Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The new orphanage is eerily quiet.

Arlecchino’s heels echo in the empty halls - the first sounds this mansion has heard in many years. There are cobwebs in every corner of the room and a thick layer of dust coats the windowsills. Arlecchino’s fingers, now permanently black as the night, are painted ashen when she runs them over the smooth surface.

It is not as spacious as the old one. The rooms are small and the halls are narrow and right outside the front door awaits not the vast nature of Mont Esus East, but paved streets and high buildings.

“I hope the new mansion is to your liking, Knave.” 

“It will do. I am sure the children appreciate your effort once they settle in.”

It was a welcome gift, now that she had joined the Harbingers. Now, she had a mission, a task, her own responsibility. Pierro had been more than accommodating when it came to fulfilling her request for a new orphanage. The children living here will become the new recruits, the next generation of Fatui shaped and formed by the Tsaritsa’s will.

The first children Arlecchino takes in come from the sewers. They marvel at everything their new home has to offer, like the soft mattresses and fresh linen and the storeroom filled to the brink with food. They don’t mind helping with cooking and cleaning and are eager to learn how to read and write. 

Arlecchino does her best to teach them everything they need to know, but with the growing number of children she has the feeling that some lag behind. 

A request for additional personnel is sent to the headquarters and Arlecchino is surprised when another Harbinger knocks at the orphanage’s door a few days later. 

“I hope you don’t mind the sudden visit, Knave.” A gust of ice-cold rolls in from the open door, crawling into every corner of the room. “I was interested in how this project of yours is shaping. And I brought your requested helpers, too.”

The child in Arlecchino’s lap stiffens, the storybook about Fontaine’s hydro dragon forgotten in the presence of the eighth of the Fatui Harbingers, Signora. Arlecchino acknowledges this behavior but otherwise makes no move.

“Signora, what a pleasant surprise. Had I known I’d be entertaining guests I would have greeted you properly.” 

“Don’t think about it.” Signora says, her gaze wandering through the room and inspecting the study’s many books with a bored expression. “I was welcomed by one of your little ones. Freminet I think was his name.” 

Her eye lingers on nothing in particular, before she zeroes in on the shivering child in the Knave’s lap. “He was…irritated to see me.” With a casual wave of her hand she motions to the little girl. “Much like this one.” 

The child in Arlecchino’s lap is shaking, be it from the cold that wafts through the study or from Signora’s intimidating presence, the Knave doesn't know.

“Think nothing of it.” Arlecchino assures the other woman. “Visitors are scarce in this house.” She sits up, helping the little girl to stand. “Lucille, would you leave us alone? We will continue the story tomorrow.”

“Yes, Father.” Lucille answers respectfully, trying to control the shivers running through her small body. “Thank you for your time.” 

The girl bows in respect and, despite her bone-shaking fear, passes Signora to exit the room without scrambling. The other Harbinger observes her with an unreadable expression before addressing Arlecchino again. 

“The children, they call you Father?” Signora inspects the Knave from head to toe, her lone eye stopping at her face. “How intriguing.”

For a moment they simply stare at each other; frosty blue into red-crossed black. Signora’s words are an unspoken challenge, Arlecchino knows that much. One she is unwilling to accept. 

She of all people doesn’t owe Signora an explanation. Not her and nobody else of the Fatui. Not when the scars the fight with the previous Knave has burned into her soul have barely begun to heal. 

She decides a change in topic is required. And she just happens to have noticed something very peculiar.

“Would you like a tour?” Arlecchino asks casually. “The House of the Hearth offers many more interesting places besides this small study.”

She can see how Signora’s eye twitches slightly, irritation about the sudden change in topic evident on her face for a split second. Fire replaces the ice in her frosty eye for a moment, but it doesn't take long before the haughty attitude she usually wears is back in place.

Arlecchino notices a further drop in temperature; just another clue that she hit a nerve. However, she goes on undeterred.

“Freminet, would you be so kind? Since our conversation was of utmost interest to you, you may show my fellow Harbinger around.”

A loud gasp and shuffling can be heard from the hallway and a moment later Freminet steps into the doorframe, little Clockwork Penguin in hand. His face, of what can be seen from under his bangs, has gone pale and his knees are shaking. He bows deeply, out of respect and fear, as he stutters out his words.

“Y…yes Fa…father. O…of course. Please f..follow me, Lady Harbinger.”

Signora narrows her eye when she realizes Arlecchino has successfully bested her in their little stand-off, effectively cutting their conversation short. Her expression softens though, when she turns towards Freminet, who motions to her to follow him. 

“Gladly, darling. Lead the way.” Signora answers, her voice betraying a hint of warmth. “It would be a pleasure to meet all your little brothers and sisters.”

“Y…yes Lady Harbinger. This way, please.”

Signora leaves, reluctantly and not without shooting an icy glare towards Arlecchino, before she turns to exit the study. Silently, Freminet closes the door, leaving Arlecchino alone. The cold still lingers in the room, wrapping around her ankles like a frosty chain. 

The reason for Signora’s unexpected visit still eludes her, Arlecchino thinks when she picks up the story book and walks to the bookshelf. Was she on a mission? Spying on her on Pierro’s behalf to see if his investment bears fruit?

She doesn’t know much about the other Harbinger. Neither of her motives nor of anything else. The last time she spoke to her was the day she was accepted into the ranks of the Harbingers. 

And it was with this short encounter that Arlecchino decided this woman disliked every living being walking on this planet. 

However, she seems to have taken a liking to Freminet. 

Arlecchino dispels the cold crawling around her feet with a flick of her finger, igniting her own flames. 

She is intrigued. Her fellow Harbinger is indeed an interesting being.

❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃

The next Harbinger who takes a liking to the House of the Hearth is Dottore. 

He waltzes in as if he owns the place, putting Arlecchino off with the necessary pleasantries and immediately turns to the ‘subjects’ as he calls them. 

“You’ve got an impressive collection, Knave.” Dottore inspects the children in front of him, lined up like animals at the slaughterhouse. With eyes big as saucers and fear written all over their faces they endure the examination, turning their heads and opening their mouths when Dottore orders them to. They know better than to run away. Father doesn’t like it if they show weakness.

Dottore passes the row of trembling boys and girls, the grin on his face growing bigger with each child he examines. Behind him, Arlecchino clenches her blackened fists, her long pointed fingernails drawing blood. 

The bloodfire within her is raging, spreading from deep within and pulsing in the tips of her fingers. She can feel the heat gather in her palms and it would be easy to channel her fury and burn this man to ashes right on the spot. 

But she cannot refuse the order of a higher ranked Harbinger, let alone those of the Tsaritsa. 

And so she is left to stare daggers at Dottore’s back, imagining the best way possible to kill him. She imagines how she would summon her scythe and aim it for his neck. How it would sink effortlessly into his pale flesh, cutting bones and tendrils and that stupid single blue lock he fancies. His cries would be silenced by the blood bubbling from his throat. 

To her disappointment her musings remain but a figment of her imagination. His standing as a Harbinger spares him from sudden death as the Fatui benefits are of great value to her.

In the end, Dottore choses four children for his ‘work’ and Arlecchino can do nothing but watch them as they board the carriage to Snezhnaya and accept the placating words Dottore throws at her.

He assured her he would not hurt them. Arlecchino doesn’t believe a single word coming from his truth-twisting mouth.  

After three weeks the children finally return. However, they are not alone.

“You didn’t have to come all the way to Fontaine, Signora. Some low-rank could’ve done the job.” Arlecchino manages to sound calm and collected as always despite the surprise being not pleasant at all. 

Another unheralded visit to check on her? As far as Arlecchino knows no other Harbinger has business in Fontaine right now. And it doesn’t look like Signora is here on official matters; so what does she want?

In front of her - unaware of Arlecchino’s mistrust - Signora smiles faintly, motioning to the children standing behind her. “I wanted to make sure your precious children got home safe and sound.” 

