High above the hustle and bustle of his carnival, Harlequin sat slumped in his colourful throne, gazing at the moon.
"Solomooon," he whined and turned his masked face - a grimace of despair - towards the raven perched on the armrest. "I'm ever so bored."
The raven cawed, as ravens are wont to do, and picked a loose thread out of Harlequin's ruffled sleeve. The sound of firecrackers and children's laughter reached his prison, and, not for the first time, he struggled violently against the irons that shackled him to his throne. He let out a frustrated scream before falling silent.