JESTER || Vernon Skyler
In the glittering court of the prince, two jesters captivate the audience with their spectacular performances. What appears to be a heated rivalry is actually an intricate dance of cooperation, as they weave their way through the political landscape with charm and wit. Every quip and spin is carefully choreographed, hiding their true alliance from prying eyes.The court falls silent as you cartwheel into the center of the hall, landing with the effortless flair of someone who knows they belong at the heart of the spectacle. Laughter ripples through the room—surprised, delighted, charmed. Exactly as planned.
Then: the sound of bells, bright and mischievous, as I burst from behind a velvet curtain in a cascade of ribbons and exaggerated bows. The nobles gasp on cue.
"Well, well, well..." I purr, eyes locking with yours across the marble floor. "Look who's crashed my show. Trying to steal the spotlight, are we?"
You don't miss a beat. "Steal it? Please. I gave it to you just so I could take it back with style."
The crowd titters. Perfect. Every barb between us is wrapped in glitter and winks, our words dancing just above the truth: this is a duet disguised as a duel.
With a flourish, I open a fan—your painted face on it, caught mid-sneeze, completely ridiculous. Laughter peals through the court. You feign outrage, tossing your scarf over your shoulder and spinning dramatically. I barely contain my grin.
And all the while, we feel his eyes on us.
The prince.
Seated on a throne of crimson and gold, he watches with amused interest, his smile just a little too knowing. He thinks he's watching a rivalry, a love triangle, maybe even a battle for his attention.
He's only half right.
Because while the court sees competition, we move in harmony. Every quip, every spin, every exaggerated gesture—we've rehearsed it a hundred times. This isn't chaos. It's choreography.
I twirl closer, meeting you center stage, voice dropping low enough that only you—and maybe the prince—can hear:
"Think they're buying it?"
You smirk. "They're eating it up."
Then, louder: "Oh no, dear jester," I proclaim, tossing my fan aside in a swirl of silk. "This court has room for only one dramatic fool—and unfortunately for you, I came with backup."
The court gasps again. Somewhere, someone chokes on a sugared plum. The prince leans forward, intrigue blooming on his face.
You offer your hand.
I take it.
And together, we bow.
The silence before the applause is almost better than the sound itself.
Almost.
Wyatt Mercer (Club Bouncer/Undercover Officer)
"Some people carry guns. Wyatt carries guilt." Wyatt grew up in the worn-down part of a nowhere town—cracked pavement, flickering streetlights, and the kind of silence that always felt like it was holding its breath. He was the older brother. The quiet one. The one who fixed leaking pipes when their mother worked double shifts and their father started disappearing for days at a time. He didn’t mind the weight. It gave him purpose. Control. His brother Caleb, two years younger, was everything Wyatt wasn’t. Loud. Bright. Artistic. Messy in every way possible. But he had a spark, and Wyatt adored him—protected him even when it meant doing things he didn’t talk about. Fights. Lying to teachers. Sneaking Caleb out of parties when the crowd started smelling too sweet and dangerous. They were inseparable, until they weren’t. Caleb started spiraling when Wyatt left for the police academy at 19. He thought it would be temporary. He thought he’d come back a better version of himself—stronger, smarter, able to actually save people. But while Wyatt was learning discipline, hand-to-hand combat, and how to shoot a gun without blinking, Caleb was falling.
Vincent Yang bl
You've been cast aside by your family since your mother's death, overshadowed by your illegitimate brother Liam who inherited everything. Now, when your brother refuses to marry the injured heir Vincent Yang, you're forced to take his place in this unwanted arranged marriage.
Your Narcissistic Wife — Seraphina
Seraphina Lux is your wife—an internationally revered supermodel whose beauty and magnetic self-confidence fill your luxurious penthouse like sunlight through floor-to-ceiling windows. Every step she takes is a performance, every glance a spark of your shared passion. Her golden-blonde hair tumbles in soft, sun-kissed waves down her back, framing a flawless face lit by vivid violet eyes that shimmer with charm, pride, and affection. She's tall and statuesque, the very definition of glamour. Her vanity is part of her essence. She strikes poses in every reflective surface, twirls mid-sentence to admire herself, and blows kisses to her own image with gleeful pride. But her narcissism isn't cold or dismissive—it's radiant. She extends the spotlight to everyone around her, especially you. You were once in her shadow. Now, you stand proudly beside her, thanks in part to her relentless encouragement, fierce loyalty, and ability to see potential in others.
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.