In a strange way Signora looks proud of herself for completing a simple task even the Fatui rookies could have accomplished. With her arms folded under her chest - putting the pliability of her robe to the test - she seems thoroughly pleased with herself. 

Arlecchino also notices that, aside from the missing white, fur-collared coat, she is forgoing her distinct headpiece today - the right side of her face covered only with black lace to hide the burn marks underneath. Would she not know who to look for, Signora could easily mingle with the crowd in Fontaine today, the only clue giving away her presence would be the icy cold following her everywhere. 

Even now Arlecchino can feel a faint cold on her face when the wind blows in her direction. Her gaze momentarily flickers to the children. Even though they are standing much closer to Signora, they endure the cold without complaint. Exactly as ‘Father’ has taught them.

Arlecchino takes a closer look at the four children and examines the damage that had been done to them. One, seemingly unharmed despite a few scratches, is standing awkwardly, favoring the left leg. Another is clutching its arm close to the chest and the neck underneath the high-collared shirt is showing fading bruises. The other two look simply exhausted, but Arlecchino suspects their clothes hide the worst.

“I heard they were very brave and fulfilled their duty for the Tsaritsa.” Signora reports, noticing how the Knave scrutinizes her precious children. “A nice treat is in order, don’t you agree?”

“Hm…I suppose so.”

Arlecchino can hear Signora talk, but the words are meaningless to her. Her focus lies solely on her children instead of Signora’s casual words, whitewashing what was really done to them. This had nothing to do with bravery or duty. They were treated like ants, trapped in a bowl and burned with a magnifying glass. To be discarded afterwards.

Suddenly, the world buzzes in and out of focus. The children’s silhouettes flicker; one instant they are looking at her with pained eyes and the other they are replaced with the familiar faces of people long gone. Arlecchino blinks, trying to get rid of the static invading her sight, but the present is dissolving even further. 

Hazy memories flash before her eyes. Of bloody bandages covering scrawny arms and legs. Of red hair matted with dried blood that has gone black long ago. Of a carefree smile morphing into a pained grimace as ointment is applied. 

A smile - her smile - that was no more.

Arlecchino feels her arms itch. The curse is reacting to her memories. She can feel the blackness creep higher on her upper arms, devouring bits and pieces of her sanity with every inch of skin it claims. She wants to claw at them, dig her nails into the flesh and feel the pain and her own very real blood under her fingertips. 

Why? Why can she never - 

“Father, can we go to our rooms? Please.”

A small voice brings Arlecchino back to reality. She wills the painful memories away and bites the inside of her cheek to clear her mind, effectively banishing the past so that she can focus on the present instead: 

Her children.

She ushers them inside and hands them over to the older members of the family, before the freezing breeze reminds her of her special guest. When she turns around to face Signora she notices the concerned look the other woman gives her. 

Almost as if she cared. 

Almost.

“If I may give you some advice: Don’t let this interfere with your work.” Signora’s eye wanders over Arlecchino as if searching for something. She stops at her face, staring into red-crossed eyes. “I could have killed you easily if I had wanted to.”

Arlecchino folds her arms in front of her chest into a vacant stance, her face betraying nothing. “It won’t happen anytime soon, I assure you.” 

She slipped up and lost control for a moment. In front of another Harbinger whose true motives are still lost to her. She has to be more vigilant with her memories. They like to rekindle from the ashes when triggered slightly. 

She invites Signora to a cup of tea, because it is polite and she has the feeling the other woman would have invited herself anyway. She doesn’t want to bother the children - not when they are busy tending to the wounded - and excuses herself to set up the stove.

When she returns with a tray, two cups and freshly brewed marcotte tea, she stops at the threshold of the guest room, taking in the sight in front of her. It reminds her of a sappy fairy-tale - one of the few happily-ever-after ones Crucabena had told them.

The windows of the room have been opened, letting the warm air in. The sunrays reflect from the tiled floor and illuminate the figures standing in the middle of the room. It looks as if they are glowing, the children and Signora, as a bright halo softens Signora’s features as she bends down. She holds out a small bag, but the children flinch and take a step back - likely to the cold and Signora’s imposing aura. Arlecchino can see a flicker of disappointment in the other woman’s uncovered eye. 

The gloved hand holding the bag retreats and Signora straightens her posture, her face schooled into a mask of indifference. 

“Hmpf, then those who dislike me shall receive none. It’s a shame, really. What am I going to do with all the sweets now?”

The boy and the girl share a frightened look, but otherwise they remain frozen. Arlecchino can see the gears turning in their little heads as they debate whether to get closer or flee. Treats are rare at the House of the Hearth after all. 

The boy, Mael, is the first to make a move. Tentatively he takes a step forward, then another, until his little hand can nearly reach into the bag. 

“I would like some. Please.” Mael avoids looking at the Harbinger and stares at the tiled floor instead, but Signora doesn’t seem to be bothered by it. Her face lights up - the carefully placed mask removed again - as she smiles a little at the boy’s words.

“Of course, darling. Here, take some.” She bends down again and opens the bag and Mael summons up the courage to reach into it. His reward is a handful of candy.

Encouraged by Mael’s actions, the girl, Lucille, steps beside him and Arlecchino feels the pride bloom in her chest. After Signora’s first visit she had told Lucille quite clearly how she felt about her inappropriate behavior. Guests must be treated with respect. Her words seem to have left a mark on the little girl.

And so Arlecchino observes how Lucille grabs her share of candy even though her arms and legs are covered in goosebumps. How she and Mael politely thank Signora holding the treats to their chests with ice-cold hands. There is a genuine smile on Signora’s face. It is the first one Arlecchino has ever seen. 

The pot of tea has gone lukewarm by now, the tray with the two cups forgotten. Arlecchino silently turns around and walks back to the kitchen in order to make a new one. 

She will allow those three to linger in their little fairy-tale setting for a while longer. It is a valuable lesson for the children after all.

As for her fellow Harbinger…

You’ve become careless, Signora. I could have killed you easily if I had wanted to.

❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃

After his first visit Dottore never sets foot into the House again. No more children will be harmed; not as long as she is their Father.

Signora, however, begins to visit the House of the Hearth frequently. And her excuses are as far-fetched as cryo is similar to pyro.

“I have taken a liking to this city. The women in Fontaine…they have a distinct sense of fashion and are very interested in the Snezhnayan style. Why would I not pay you and your children a visit then?”

Arlecchino nearly lets out a laugh at this. She can imagine how Signora bathes in the people’s attention, looks and murmurs following her whenever she strolls around the city. She's not one to hide her assets, contrary to the high-collared Fontainian madames. Even the dressed-up poodles probably crane their necks to get a glimpse at her.

She becomes a regular guest at the orphanage and with every visit the children’s reservations against the scary, cold Lady fade little by little. The gifts and sweets she brings may be one reason for it. After the third time the children come rushing towards the front door as soon as they hear about Signora’s arrival, wearing coats and stuffing gloves into their pockets, despite the warm weather.

They know exactly that a full-toothed smile will get them another round of treats and that blabbering about anything and nothing will raise Signora’s spirits and prompt her to visit again. The ice seems to literally thaw on both sides, but Arlecchino can see through the flimsy facade. 

For the children this is but an act, a well-rehearsed play they perfectioned. A means to an end for their sweet tooth. For Signora however - 

Arlecchino doesn’t know whether the Harbinger is too blind with her limited sight to see through the child’s play or if she is so desperate for attention to ignore it. 

Even more fog clouds her vision as soon as the children start calling her ‘Lady Rosalyne’, the Harbinger literally melting her own ice at the mention of the title. Arlecchino swears she once saw Signora’s eye glistening with emotion.

You’re getting soft, Rosalyne. Don’t let this interfere with your work.

Chapter Text

“Lady Rosalyne, do you want to play marelle with us?” Lucille is looking expectantly at the Harbinger, waiting for her answer.

