As the wheel turns, so do the tales: a nymph's lament, a jester's wail.
A phantom jester hides behind the grindstone, his jokes a series of unfortunate cataclysms. "Why did the specter cross the road?" he cackles. But alas, the punchline is lost in the fog.
Unbeknownst to the jester, a goat with a passion for opera stands atop the stone. Its aria pierces the night, causing shards of darkness to crumble into the abyss.
Join the macabre circus of absurdity: Carousel of Shadows • Lost Delights
"We are but players," the jester sighs, "and the goat is our unwitting diva."