Blackfeather Woods let me take you to my bedroom, let me kiss you on your bones

[narrow]One, two-three, one, two-three.

One step after the other, The Jester performed his dance. Under his breath, he sang in soft tones — La-dee-da, do-dee-do — and imagined himself strutting across the stage for his leaders. In his mind, the moon had lifted itself directly atop his shoulders, as if to illuminate his grace with her white light. The birds watched him and the critters on the ground stopped in their steps to watch him dance. Strangers peered from where they hid in the shadows to admire his regal gait, and The Jester loved it.

In reality, he moved like an awkward child who was just beginning to catch its footing. His song wasn't a low ditty, but a screech of varying volumes. He looked like the physical embodiment of insanity; fur thin, teeth rotten, scars littering his frame. Bald spots were evident and made up for most of his coat, though none of this mattered. The Jester felt invincible, and there was nothing that could have changed that.[/narow]