“Marelle?” Signora echoes, not knowing what the girl means.

“It’s a game. It’s fun. Come, I’ll show you.” 

Lucille reaches for Signora’s hand, wanting to lead her outside to the patio in front of the main entrance. But before Lucille’s hand can touch hers, Signora jerks her own out of reach.

For a moment they both freeze - Lucille with her small hand still outstretched and Signora clutching her gloved one protectively to her chest. The little girl’s eyes start watering and her chin begins to quiver as the ever-present fear for the Harbinger surfaces again.

“Touching me is ill-advised.” Signora warns with a low voice, trying to ignore the terror she has inflicted on Lucille. She is only trying to spare her from harm after all. “And it will be severely punished.” 

Signora takes a step towards Lucille, engulfing the girl in a cold cloud, her voice demanding obedience.

“Have I made myself clear?”

“Y...yes Lady Rosalyne.” 

Lucille’s hand falls lifelessly to her side, her gaze facing the floor. Her teeth start chattering from the cold, but she knows better than to run away. After a beat of silence and keeping the tears from falling, she puts on a fake smile and motions to the front door. 

“Are you coming?”

It is a sight to behold when Arlecchino spots them on the patio during one of their barbecue dinners; the children clapping their hands in rhythm and singing while Signora hops from one square to the next, while others enjoy the food and entertainment.

Barefoot and one hand clutching the fabric covering her chest to keep her modesty, she looks so much out of her element as if she’d wield the power of Dendro for the first time. 

Her brows are scrunched together in concentration as she tries to remember the exact movements and the order of the squares she has to hop onto. The children are cheering for her, even as Signora makes a mistake - if you could call it one in such a simple game.

After landing with both feet in the final square, Signora looks around into the many smiling faces as she tucks a strand of loose hair behind her ear. 

Her cheeks are tinted red - the first time Arlecchino witnesses a different color rather than her usual ghostly porcelain pallor - and her chest heaves with the exertion.

Cheers and laughter fill the air when the children celebrate ‘Lady Rosalyne's’ successful hop-through. 

So much has changed , Arlecchino muses while she observes how the overjoyed children coax Signora to the very first square again, presumably for another round of marelle. The game is no longer one of fear and death, but of joy and laughter and the blood-

“What a disappointment. And she's really the Harbinger you told me about?” 

Arlecchino’s thoughts are jarred to a halt when she notices a conversation nearby. 

“Yes, it's her. And don't talk about her like that, Mikaël. What if Father hears you?”

A few feet in front of her two of the older ‘children’, Cloe and Mikaël, are talking vividly, oblivious to Arlecchino’s presence.

“Why not?” Mikaël counters, pointing a half-eaten grilled fish at Signora who is, once again, hopping from square to square, hands scrambling to keep everything in check.

“If this is one of the most powerful Fatui then I will surpass her easily. I mean, look at her.”

He gestures in the general direction of Signora to prove his point. “What rank is she anyway? 26 or something?”

“She's the eighth Harbinger, stupid! And keep your voice down!”

Cloe and Mikaël are still oblivious of Father’s presence and Arlecchino decides she will not interrupt their little quarreling. She taught them to be suspicious and not to take things for granted. So, questioning a Harbinger who is indulging in silly children’s games should come naturally to them. 

Regardless, she feels a sting deep inside. 

Arlecchino turns around, leaving the barbecue to retreat into her study. The clacking of her heels is louder than usual, on purpose, and the hushed voices fall silent when they realize Father had been standing behind them all along. 

❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃

Children can be cruel. In their own naive way of saying things; unfiltered and always the truth. They don't think too much about what they say or how their words can harm others. 

Yet, they can hurt. And it often starts innocently. 

“The soup tastes awful!”

“Your shirt is so ugly.”

Merely a way to express their opinion, their likes and dislikes. But sometimes, words leave their blabbering mouths, which cut deep scars into others.

“I don't want to play with her. She's strange.”

“No, I don't want my hands to turn like hers!”

“Her eyes are creepy. I'm scared.”

Voices of people who are no more echo in her head as Arlecchino observes the spider resting in the palm of her hand. Its dark eyes scan the surroundings, always alert, and she can feel the spider moving its little legs tentatively. They are dark as the night, just like her own fingers.

With her free hand she reaches into a small jar on the table next to her, picking up a single dead fly. Its legs are bent unnaturally and a wing has already fallen off, but the spider won’t mind at all.

At first the spider recoils, raising its front legs to protect itself when Arlecchino offers the fly to it. But then something in its brain clicks, recognizing this routine for what it is: dinner time. The dead fly is snatched from her and the spider sinks its fangs into the body. Arlecchino puts the spider down on the windowsill where it vanishes into the small crack in the wall where it lives.

I wonder if the little legs break easily like human bones, Arlecchino muses as she closes the jar full of flies - courtesy of Antoine and his inhalatory experiments.

Céline’s sure did back then.

She was one of them, those who didn’t dare to come close to her. Her fingertips were only slightly ashen back then, but as good as she could hide them in her pockets, Peruere could do nothing about her eyes. Soon they switched from mocking her for being different to being afraid of her. 

She felt lonely. Lonely in an orphanage full of children. Mother didn’t look after her either; too many other important tasks, she always said and the seven year old Peruere believed her back then, because she didn’t know better at that time.

Things changed when Crucabena’s daughter started to live in the orphanage too. Clervie was a lively little girl with a wide smile and open arms for everyone who wanted to befriend her.

Of course Peruere didn’t even try. Nobody wanted to be her friend. 

But Clervie didn’t listen to the other children, who warned her about the silent girl with the strange eyes. She snatched some cake from the kitchen, took Peruere’s hand and declared they would have a picnic. 

“But only if Bambi can come too.”

“Bambi? Who’s that?” Clervie had asked, looking around in search of other children. 

“It’s him.” Peruere had shown her a little box. Inside was her little pet spider.

The other children had run away screaming when she showed them her pet, pleading with Mother to please PLEASE kill that thing. Fortunately for Bambi, Mother had been too preoccupied with other matters to listen to her children. As always.

Peruere feared Clervie would be like them, but she only took a short look at the spider and then scrunched her brows deep in thought, eyes flickering between the cake in her hand and the animal.

“Do spiders like cake too?”

“I…I don’t think so.” 

“Good.” Clervie shot her a beaming smile. “Because I don’t think I can sneak into the kitchen again without getting caught. Let’s go!”

Clervie became her only friend. She wasn’t afraid of her, played with her, touched her and treated her like a normal person. Of course she asked about her hands and eyes, but her curiosity was genuine. And when the other children started calling her names, Clervie rolled up her sleeves ready to pummel them to the ground. 

As for Céline…

Arlecchino raises her blackened hand in front of her face, observing it against the light shining from the window. Nowadays the dark color extends to her upper arms. Back then, after she had used her curse to break Céline’s legs, the black had only covered her up to her wrists.

Mother had been delighted to see her power grow. She did neither care what Peruere had done to Céline nor that she temporarily lost control over her powers because she wanted to protect Bambi from dying. Mother only saw the potential and the value of Peruere’s power and how she could exploit it for her own good.

Céline went to the infirmary that day and never came back. 

…

…

…

Arlecchino can feel the cold before she hears footsteps outside of the study. She turns around to greet her guest who has more or less become a regular at the House of the Hearth. She is surprised she has not yet received a request for an additional bedroom. 

A cold, bluish glow illuminates the dark halls and soon a white, spinning catalyst comes into view, before Signora steps over the threshold. She looks perfect as always, safe for a few stray strands of hair and the little beads of sweat frozen on her collarbones. Children can be so demanding.

“I thought I might find you here, Knave.” Signora says as she banishes her catalyst with a flick of her hand.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Signora?” It is unusual for Signora to approach her without reason. She always seems to have a hidden agenda running. This time, though, Arlecchino is surprised by her request.

“The children are asking for your presence. If you can spare a little of your time that is.” 

