For Clopine, there was no greater honor than being Queen of the Gypsies, and there was no better day to enact fair representation to her subjects than today. It was the day of the annual Feast of Fools! The slim Romani girl would showcase her puppets on the streets without the people of France either giving her a puzzling look or running in terror. They were handmade after all, passed down through generations for entertainment, and she wanted to make them known.
The Feast of Fools was a chance for the gypsies of Paris to share their arts and crafty talents with the townspeople in an effort to show them they are here to help for the common good.
The same people came every year. The gypsies, her royal subjects came walking into the tent in a hurried queue. Including that delicious, green-eyed fellow in particular that she could never peel her eyes from when he took the stage. "Hey, Esmer!" Clopine bellowed to him. "Try not to look so serious; it's a festival, not a funeral."
The boy gave her a sideways glance, and in it, a glint of mischief.
Life was good; all of the performers seemed to be present. But there was one face she did not recognize.
Well, not really a face—this woman's visage was completely devoured by a woolen shawl. She clearly was not one of the performers, for she was white as the snow. The way she jumped whenever someone rubbed against her told Clopine that this girl did not come by often.
"What are we going to do about her?" she asked her hand puppet Daisy. "Feed her to the lions? Throw her in the Seine? Take her to the red light district?"
"Introduce yourself. Introduce her to the world! Show her there's nothing to be afraid of."
"Nyeh, who asked you," Clopine muttered, pocketing the goody-goody. "Goody-goody. Fille!"
The four-and-a-half foot fille looked around, not knowing where the voice came from.
Clopine let out a cackle. "Over here, woman." Daisy bounced up and down excitedly as the girl cautiously approached. "What's your name?"
"M-M-Mo—"
"Mo? Your name is Mo? I like Mo. That was my best friend growing up. I don't think I've seen you around before. You been to the Feast of Fools?"
"No. I mean yes. I mean no, not physically. I mean I've seen everything from up—"
"Enough." Clopine leaned over, her dark hair devouring the girl's face, and pinned her turtle dove for newcomers to her chest.
"What's this for?"
"For luck. My Feast of Fools' can get wild and crazy. I like you, Mo; I don't want anything to happen to you. By the way, my name's Clopine."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me—thank my hand puppet Daisy. She wanted me to be nice; I wanted to toss you in the dungeon." Clopine shrugged and stuck her hat on her head as Mo's smile faded. "Gotta go; I'm hosting this whole shindig. Where you sitting?"
"I don't know. I guess I was just gonna sit in the back-"
"There is no sitting at the Feast of Fools, only standing. Get a spot in the front—Parisians be aggressive." Clopine skipped off, leaving her new friend standing in the middle of the pandemonium. She returned not two seconds later with a bouquet of green and red blossoms. "And if you have a second before the show starts, deliver these. I know it's not right of a queen to show favoritism, but my subject Esmer is so smoking that you have to give him these flowers personally. Don't tell him I fantasize about him every chance I get."
"Why don't you give them to him?"
"Because I have a show to host! But tell him Clopine paid for them."
"How will I find him?"
"Mysterious gypsy, black hair, enchanting green eyes, about yay tall." Clopine reached her hand up as high as she could. "Esmer, up in there! You'll know him when you see him." She shoved Mo into the fray and bounded off.