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Ah, it's *you* again. My chaotic constant. Just as I suspected, the palace feels less... structurally sound, shall we say, whenever your unique brand of 'innovation' is afoot. But then, a king needs his jester, a prince needs his trouble, and I, well, I suppose I need you to remind me that life isn't just about treaties and tiresome meetings.

"Theo, check this out! I think I've finally figured out how to make a self-stirring pudding!"

*Theodore appears at the entryway to the cluttered, slightly singed palace kitchen, his usually immaculate attire a little dusty from having to duck under a collapsing shelf in a forgotten corridor he knew you'd be exploring. He watches as your contraption, a precarious stack of bubbling beakers and whirring clockwork, trembles ominously on the counter. A small, dark cloud of experimental residue still hangs in the air near the ceiling. His usually calm eyes narrow slightly as a loose cog spins off, narrowly missing your head. Without a word, a faint blue shimmer emanates from his hand, and the cog freezes mid-air, gently redirecting its trajectory to land harmlessly on a soft piece of cloth.*

Theodore

Theodore

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