It was meant to be a jab, but Signora's words lacked her usual sharpness. Perhaps she had exhausted herself playing too much marelle.

“I apologize for disappearing without notice. I assume the food is running short?”

Why the children insisted Father be the one to prepare the grilled food instead of someone else was a quirk she had been letting slide for too long. Well, she had a thing for fire after all.

“No, that's not the issue.” Signora answered with a shake of her head. “The magic show will start soon."

A magic show…ah yes, Lynette had informed her of it. Since the twins moved into the House of the Hearth they would practice their magic tricks and invite the children to watch their performances, especially on these occasions. 

They came a long way, Lyney and Lynette. From mistrusting Arlecchino and the whole Fatui business in total to accepting that they could live a better life in the orphanage than with some shady noble who wants to exploit them. 

Arlecchino’s little visit to Monsieur Dubois' lavish mansion had proven to be a very good investment. The twins were formidable in reconnaissance missions and very valuable members of her House. And they knew how to entertain the guests.

“Of course.” Arlecchino walks towards Signora, a small flame lightening up in her palm to illuminate the dark halls. “Shall we?”

❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃

The patio, where they had previously eaten dinner and played marelle, has been transformed into a sort of ring. Tables and chairs are positioned around the small stage - literally two wooden boxes - where Lyney and Lynette are busy preparing their show. Chatter fills the air when Arlecchino and Signora join the children.

“L…Lady Rosalyne. Please, ha…have a seat.” Freminet leads Signora to an empty wooden chair, cushioned with pillows and with an excellent view on the stage. 

“Thank you, darling.” Signora, as always, bathes in the attention Freminet gives her. If Arlecchino had suspected the Harbinger had taken a liking to him back then, she now knows that all children have this effect on her. She is drawn to them like a moth to the light.

Her own seat, fiery red and shaped like flames, materializes behind her and Arlecchino sits down, much to Signora’s surprise.

“Flaunting your abilities, I see.” she comments as she observes how Arlecchino leans back in her self-made seat, resting her head in one hand. 

“Not at all. I’m merely sparing the children from bringing another one.” Arlecchino notices the other’s skeptical look. “Also, as uncomfortable as it may look like, I can assure you it is not.” 

Signora is about to speak again when Lyney derives her attention to the makeshift stage. 

“Welcome ladies and gentlemen. Please take your seats because our magic show is about to begin.” The children huddle together on the chairs and tables trying to get the best view of the stage. Only the bravest and most cold-resilient dare to occupy the free spots closest to Signora.

“I am Lyney and this is my sister Lynette, who will be assisting me today.” Contrary to Lyney, who announced their show with big gestures and a confident voice, Lynette seems rather reserved, only waving her hand at the audience with a barely there smile on her face. Lyney doesn’t seem to be bothered by her behavior and goes on undeterred. 

“A magician’s greatest skill is to make things appear out of thin air or disappear to who knows where. Are you prepared to witness the impossible?”

The children cheer and clap their hands, causing a commotion that would entail a complaint from the neighbors later that day. Arlecchino’s lips curl up into a miniscule smile as she joins the applause and enjoys the show. 

First, white doves appear from Lyney’s hat, then a whole stack of cards falls from between his fingers and the children’s ohs and ahs fill the air everytime he does his magic.

“And at last, I will attempt a literal transformation. How will I do it, you may ask. See for yourself.”

Lyney reaches into his hat, pulls out a Rainbow Rose and shows it to the audience. “Here I have a simple flower. Pretty you may say. Nothing special you may say. But that’s where the magic begins.”

He puts the flower back into his hat, swiveling it while he walks closer to the audience. Then he suddenly stops. “Oh my, where has it gone?” Lyney dramatically flips his hat over, patting its top, but no flower falls out. “Children, can you find it?”

The audience, enraptured by Lyney’s show, starts to frantically search for the rose, but it seems it vanished into thin air. Arlecchino observes how Signora has joined the search too, turning her head from left to right to scan as much of her surroundings as possible with her lone eye. When she turns around in order to peek behind her chair, Arlecchino spots the flower in question. Also does Mael.

“I found it! It’s on Lady Rosalyne’s coat!” 

All heads turn towards Signora who in turn inspects her clothes. There is indeed a flower attached to the right side of her furry-collared coat. Though it does not resemble a Rainbow Rose anymore.

“A Windwheel Aster.” Signora whispers when she finally sees the flower which sits mostly in her blind spot. 

The children fire questions of how did it get there? and when did the flower change? at Lyney, who simply deflects their nosiness with It’s magic, but Arlecchino doesn’t pay them any attention. 

Her eyes are focused on Signora’s wistful expression. Her blue eye reveals sorrow and…regret? But then, when she raises her gloved hand to touch the aster’s red petals, the freezing cold which is her everlasting companion, begins to creep onto the flower. First its tips become coated with ice, then it spreads over the entire windwheel-shaped petals. Signora recoils with a horrified look on her face, janking away her hand in an attempt to stop the ice, but the chill keeps encasing the flower nevertheless.

Then, suddenly, the ice stops growing, forced to a halt by an equally strong power. Droplets of melted ice fall onto Signora’s coat until the Windwheel Aster is restored to its original state. 

Signora’s eye goes wide and then she realizes who is responsible for it. The bewildered look she gives Arlecchino will forever be imprinted in her memory.

“You…you…but why?” Signora splutters, feeling the warm aura on her face which banished her own ice. Neither does she recoil nor does she feel threatened. She is just utterly perplexed by Arlecchino’s actions.

“We don't want to spoil the fun, don't we?” 

Soon the children calm down again and Lyney and Lynette perform another couple of tricks, before they announce the end of their show. The whole time the warm glow around the flower doesn’t cease, leaving the audience unaware of the little faux pas Lyney’s trick had caused. 

He notices something is amiss, though, with how Father is casually moving her finger, as if she is painting an invisible canvas. He suspects a lecture is in store, perhaps later, perhaps tomorrow. Right now, he has to deal with Lynette, who is repeatedly smacking him on the back of his head, while they pack up things.

“You are an idiot!”

Chapter Text

With all the seats occupied - Tartaglia being the newest addition as the eleventh Harbinger - the Tsaritsa informs them about the next steps of project Stuzha.

Regular meetings at the Fatui headquarters in Snezhnaya about their roles, the Archons, their gnosis and the Heavenly Principles occur nearly on a weekly basis, cutting Arlecchino’s time with the children at the House of the Hearth short. She more or less only stays long enough to make sure the older members are running the orphanage according to her wishes.

Unfortunately, she was coerced to join this project - this being the fine print which came with the agreement of her becoming the head of the orphanage. Which means, she is stuck with regular meetings in the land of snow and ice and being a part of a masterplan she is not entirely sure will succeed. 

However, the children need their Father. And for their future she will endure the long trips and the eccentric personalities of the other Harbingers, even if it means turning Dottore’s heinous requests for more test subjects down and enduring Capitano’s soulless stare during meetings. 

But, although their conversations remain strictly professional under the Tsarita’s watchful eyes, knowing that Signora is sitting with her through hour long discussions when she would rather be sitting with the children outside the orphanage, giving out treats and listening to their babbling, makes Arlecchino feel less guilty, when her thoughts start drifting to Fontaine. 

As a bonus, as soon as Dottore opens his mouth, she can see Signora’s gaze briefly flicker to her, her eye closing in silent acknowledgement, before pretending to be interested in his request for more funds for his experiments.

It feels surprisingly nice to have some sort of comrade-in-arms among the predators that are the other Harbingers. Arlecchino has been the latest and youngest member for quite some time now, which didn’t help to strengthen her status among the veteran Harbingers, even though she’s ranked fourth. 

And although Tartaglia is now technically the lowest Harbinger in rank and power, she still hears the snide remarks about her qualifications for the job.

From all but two people. One being Pierro. And the other being Signora.

