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There are a lot of different names for scars. Marks and spots, for the little ones. Blemishes and blotches for the larger ones. Disfigurements and faults for the ugly ones. Scratches, lines, pockmarks, stains, distortions, mistakes- a thousand other things to call a wound that won’t ever disappear.
“Gifts” would be among the last words you’d think to call them.
And yet.
And yet…
Paper rustling. Labored breaths. A single jingle, suddenly followed by the harsh crack of fabric cutting through air. Bells clashing like a dying cry, muffled with thumps of cloth, crumpling into the tinny rumble of metal rolling across wood. A sharp whistle of air past teeth, hissing into a mockery of a chuckle.
Jester glared down from the dark of the rafters. They could still see a faint glimmer of gold, where their hat had landed. Not on the floor of course. The hall lights still brushed their glow along the lowest beams. Lucky that it hadn’t dropped any further.
They were in no mood to fetch it.
Instead, they reached for the colorful scraps of paper scattered at their feet. Dozens of paper cranes roosted on the beam they stood on. Their hues varied as much as their size, Jester’s gentle fingers plucking them up with all the care of a nest building weaver.
“‘Scuse me, friends,” Jester murmured apologetically. “I need the perch for now.” They settled the cranes on other wood planks, gently nudging them to face toward the darkness around them. Sure, they couldn’t actually see. They were paper, after all. But it at least felt like something was watching their back. Perhaps they could add a few more cranes to this spot later…
For now, though, they just needed a rest.
Familiar splinters snagged against Jester’s worn vest as they tried to settle in the crux of two beams. Their smile twitched irritably at the sensation. Leaning forward, they tried to brush at the unfinished wood behind them. No friction met their glove’s irritated swipe. ‘Of course not,’ their thoughts leered bitterly, ‘I’m only Lucky enough to feel splinters when I need just one godsforsaken second of comfort.’ And now that they’d had their feathers ruffled, they couldn't shake the prickly itch between their shoulder blades. Like the splinters had embedded there, sticking to the grime from today’s arena fights.
Today’s fights… gods.
Everything was going just as She planned. Like a good magpied-piper, Jester played their part, haughty smiles and well placed jeers dragging the other dolls in line. One by one they fell into delicately placed strings, the fools tying up their own limbs with their useless defiant thrashing. Perfect little marionettes, bringing about their own demise.
Until… her.
The Beast.
With her gnashing teeth and razor claws, she cut right through the strings Jester had meticulously set around her neck. She barrelled right through the safe suffocating brambles of the Lady’s magic, all that fire and fury tearing into Her sacrificial dove in a way they hadn’t felt in- in- gods. When was the last time someone even managed that?
Jester didn’t get more than a second to think about it.
The prickling sensation was spreading.
Painful shivers slid down their limbs, hissing laughs fluttering from their lips. Suddenly, they were viscerally aware of their skin. Every bit of them was drenched- whether with blood or sweat, they couldn’t quite tell. What with how dark it was in the rafters, they hadn’t managed to get a good look. Not even in the infirmary, before their hasty flight up here. Her smoke smothered all their senses when they were this bad off.
… Speaking of the infirmary, they’d been ripped to ribbons before She dumped them into a bed. They certainly weren’t in ribbons now. It felt like most of everything was in place. But… a healing job that thorough, with that level of damage… shouldn’t they still be…?
With a sinking feeling, Jester realized the minty aftertaste of healing magic had faded from their tongue.
No. No, it was too early for that.
Breaths hitching, their gaze snapped down to their body. Nothing on their torso looked out of place, their soaked shirt and vest lacking any tears. Their belt, too, was intact- and they knew from the gentle pressure on their neck that their ribbon was in one piece. Their eyes slid down warily. Their left leg was untouched, leggings pristine and shoe sporting its usual jaunty curves. The right leg, though-
“What’re you doing there, friend?” Jester hissed, hastily dragging the limb closer despite its shooting pains. Dull, blood soaked bandages squelched under their touch. Their foot- gods, at least She’d returned that- was definitely wrapped correctly, but the bandages remained dull no matter which way they twisted their leg. No green. No mist. No relief. Just blood, sticky and dark.
… and a faint pink aura around their foot.
All at once, the ribbon around their neck was too tight.
