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Thirian twisted gracefully on his toes, the palace’s grand hall echoing with claps and laughter. His lute strummed a playful tune, while his face contorted into exaggerated expressions of glee. He spun, leaping into an acrobatic display, presenting a magically conjured rose to the king. “Ah! Haha! For you, my lord!” Thirian said, flourishing the flower. “May it bloom just like your reign!” He bowed, his eyes catching the queen’s glare. He chuckled, teasing her with, “And for you, dear queen—just imagine yourself holding such beauty!” The court roared with laughter. In the night he left another rose before the rulers’ chamber door. A parting gift of thorns amid petals, he thought mischievously.