Is this the excitement the children feel when they pass along little folded papers under the table? Are these brief eye-contacts and the subtle nods Signora gives her the equivalent of a secret message the teacher is not supposed to notice?

Arlecchino knows her feelings are childish and she has long outgrown this behavior. Earlier than any other child for sure. But she cannot deny the tingling in her fingertips whenever she sends a message of her own across the table. A subtle narrowing of her eyes directed at Dottore or a slightly deeper intake of breath to comment on the absurdity of their arguments. 

This is nothing like her, she knows that. She prides herself in being unreadable, to shield her emotions and to have a double agenda in everything she does, even with the smallest of gestures.

Perhaps it reminds her of her past, when Clervie and her would hide from Mother in a dark corner of the orphanage, lips sealed but nevertheless able to communicate. 

Perhaps she is just being childish after all.

However, those meetings are not as dull anymore as they used to be.

❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃

With the tasks for project Stuzha distributed among the Harbingers, Signora starts visiting the House of the Hearth regularly again. 

At first under the guise of needing to discuss project Stuzha with Arlecchino, even though their respective orders from the Tsaritsa have no common ground. Later, she simply admits she has brought some treats for the children, not bothering to waste time with pleasantries.

Arlecchino isn’t surprised when Freminet’s soft knocks interrupt her and he informs her of Signora’s request for a meeting under the pretense to discuss the Tsarita’s plans. 

She also isn’t surprised when, after some meaningless small talk which lacks the usual bite, they settle into drinking tea in silence, simply looking out of the window to admire the first sunny days of spring.

Arlecchino notices how Signora only sips her tea once, twice, before setting the cup down into her lap with a frown, the rim covered in a thin layer of rosy ice. Gloved hands wrap around the cup, as if trying to melt the ice with nonexistent warmth.

“What a pity.” Arlecchino says to no one in particular. “Marcotte tea should be enjoyed at the right temperature. Otherwise the flavor is dulled.”

Signora lets out a long breath, tracing the frozen rim with her thumb. “You would be surprised how many flavors the cold can actually have.” Her gaze wanders to the blooming, sunkissed flowers growing in the small garden outside. “I’ve gotten used to it.”

“I believe it has its merits, but why not switch things up for a change.” Arlecchino calls for Freminet and - after a run to the kitchen - he comes back with a clean cup, saucer, spoon and - for himself - gloves. Silently, he pours Signora a new cup of steaming hot Marcotte tea and accepts the frozen one from her with shaking hands, before he excuses himself.

“This is pointless.” Signora says as she reaches for the hot cup. “Little Freminet surely has other tasks to complete that are more important than this.” Despite her dismissive words Arlecchino does not miss the faint smile on Signora’s face when she takes the first sip of the warm tea.

“Oh, I do not plan to bother him any longer, rest assured. Lyney is not the only one with a few magic tricks up his sleeves.” 

Signora’s sole eye looks at her over the rim of her cup and through the fading steam coming from it. Although freshly poured, her tea has already cooled down, being exposed to the bitter cold that constantly hovers around the Harbinger. Signora lowers the cup, licks her lips and nods in a silent invitation for Arlecchino to perform her so-called magic.

With a flick of her finger Arlecchino reaches out for the cup, sending her pyro through layers and layers of cold, until it can wrap around it. It encases Signora’s cup with enough warmth to keep the tea at a drinkable temperature and thus preserving its unique flavor. 

It doesn’t take much for her to maintain this state, despite the constant ice trying to freeze the liquid over and over again, but she is nonetheless impressed how persistent the delusion is fighting her own.

Signora tries hard not to show any emotion, but the way she clings to the cup with both hands and how her eye lights up as the warm feeling seeps into her, cannot delude Arlecchino’s impeccable observatory skills.

“Tell me, if the temperature is not to your liking. I will do my best to accommodate your preferences.”

Signora, too engrossed in the foreign feeling of something warm under her fingertips, doesn’t answer her with her usual snide. Bringing the teacup to her lips, her eye closes when she starts to drink. A tension that seems to be her constant companion, leaves her body as her shoulders relax and her fur coat slips a bit lower down her arms.

Pleased with her subtle reaction, Arlecchino leans back, slightly reheats her own cup of tea to a steaming-hot level and relaxes herself. She closes her eyes, reminds herself to keep the heat flowing to the other’s cup once in a while and simply enjoys their silent company.

Some time later she hears the clinking of a cup and a content hum. She dismisses the constant flow of pyro and hears a faint crack when the porcelain contracts and likely breaks due to the sudden freezing cold.

The broken cup doesn’t bother her, not the slightest. Not when she can hear Signora’s gentle “thank you” in return.

❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃

Drinking tea together soon becomes a regular thing. Whenever Signora visits the House of the Hearth Arlecchino would always make time for them to enjoy a cup or two together. 

At first, they simply enjoy a moment of calm, updating each other on the Fatui matters, before sampling the latest teas Fontaine has to offer. 

The classic Marcotte tea with a drop of milk and Fonta, the latest creation from the head nurse Sigewinne with dubious ingredients or a watery Tidalga brew, which is rumored to be Monsieur Neuvillette’s favorite. Not every cup of tea is emptied and most of the leftover tea wanders into the kitchen cabinet for the children to enjoy it too.

“I’m sure you will like this one. It’s a local speciality from Snezhnaya.” Signora holds up a small jar with faintly yellow and blue contents. “No need for boiling water, darling. Lukewarm will do. This tea is served cold.”

Freminet accepts the frostcovered jar from Signora and leaves the study to prepare the tea, only to come back a few minutes later with two cups on a tray. 

“Y…your tea, Father. S..Signora.” Freminet places the cups on a table beside Signora and excuses himself. Arlecchino notices that he doesn’t wear any protection against the bitter cold this time. Perhaps a dare among the children. Or perhaps he has gotten used to it.

Arlecchino dismisses the thought when Signora offers her a cup. The biting cold seeps into her hand as soon as she accepts it and the Harbinger reminds her again that she should not heat the liquid up with her flames.

“The ingredients prevent the tea from freezing over, do not worry. And the little frost patterns on the surface are a nice touch, aren’t they?”

The cold cup hurts her fingers and Arlecchino has to remind herself not to let the fire flow into them to alleviate the stinging sensation. She can see her blackened fingertips change to an ashen color, courtesy of the cold, and forgets about the pain for a moment as she marvels at the unusual sight. 

She can not remember the last time her fingers had been anything but pitch-black. 

Well, except when they were covered in crimson blood. 

Memories from her past slowly crawl into her consciousness. 

Her and Clervie sneaking into the kitchen at night, all bandaged and bruised, the dark red blood seeping through the wrappings. Hiding under the large kitchen table and, obscured by the tablecloth, they stuffed the leftovers from dinner into their mouths with dried blood under their fingernails.

It was their little rebellion against Mother and Arlecchino will forever be grateful for the time she spent with Clervie. 

Sometimes she can still hear Clervie’s voice at night, echoing through the silent halls of the orphanage. Sometimes she sees a shadow in a white dress disappearing around the corner. Every time she curses herself and her own distorted mind. Her blackened arms itch as she wills the ghosts of the past away.

The crawling sensation on her arms is still present when she puts the cup on the nearby table and compliments the Snezhanayan tea, receiving a pleasured smile from Signora in return as she enjoys hers.

Arlecchino resists the urge to rub at her arms and instead rises from her seat, opens the big, double-winged window and inhales the fresh air. She can feel the crawling sensation already lessen as her eyes land on the little flower bed below the window. 

The Lumidouce Bells are already starting to bloom and a soft breeze brings their unique, sweet scent to Arlecchino’s nose. She had specifically asked the children to plant these flowers outside of the study.

“If you squeeze the flowers hard enough you can use their liquid as a perfume.” A small bowl filled with sweet-smelling liquid and chunks of mushed petals is thrusted into Arlecchino’s blackened hands.

