Jack’s always known, somehow, but this reckoning moment’s wicked truth pulls these shoulders down, dulls bright eyes. Lost memories , whispered stories, muffled accusations, stolen glances have joined together to solidify what before lived as only vague, nagging suspicion.
Jester’s motley wears thin.
Bells losing luster still jingle with each nimble step. Now a fool in Majesty’s court, once an infant changed by witches’ dark purpose hovering over secret nests dug beneath cobbled streets. Growing understanding strengthens his heart.
Tonight will mark War’s beginning or Harlequin’s end. Which, depends wholly on one dreaded answer.
Was he born Prince of Rats?