The fabric of their gloves seemed to bite their palms as they fumbled to untie the ribbon, loose sleeves grating like sandpaper any time the fabric brushed their arms. They tossed the ribbon aside, not caring where it fluttered to as they clawed for their vest’s buttons. Slick cloth covered fingers couldn’t find any purchase on the smooth buttons- gods damn it all. So their gloves came off next, hurled toward the hall lights below. All at once the peal of a bell reached their ears. Freshly freed hands swiped down to tug off their only remaining shoe, heckled snickers jeering louder as the bell on its tip jangled incessantly. The sound cut off like a harsh cough as the shoe landed on the beam they’d tossed their hat to earlier. Jingles vanquished, they turned their clawed fingers once more on their vest’s buttons. It was rather Lucky none of the threads broke with how hard they tugged. They peeled themself from both shirt and vest like a lizard from its skin, thwacking the pair down on the beam next to them.
And there they were.
The Lady’s “gifts.”
Jester couldn’t see all their scars, as they were littered across their body. But the cool air drifting among the rafters caressed each snarl of warped skin.
They stared down at the huge mass of white tissue lacing across their chest. Starting just below their collarbone, it wound down towards their hip, little pale branches digging into their whole left side.
The twisted veins all coalesced into a crude mockery of a flying seabird over their heart. A lightning strike, from their worst mistake onstage.
They could only see the tips of the darker scratches that circled their neck, an echo of a thousand needles ripping through their throat. A clover on a collar, they thought- at least from the shape their trembling bloody fingers traced after they dared speak to Her out of turn.
They grimaced at a distant throb of two stabbing pains from just below their left shoulderblade- a vicious reminder that anyone they dared try and trust would just sink their traitorous teeth into their flesh.
They hissed as a phantom crack echoed up their left leg, lurching forward protectively over their thigh. Their leggings still covered the skin, but the pain of the white wishbone fault wouldn’t be silenced. How dare they have tried to eschew Her power to rely on their own skill. Break a leg, they’d thought. Breaking a femur was one way to do it.
A dull hiss of heat bubbled from another part of their back, shaking hands reaching up to stroke the gnarled horseshoe blotch seared into their right shoulder. Something about being branded Hers, forever.
Not that they could really parse much from touch nowadays. When they withdrew their hands, blackened frostbitten skin greeted them, the only clear patches shaped like a number seven across each palm. ‘So eager to be caught red handed?’ Her voice echoed from afar. ‘No no, my darling- allow me to solve this little issue.’ Chills, as biting and deep as the day they’d dared lay a finger on one of Her trinkets unbidden.
A physical record of their mistakes. A tangible sign of Her ever patient mercy. Forgiveness, for a price. Loyalty, with a cost.
Gifts.
Hah.
And the wretched rouge glow about their right foot said they’d received another.
Jester forced air out of their lungs, strangled titters rattling from their throat. No need to waste precious seconds trying to puzzle out how a contestant moving out of turn was their fault. They’d obviously paid for it. Now it was time to unwrap their new present. They couldn’t stop their body from trembling as they tugged bloodied bandages from their foot. No green. No mist. No relief. Just blood, sticky and dark.
The strips of cloth gathered in a muddy heap of ooze. When it was all peeled away, a warped mess of skin greeted them. Two distorted rings separated their ankle and foot from their leg proper. Little slivers of dark tissue stitched the pieces together. The length and shape of their foot looked… relatively intact. At least until they noticed their second and fourth toes were missing. Just three left, gaping sockets where the others should’ve been. With a strained snicker, they shifted the limb around, looking for any more blemishes. Ah, there. On the bottom of their foot. One long oval from the heel through the arch of their foot, three smaller ones lining up with all their remaining toes. Like some sort of… mutated paw.
It struck them, then- what this ‘gift’ was. A tiny grin twitched at their cheeks.
“... a rabbit’s foot,” they giggled. Their breath caught ugly in their throat, but they didn’t try to stop it. They couldn’t. Their shoulders shook as more strangled heckles bubbled up. “A rabbit’s foot,” they snickered, voice pitching higher. Giddy chuckles poured uncontrollably from their ripped seam smile, rasping guffaws punctuating their words. “A- hah- rabbit’s foot- HAH- for- for not- AHAH- taming that- that contestant- HAHAH- like a gods damned ANIMAL!” They threw their head back, laughter gushing forth like a helpless flock in a hurricane. Streaks of tears glimmered down their cheeks, choking on the salty diamonds as they howled louder and louder. The sound ricocheted all around the rafters, crushing circles around the wretched fool. Paper cranes trembled in the cacophony of noise. And they couldn’t stop laughing.
Such a joyous reception of Her gift.
Just the perfect performance Her Jester always gave.