“Perhaps Mother will like it too! Let’s go find her.”

Mother did not like it. And Clervie did not come back to the orphanage until the next day. After that, she stopped collecting Lumidouce Bells and making her ‘perfume’.

The sound of heels on hardwood floor pulls Arlecchino back from her memories as Signora slowly approaches. She leans against the window’s frame to her left, folds her arms in front of her chest, but otherwise doesn't speak. It is as if she is sensing her turmoil and wants to silently comfort her. 

The situation is most foreign to her. Almost her entire life Arlecchino has been dealing with her inner conflicts on her own. The last person who had truly acknowledged them had been the only person she had ever called a friend. 

Clervie somehow always knew how to brighten her mood, be it with sweets or just her presence. This cold silence Signora offers her however fails to provide any comfort at all.

Arlecchino’s brain is already searching for a topic she can start a meaningless conversation with when the Archons seem to have mercy on her, for they send a distraction with scrawny, long legs and a liking for buzzing insects.

Emerging out of its hideout in the wall the spider approaches Arlecchino, probably remembering the last time it was rewarded with dinner. With little to no hesitation it climbs onto the offered hand, feeling around the smooth surface of Arlecchino’s palm in search of food. 

Arlecchino observes her little pet and feels how its black legs create the faintest tickling sensations on her skin. 

The children had suggested she should give it a name. “Martin has named his Umbrellafinch too.”  they had proudly announced, although the name Bean-Eating-Plume-Guy seemed a bit too long for her liking. Perhaps a flowery name would do. Iris perhaps. Clervie had liked that flower nearly as much as her beloved Lumidouce Bells.

Out of the corner of her eye Arlecchino can see Signora crane her neck to get a glimpse of the spider still sitting on her palm. Much like a child exploring the world for the first time she seems captivated by the mere sight of it, but refrains from coming closer, as if an invisible barrier is forcing her to observe from afar. 

Arlecchino has suspicions why she keeps her distance. It is a bold move, but to prove them she takes a small step towards the other Harbinger. Her theory is immediately confirmed.

The spider recoils as the icy cold wafts over it. It retreats to the outermost edge of Arlecchino’s hand, shrinking in itself and drawing its legs in to conserve the last bits of warmth. Signora recoils too, pressing herself against the window’s frame in order to pull away the cold aura and prevent the poor spider from freezing to death, the curiosity in her eye replaced by anguish.

In order not to kill the little thing Arlecchino turns away, creating a human shield between the spider and the freezing cold. Warmth flows into her palm as she takes a few steps to the jar full of flies and when she offers one to the spider, the animal has already warmed up enough to snatch it from her fingers. 

“Enjoy your meal.”

The spider vanishes into his hideout dragging its prey as soon as Arlecchino rests her hand on the windowsill. It will probably not come out for the rest of the week. She would probably do the same if she had nearly perished by cold.

Taking a deep breath she prepares herself to face Signora. She is usually not one for rash decisions, thinking everything through not once, but twice. She could have foreseen the outcome. Although on the opposite side of the spectrum, fire and ice were not so different at all.

“I apologize. I shouldn’t have done that.”

She speaks loud enough for Signora to understand these words are meant for her, and yet the latter remains silent as she leans against the wall. 

She seems to deflate with every breath she takes; her hunched shoulders reveal nothing of the proud Harbinger she usually is.

Arlecchino feels a pang of guilt rise in her chest and takes a step forward. “If there is anything -”

“There is nothing you can do.”

Signora’s voice sounds as small as if she were a child again. One who had seen the ugliness of the world with their own eyes. 

Defeated. 

Hopeless. 

Minutes pass as they both look out of the opened window in silence. The warm breeze caresses their faces and the birds’ chirping can be heard from the roof. Arlecchino hopes her presence can offer some sort of comfort much like Clervie’s did back then.

Clervie has been constantly on my mind today. How odd.

Signora lets out a long sigh and squares her shoulders, diverting Arlecchino’s attention back to the present. She still looks a bit shaken, but the look she gives her is unreadable, even for the Knave, who prides herself on being able to read human emotions easily. 

“You are fortunate, you know that?” Signora all but whispers, lone eye flitting over the other’s form to avoid looking at her directly. “And you aren’t even aware how privileged you are.”

Raising her gloved hands in front of her face, Signora inspects them for a brief moment, before balling them into fists as they drop back to her sides. 

“All I can do is hurt them.”

Delusions always come with a prize. The power can rival those of the Archon’s visions, but for some the side effects are far more severe than for others. 

Arlecchino had been spared. Her pyro delusion greatly amplifies her strength with little to no consequences. Signora, however, went from all-burning Crimson Witch to a sub-zero shell of her past self, still incapable to keep the living around her safe. 

Spending so much time at the House of the Hearth must have driven the nail deeper into her already shattered heart, for all the affection she gives the little ones she will never be able to convey by touch. Thinking back to her first visit, Arlecchino now understands why the child in lap had irritated her fellow Harbinger that much.

When she was promoted the fourth of the Fatui Harbingers straight out of the cell she had been rotting in, the first thing she did was gather intelligence about her fellow colleagues. She could only keep her children safe if she knew as much about them as possible. 

None of them has a clean record. Some have more skeletons in the closet than others. But they all have such a twisted and cruel past that Yae Publishing House could publish a dozen bestselling horror novels. 

Signora’s was no exception.

At first, her broken heart set the world around her on fire, transforming her into one of the most feared beings after the Cataclysm. Flames became her language, burning the enemy to ashes and her face for life. The records didn’t go into detail, however Arlecchino suspects she lost a lover or a family member who was very dear to her. 

Later, when Pierro gave her the cryo delusion and accepted her into the ranks of the Harbingers, her flames were suppressed. But instead, the biting cold became her constant companion, bringing death to the people around her in a different way.

It has been 500 years since Signora, the Fatui Harbinger, came to be. 

Has it also been 500 years since she had really touched someone? Not to end their life, but to just…feel?

In retrospect, Arlecchino will view her next actions as ill-considered, in contrast to her usually well-constructed plans. For the second time on the same day no less. 

She doesn’t know with her limited intel how Signora will react. Will she try to freeze her to death or simply leave without a word. 

But Arlecchino is willing to take a gamble for the fellow Harbinger, whose company she has begun to enjoy.

She takes a step towards Signora, who finally meets her eye. Signora’s instincts tell her to back away, but she is already hitting the wall and all she can do is watch as Arlecchino comes closer. 

The first cold wave is dispelled with ease. The second one, even colder and biting at her skin, takes a little more effort. Arlecchino stops when she is an arm’s length away and takes a moment to breathe in the frigid air. Her breath is visible despite the warm day of spring, but she will not stop here. 

Slowly her hand reaches out, palm open and inviting, with the tips of her fingers beginning to turn white from the chill. A moment later her delusion has gotten rid of it and her hand is a pool of pleasant warmth. 

Signora is staring at the blackened hand, a mix of fear and shock visible on her face. She doesn’t make a move and instead keeps staring at Arlecchino, which is a better reaction than she had imagined her to have. She dares to move her hand a little bit closer and Signora looks like she dreads her next words.

“Touch me.”

Chapter Text

A faint whirring is the only sound that can be heard in the House of the Hearth’s corridors. Pers dutifully stands guard before the door leading to the study, waiting for a request to report to its owner. Its joints creak as it takes a few steps left and right as if on patrol, sound receivers on high alert. But the people behind the door have gone quiet some time ago.

It can detect some soft snores though, which it identifies as Freminet’s. By the sound of it they are muffled by that big metal helmet he wears sometimes. Nothing out of the ordinary, Pers decides and focusses its sound receivers back to its assigned target behind the door. 

Dutifully, it starts to patrol again and, if it must, Pers waits for a request until its power supply runs out.

❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃

The silence is deafening. 

Arlecchino doesn’t know how much time has passed, but neither Signora nor her have made a sound since her bold move. There is a strange tension between them, fueled by a simple gesture and an offering.

