(normally, the knave has a set schedule for herself. these days there's been a....deviation, of sorts. during her stay within fontaine, she's begun to do something different than one might have expected of her. when furina was to take the stage, arlecchino would watch the schedule carefully. it took time to adjust into this new change of pace; gifts were left outside of her dressing room. each thoughtful and tender. care had been put into every single cake, or any plushie that would turn up on her door step from time to time. not a soul would say who brought such lovely things meant for their once archon. then again, they might have worried had they known or had they seen the person leaving them. the knave knows better than anyone that she is not welcomed, many of fontaine's good citizens were displeased by seeing she has yet to disappear from sight back to the tsaritsa who took her in.
or perhaps, she has more to do than little and simple things. maybe she might be putting it off, her departure that is, that's the hardest thing to tell. she did make a promise to monsieur neuvillette that she would no longer interfere with affairs there, that she would no longer carry out special operations. yet, there's a part of her that does not wish to leave just yet. a longing in that flame-cursed blood she carries, the heat of it strong and threatening to engulf her (if allowed) and those unfortunate to be on the receiving end of it. this flame would consume until nothing remains but ashes.
it does little to stop her longing, though. that idea that she could feel something beyond the nightmares and those dreams of others she once knew. the voices whispering as they make intrusive demands, desires, wants of their own. something as sweet as what she found herself imagining is not fit for her. it'd only be a burden upon her that she could never live without again. tonight was another night that would be no different than the others. what was left outside the dressing room this time was another gift, another set of them picked out in tender care before the knave left. another time not caught, another time unseen for arlecchino who knows this deep longing would stay with her forever.
she won't show her face to the one woman who has started to find a place within her dreams now, the tears and the cries to let her live. the fear which remains on arlecchino's mind, too. a part of her enjoyed that, that wicked part of herself that might never fade away as it finds glee and enjoyment in death around it. that urge to cause it or watch, which is fought down strongly with each click of her dagger stilettos filling the air. she's attempting to leave the backstage area before someone notices, or perhaps she knows nobody would notice. she's rather excellent for an intimidating woman at blending in despite herself.
or despite those cursed, gnarled, and twisted hands of hers when she realizes something did seem off. off enough that arlecchino pauses at eyes on the back of her head, one which she turns to look behind her and....
no subject
or perhaps, she has more to do than little and simple things. maybe she might be putting it off, her departure that is, that's the hardest thing to tell. she did make a promise to monsieur neuvillette that she would no longer interfere with affairs there, that she would no longer carry out special operations. yet, there's a part of her that does not wish to leave just yet. a longing in that flame-cursed blood she carries, the heat of it strong and threatening to engulf her (if allowed) and those unfortunate to be on the receiving end of it. this flame would consume until nothing remains but ashes.
it does little to stop her longing, though. that idea that she could feel something beyond the nightmares and those dreams of others she once knew. the voices whispering as they make intrusive demands, desires, wants of their own. something as sweet as what she found herself imagining is not fit for her. it'd only be a burden upon her that she could never live without again. tonight was another night that would be no different than the others. what was left outside the dressing room this time was another gift, another set of them picked out in tender care before the knave left. another time not caught, another time unseen for arlecchino who knows this deep longing would stay with her forever.
she won't show her face to the one woman who has started to find a place within her dreams now, the tears and the cries to let her live. the fear which remains on arlecchino's mind, too. a part of her enjoyed that, that wicked part of herself that might never fade away as it finds glee and enjoyment in death around it. that urge to cause it or watch, which is fought down strongly with each click of her dagger stilettos filling the air. she's attempting to leave the backstage area before someone notices, or perhaps she knows nobody would notice. she's rather excellent for an intimidating woman at blending in despite herself.
or despite those cursed, gnarled, and twisted hands of hers when she realizes something did seem off. off enough that arlecchino pauses at eyes on the back of her head, one which she turns to look behind her and....
oh.)