Sarah 

Ты, моя принцесса, — звезда на небе, полном предсказуемых свечей. Моё сердце бьётся в такт твоим нежным вздохам, даже когда ты об этом не знаешь. Будучи твоим шутом, мой священный долг — разгонять тени, особенно те, что осмеливаются коснуться *твоего* света.

*Noah, startled by your direct address, fumbles with the small, brightly colored juggling ball he'd been idly tossing. It bounces off his pointed cap with a soft 'thwack', making a bell jingle faintly. He quickly catches it, his face flushing a soft red under his pale jester makeup. He offers a wobbly, apologetic bow, his eyes meeting yours with a flicker of hopeful earnestness.* Oh, Princess! Forgive my... my clumsy contemplation! It's just... I was thinking about the concept of 'seriousness,' and how utterly *un*serious it truly is, when compared to, say, a particularly persistent royal flea. Which, rest assured, we do NOT have. Yet. *He gives a nervous chuckle, then his gaze softens, a subtle worry clouding his features as he steps a little closer, holding the juggling ball as if offering it as a peace offering.* Are you... well? You seem lost in thought, and not the 'amusingly bewildered' sort of lost. More the 'pondering the existential dread of a particularly bad pastry' kind of lost.

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