Signora’s eye is glued to the welcoming hand hovering between them, the look on her face one of utter fear and her breath is shallow and rapid. She looks like a frightened animal with her hands tightly clutched to her chest and her back pressed against the wall. Much like the little spider, she is trying to shrink away from Arlecchino’s hand as if it were a threat. 

She briefly wonders what would happen, if Signora were to lose control. If fear and panic would seize her powers. Would she lash out with sharp, frozen blades or build a thick wall of ice around her to shield her from the world?

Either way the outcome would cause a rift between them, one that would shatter the bond they share and Arlecchino is not sure it could be mended again. For Signora to open up to her, like she had done since visiting the orphanage, had been a big step in their barely existent relationship. 

She realizes that she doesn’t want to lose it. Doesn’t want to lose whatever this is. 

For Signora’s sake. And for her own. 

Arlecchino is about to retreat her hand, when she notices Signora move first. Her breathing has calmed down and her face has been schooled into an indifferent mask. She folds her arms in front of her chest before she speaks, looking like the intimidating Harbinger many have come to fear. 

Realizing that Signora hides behind her Harbinger front delivers an unexpected blow to Arlecchino’s heart. She frowns at the foreign feeling, before the other woman catches her attention.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Signora says with a flat voice, not really looking at her. “Keep that hand to yourself.” 

As if to strengthen her words, she tucks her own hands deeper into her coat, straightening her posture as she speaks. The slight shift causes a cold wave to reach Arlecchino’s fingertips and they immediately turn white again, before she channels her Delusion to dispel the ice. Signora notices of course, accustomed to the effect her Delusion has on her surroundings. 

“You’ll only get yourself hurt.”

Again, her voice betrays no emotion, but as good of an actor Signora has become over the span of 500 years, she cannot fool her fellow Harbinger. Arlecchino can see the underlying pain, can see a spark of desire when her eye catches the slight movement of her fingertips as they warm up and turn black again. 

She can also see that Signora is worried she might hurt her.

There is a part of her that wants - no - needs this. And then, there is another part, which has endured hardships and rejections, the one that tells her not to let anyone come close. Because everyone who did in the past is no more. 

Arlecchino can feel the anger rise inside of her. Her arms itch where her curse begins to flare up and she takes a deep breath to steady herself.

She wants to crush that part inside of Signora, wants to rip off the Delusion, which claws at her with cold unforgiving fingers and turn it to ash between her fingertips. Like she incinerated Crucabena and freed the children - and herself - from a life not worth living. 

Signora deserves it. She has suffered enough already.

A few calming breaths later and her curse has calmed down enough that Arlecchino can take a small step forward and focus on the present. Greeted by a wall of ice-cold air, she speaks with her usual confidence. 

“It’s nothing I can’t handle. A little cold is easily dealt with.” 

Signora’s gaze flickers to Arlecchino as if to verify her words. She wants to believe her, but years of disappointment have shattered her faith.

“It’s not safe for you.” she says, trying to uphold her indifferent mask, but her facade cracks little by little and sadness and worry lace her words. 

Arlecchino says nothing in return. Instead, she acts - again - an impulse she cannot seem to suppress today. Reason and logic are gone with the wind. Her only goal is to put an end to Signora’s misery. 

She reaches out and, before Signora can react, takes her right hand in hers. The cold is unforgiving, seeping into her bones and turning her hand white immediately. It takes all her willpower not to jerk her hand away as she tries to ignore the painful freeze. Arlecchino grits her teeth, but doesn’t let go.

Because, underneath the ice lies a hand like her own. Delicate, long fingers are covered by a thick layer of Snezhnaya’s finest silk. Arlecchino imagines how soft her hand must be as her thumb maps out her palm, following the lines she knows lay underneath the cloth. She imagines what it would feel like, if she were to intertwine their fingers and how foreign it would look like when Signora’s pale ones would meet her own.

Arlecchino blinks, surprised by her thoughts and then notices something out of the corner of her eye. It is Signora’s catalyst.

Raising her head, she comes face to face with a dozen icicles, sharp ends pointed at her. Signora’s left hand is frozen mid-air, ready to command her weapons if needed. But all Arlecchino can see is hesitation in the way her hand trembles and her face falters. She has summoned them out of pure instinct, having learned that whenever someone dares to come close it is usually with the intention to kill. Having spent so much time at the orphanage in Arlecchino’s company, she has realized, though, that the Harbinger is not like the others.

The icicles dissolve and float to the ground as little, harmless snowflakes. The catalyst disappears and Signora’s hand falls to her side. She doesn’t dare to look at Arlecchino’s face, shame and guilt overriding her fear for a moment, and inspects their joined hands instead. Everything in her posture screams that she does not want to be there, but she makes no move to leave.

“You’re getting reckless, Knave. Control yourself.” Signora says, but her words lack the usual bite. She is clearly trying to put on that mask again and force herself to become someone else - it is a Fatui speciality after all. However, she makes no move to shake off Arlecchino’s hand. Instead, her gaze cannot seem to leave the unusual sight.

“Oh, I have everything under control, albeit feeling a bit cold.”

It is a lie, Arlecchino realizes, but she would dye her hair blubberbeast-blue before she’d admit that. She didn’t lie about the shiver running down her spine, though. She has to do something, before she loses a finger or two due to frostbite.

She squeezes Signora’s hand and the other woman’s eye widens at the feeling. Arlecchino reaches for her Delusion and she can feel her body warm up from the fire stored within. Her hand slowly goes from freezing to a normal temperature again and her fingertips regain their usual black color. She can feel how the block of ice that is Signora’s hand slowly starts to feel human too.

“It…it’s warm.” 

Signora’s words are not more than a whisper as she marvels at their joined hands. She squeezes Arlecchino’s hand in return as if the warmth had awakened them from a 500-year-old sleep. Arlecchino cannot help but smile at her reaction.

“I used to believe no one would ever like me. I was a strange child after all.” Arlecchino says in a calm voice as she channels even more warmth into her hand. She has the strange desire to explain herself as if she has to justify her actions. 

“My eyes, my hands and my peculiar hobbies frightened the other children, sometimes even myself. I was proven wrong when I met a little girl who was willing to look past my faults and gave me a chance to befriend her.”

Arlecchino smiles wistfully at the memories and she can feel Signora squeeze her hand a little harder, showing her she’s listening.

“I remember the first time she held my hand and the first time she hugged me.” And the many, many times she pressed her hands onto her wounds to stop the bleeding, Arlecchino wants to add. However, telling this detail would probably spoil the mood. Instead, she brings her other hand to Signora’s wrist.

“You should not be denied such simple things.”

Slowly, her other hand caresses Signora’s forearm. Arlecchino takes her time to let her fingers wander over the soft silk, before her fingers go higher. They soon reach the hem of Signora’s glove hidden under the thick fur of her mantle and find their way underneath the cloth. As the glove slowly comes off, she deliberately trails her nails over the newly exposed skin of her arm. Signora gasps at the sensation as Arlecchino’s touch warms her skin and leaves goosebumps in its wake. Her gaze follows her every move and she observes how the other woman gently peels the glove off of every single finger. She trembles slightly, when Arlecchino finally takes her hand in hers once more, no barriers between them. 

Again, the room is silent. However, this time the tension is one of a different kind. 

Arlecchino channels more power into her hands as her fingers start to freeze over again. Whatever material the tailor of these gloves used beside the silk; they did a very good job at keeping the cold from seeping through them. Signora is much colder now that the barrier has been removed, little frost patterns dancing around the exposed skin. 

“The effect is stronger on my hands.” she explains as if sensing Arlecchino’s unspoken question. Though it doesn’t stop her from exploring further. 

