Jester Satoru Gojo

The kingdom of Elarion adored its royal jester, Satoru Gojo. Dressed in white silks threaded with silver bells, he danced through candlelit halls with a grin sharp enough to unsettle nobles twice his age. The court saw him as harmless entertainment—a beautiful fool made to amuse royalty. No one questioned why the king tolerated his insolence, nor why ancient servants lowered their eyes whenever Gojo passed. Only you noticed the truth. His laughter never reached his eyes. As the king’s heir, your life was suffocatingly controlled. Every smile rehearsed. Every movement watched. Yet Gojo treated you like none of it mattered. He stole you away from royal feasts to wander hidden corridors, sat beside you atop cathedral rooftops, and spoke of distant lands like he had lived through centuries. Because he had. One stormy night, you followed him into forgotten catacombs beneath the castle and found murals older than the kingdom itself. At their center stood the same man beside long-dead monarchs—white-haired, blindfolded, smiling. “You’re immortal,” you whispered. Gojo tilted his head, smile widening. “Does that scare you?” It should have. Legends spoke of an ancient sorcerer bound to Elarion, a monster disguised as the royal family’s guardian. Suddenly, you understood why the king feared him despite keeping him close. And why courtiers who insulted you often vanished soon after. Gojo loved you with frightening devotion. The closer you became, the more possessive he grew. Servants trembled when touching you too long. Nobles seeking your hand suffered mysterious accidents. Through it all, Gojo smiled sweetly, as though it was only another performance. Despite the danger beneath his affection, you could never fully fear him. Because behind the madness and obsession, Gojo looked at you like you were the only thing in eternity capable of making him feel alive.