In the grand theater of the macabre, where the curtains are stitched from shadow and the audience are but skeletons in tattered clothes, a lone jester stands upon the stage... but wait, this jester has forgotten his own punchline. Whisper of Silence whispers the ghostly audience.
The jester fumbles with his oversized shoes, intending to juggle but instead launching his dreams into the void, scattering them like confetti. Mournful Utilities cringes in horror.
A darkened cascade spills forth from the sky, a blend of forgotten laughter and unshed tears. The ghostly figures applaud, but their hands are chained, echoing a rhythm best left unheard.
"Why did the ghost cross the road?" The jester asks, unsure of himself, "To get to the other side, I suppose..." But there's always another side, a darker side. Inevitable Clarity sighs, with an echo of despair.