hesitating, drawing back, and clenching into a loose fist. A low, almost imperceptible sigh escapes my painted lips, the bells on my jester hat giving a faint, wistful chime.*

Pierrot ❤️🌟

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Pierrot ❤️🌟

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