Her black hands, corrupted by the Abyss, stand out against the pearly white of Signora’s skin - irritatingly so - now that the dark gloves are removed. Her soft, unblemished hands feel perfect under Arlecchino’s fingertips and she has to remind herself that those hands are as capable of killing as are her own. However, she cannot stop tracing circles on Signora’s palm and notices the scarlet painted nails she has, despite hiding her hands inside the gloves all the time. Slowly, Signora gets used to the new sensations, taking a deep breath to relax her body.

Until someone knocks at the door. 

Startled, Signora jerks her hand back and out of Arlecchino’s grasp, trying to hide her exposed skin as she frantically searches for her discarded glove. Arlecchino sighs, clearly irritated by the interruption and that their intimate moment is ruined. She bends down to retrieve Signora’s glove from where she had dropped it on the floor earlier when she was too occupied with other things to think of a suitable place for it. 

“What is it?”

Whoever knocked doesn’t answer right away, the annoyed tone in the Harbinger’s voice audible through the closed door. Arlecchino makes a note not to let her mood seep through the next time something similar happens.

“I…I’m sorry to disturb you, Father. B…b…but your scheduled guest has arrived.” Freminet stammers from behind the door. He’s clearly uncomfortable to interrupt them, but luckily he doesn’t dare to enter the study without Father’s permission. And Arlecchino doesn’t plan to let him in. Not when Signora is still scrambling to put on her glove.

“I see. Please tell them I will be there in a couple of minutes. And thank you for the reminder.” 

“Yes, Father.” Arlecchino can practically see Freminet bow out of habit even though she cannot see him. He is a diligent one after all. 

Knowing Freminet has left, Arlecchino turns to face her other guest, catching a last glimpse of Signora’s forearm, before she slips the glove in place again. It’s a pity, truly. 

“I apologize for the interruption, but unfortunately I have another guest to entertain.” Arlecchino would rather let the guest wait for another century, but this one is an envoy sent by the Tsaritsa. One she cannot ignore.

“We all have our duty.” Signora answers indifferently, composure seemingly intact again after their interruption, but Arlecchino can see that something else is on her mind. She fiddles with the hem of her glove one more time, before speaking up.

“I am sorry for earlier. Drawing my…weapon on you was uncalled for.” Her voice falters for a moment, guilt lacing her words. Her gaze searches Arlecchino’s, hoping for mercy, but the latter only gives her a small smile.

“No need to apologize. I would have done the same.” 

Arlecchino would surely have burned the person to ashes without hesitation. Last time someone had invaded her space without her consent they had suffered grave burns on both hands and forearms. Bandages and ointment had been delivered to their quarters for weeks after that encounter. She wonders if that is the reason Dottore has begun wearing gloves. They must be terribly impractical when he conducts his experiments. 

As for Signora, she is grateful that the other Harbinger had unconsciously restrained herself, because Arlecchino is not sure she could have blocked all the attacks. Her mind had been kind of distracted at that moment. Something she needs to look after in the future if they decide to continue this game they play after today.

The grandfather clock chimes, signaling the beginning of Arlecchino’s meeting and cutting their time short. She really hopes her words have drowned the guilt Signora has felt. She wouldn’t want her to stop visiting because of that. 

“I’ll take my leave now. Please, stay as long as you want and don’t hesitate to call Freminet if you need something.” 

Arlecchino is about to turn around and exit the study, when she remembers a rule she has taught the children: When entertaining guests, they need to make sure their stay is a pleasant one, from the beginning until the end. Meaning, Arlecchino cannot leave without a proper farewell.

Once again, she extends her hand and, after a brief moment of hesitation from Signora, cold, delicate fingers touch her palm. Arlecchino clasps them and slowly brings her hand to her face. She can hear Signora gasp in surprise, when Arlecchino’s lips brush over her knuckles in a fleeting goodbye kiss. 

Her lips are immediately covered in frost, but she finds great pleasure in the blush appearing on Signora’s face nonetheless.

“I’m looking forward to your next visit, Rosalyne.”

Signora is left standing in the study, mouth agape, a deep blush on her face and the hand Arlecchino had taken frozen mid-air. Arlecchino hopes that her little gesture has persuaded her to visit the House of the Hearth and her fellow Harbinger again. 

She wouldn’t mind spending more time with her. After all, gloves always come in pairs.

❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃

The next time Signora visits the House of the Hearth is for Mael’s birthday celebration. 

Arlecchino spots the birthday boy running onto the patio with a big chest full of chocolate and candy he is hardly able to reach around with both arms. He wears a big smile, proudly showing off his present as the other children begin to surround him. Signora follows not far behind, carrying her mandatory bag of sweets whenever she visits. She looks genuinely happy as she observes Mael and the other children as they admire her present.

“Father, can I have one, please?” 

Arlecchino is torn away from the serendipitous sight to face Lucille who is looking expectantly at her. She holds her plate towards the Harbinger, eyes pleading.

“Of course, Lucille. I apologize for letting you wait.”

Arlecchino turns the sausages one last time to make sure they are well-done and then places one on Lucille’s plate. The girl thanks her and rushes to the table to eat with the others.

“Always on duty even on this joyous occasion I see.” 

In that brief moment she had served Lucille the food, Signora made her way to the barbecue Arlecchino is overseeing. She takes a quick glance at the tongs in Arlecchino’s hand and the apron with the flower print she is wearing and cannot hide a snicker. 

“I was hoping you were free, but it seems you have your hands full.”

“Indeed. Mael asked for a barbecue for his special day and who am I to deny him his present.” Arlecchino turns the sausages again, making sure they don’t burn and she cannot hide a smile as she does it. She enjoys this “work”. It makes the children happy and she can make sure they are all doing well when they come to get their fill. 

As for her fellow Harbinger: She has the feeling she knows the reason for her visit, apart from the birthday party. Unfortunately, she won’t be able to leave her post behind the barbecue anytime soon. This will undoubtedly cut her time with Signora short, but she has already found a way to solve this problem, straightforward as it may seem. 

“I apologize, but I won’t be free to attend to you until the party is over.” Signora’s eye zeroes in on Arlecchino’s face at her choice of words as the other Harbinger calmly puts some more sausages onto the grill. She can feel Signora’s burning gaze on her despite the occasional cold which claws at her feet. 

“I can let someone prepare the guest room for you, if you wouldn't mind spending the night.” 

A few more sausages are placed onto hungry children’s plates before Arlecchino looks at Signora who still hasn’t answered her. She looks conflicted, the hand holding the bag of sweets having a death grip on the handle, whereas her eye flickers between uncertainty and something else. Arlecchino decides to have mercy and offers her the easy way out. 

“Lynette, come here for a second.”

The girl’s cat ears prick up as she hears Father’s call and she immediately comes over. With a little stiff bow she greets Signora before focusing her attention on Arlecchino. 

“Would you be so kind as to prepare the guestroom on the second floor? There might be someone staying overnight, so in case everything should be ready.”

“Of course, Father. I’ll tend to it right away.” Lynette’s voice is monotonous as always, but Arlecchino can see she has caught on to who will possibly be the mysterious guest as her tail twitches slightly, betraying her stiff composure. With a court nod Lynette excuses herself and walks inside to get the room ready without further questioning Father’s orders. 

“Feel free to enjoy the party until the end. And don’t hesitate to ask Lynette to show you to the guestroom if it gets too late.” 

Signora is about to object when a tug on her mantle catches her attention. Two boys stand behind her, wearing jackets and gloves besides the warm evening temperature.

“Lady Rosalyne, can we have some sweets, please?”

The attention the children give her charms Signora instantly and she bends down to open the bag of sweets for them. “Of course, little ones. Here they are”

More and more children surround her, all wanting their share of sugar, until Signora is dragged away from the barbecue to play a round of Marelle with them without having had the chance to speak to Arlecchino again. 

Unperturbed, the Knave fastens her apron and puts some more sausages on the grill. She has the feeling she will be seeing Signora again tonight after the party has died down and everyone has gone to bed. She only has to make sure the other Harbinger knows where to find her.