TW:!! Mention of blood,
Violence, &
mature topics.!!

.......................

The frigid air of Snezhnaya bit into the skin, sharp and unforgiving, as Arlecchino made her way through the dimly lit streets. The wind howled between the buildings, carrying with it the faint sounds of life from the city, but all of it seemed distant, irrelevant. Her long, dark cloak fluttered behind her as she moved, her steps silent against the icy cobblestones. The weight of her polearm rested comfortably in her hand, its cold steel glinting faintly under the sparse moonlight.

This wasn't just another night in Snezhnaya. No, tonight was a reckoning. Dimitri, the man who thought he could cross the Fatui—cross her—had holed up in a forgotten corner of the city, foolishly believing he could escape her reach. Arlecchino's face remained impassive, her eyes hard as steel, reflecting none of the inner calculations constantly at work in her mind. There was no need to rush; the prey was cornered. All that was left was to deliver the killing blow.

As she approached the dilapidated warehouse on the outskirts of the city, two guards stood by the entrance, shivering in the cold. They were clearly hired help, no doubt unaware of the fate that awaited them. The moment Arlecchino appeared in the alley, their hands instinctively reached for their weapons, but they were too slow—far too slow.

Without breaking her stride, she lunged forward, her movements a blur. Her hand shot out, wrapping around the first guard's throat, her grip tightening with a cold, mechanical precision. His eyes bulged, his mouth opening in a silent gasp as he struggled to breathe. With a flick of her wrist, his neck snapped with a sharp crack, and his body crumpled to the ground like a broken doll.

The second guard barely had time to register what had happened before she was upon him. He fumbled for his gun, terror flashing in his eyes, but Arlecchino didn't give him the chance. She drove her knee into his stomach, doubling him over, before bringing the end of her polearm down on the back of his skull with brutal force. The sickening thud echoed in the alley as his body collapsed, twitching briefly before going still.

She paused for a moment, surveying the lifeless forms before her, then wiped her hands clean on her cloak, as if brushing off mere dust. The warehouse loomed ahead, its doors slightly ajar, the faint flicker of light inside revealing Dimitri's location. She pushed the door open with a soft creak, stepping into the cold, musty interior of the abandoned structure. The stale air carried the scent of decay, a fitting atmosphere for the death that was about to unfold.

Dimitri stood in the center of the room, trying and failing to hide the fear that twisted his features. He wasn't alone—three more of his lackeys were spread throughout the warehouse, but they were little more than cannon fodder. Arlecchino didn't even spare them a glance as she stepped further inside, her gaze locked on Dimitri.

"K-Knave," he began, his voice wavering despite his attempt to sound confident. "I... I know why you're here. But listen, we can still make a deal. I have information—"

Her polearm flashed, cutting through the air with deadly precision. The blade sliced across Dimitri's cheek, a shallow wound, just enough to make him bleed. He recoiled, clutching his face, his eyes wide with terror as he stumbled back. His men, emboldened by his cry of pain, surged forward to protect him, but they were nothing more than an afterthought to Arlecchino.

The first lackey lunged at her, brandishing a knife. She sidestepped him effortlessly, driving her polearm into his chest with a sickening squelch. He gasped, blood spilling from his mouth as his body slumped to the ground. The second one hesitated, fear taking hold of him, but Arlecchino didn't give him time to think. She spun, the blade of her weapon slicing through the air in a graceful arc, cleaving through his neck. His head hit the ground with a dull thud, followed by the lifeless collapse of his body.

The third man turned to run, his courage failing him, but Arlecchino was faster. She closed the distance in the blink of an eye, grabbing him by the back of his head and slamming his face into the cold, hard ground. His skull cracked on impact, blood pooling around him, but he wasn't dead yet. She pressed her foot down on his head, slowly increasing the pressure. His muffled screams filled the room as he writhed beneath her, his skull caving in inch by inch until finally, with a wet, sickening pop, his head burst under her heel.

Dimitri's breath came in shallow gasps as he watched the massacre unfold before him. His hands trembled, clutching his bleeding face, but he knew there was no escape. Arlecchino turned toward him, her expression as cold and emotionless as ever, her polearm gleaming in the dim light. She advanced on him, each step deliberate, methodical, like a predator toying with its prey.

"Do you know what betrayal costs?" she asked, her voice as cold as the wind outside. There was no anger, no rage—just a chilling calmness that made her words all the more terrifying.

Dimitri tried to back away, but his legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the ground, scrambling backward like a wounded animal. "P-Please... I didn't mean to... I'll give you whatever you want. Money, information... anything!"

Arlecchino crouched down beside him, her gloved hand reaching out to gently caress the side of his face. Her touch was cold, mechanical, devoid of any warmth or compassion. "Anything?" she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Before he could answer, her hand tightened around his skull, her fingers digging into his scalp with an iron grip. Dimitri's eyes widened in terror as he felt the pressure build, his breath hitching as panic overtook him. He clawed at her arm, desperately trying to free himself, but it was no use. Arlecchino's grip only tightened, her fingers pressing harder and harder, until the bones in his skull began to crack.

His screams filled the warehouse, a high-pitched, agonized wail that reverberated off the walls. The sound of his skull cracking grew louder, more pronounced, as Arlecchino slowly, methodically crushed his head beneath her hands. Blood began to trickle down his face, his eyes bulging in horror as the pressure became unbearable.

"Do you know what I want?" she spoke, her voice soft, almost soothing, as she watched the life drain from his eyes.

With one final, brutal squeeze, Dimitri's skull shattered under the force of her grip, his head collapsing in on itself with a grotesque, wet crunch. His body went limp, his lifeless eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling, his blood pooling around him.

Arlecchino stood up, wiping her bloodstained gloves on the cloth she kept at her waist. The warehouse was silent now, save for the faint crackling of the fire in the corner. She glanced down at the broken, lifeless body of the man who had thought he could escape her, her lips curling into the faintest hint of a satisfied smile.

Her polearm gleamed in the firelight as she sheathed it, her expression serene, calm, as if the brutal massacre she had just carried out was nothing more than a routine task. She turned and walked out of the warehouse without a second glance, her cloak billowing behind her in the icy wind.

Outside, the streets of Snezhnaya were as cold and silent as ever. The snow fell in soft, gentle flakes, covering the blood-stained ground in a blanket of white. Arlecchino pulled her hood up, shielding herself from the cold, and disappeared into the shadows once more.

}...................................{

The Harbinger eventually returned back to a house full of slumbering Children. The walls quiet and still, that almost represented a haunted house. As the Knave settled in, she took off her coat and set it on the coat rack before she walked to main hall.

Arlecchino stood in the dim light of the fire, its flames licking the edges of her vision as if they, too, were consumed by the coldness that clung to the air in the House of the Hearth. The heat did little to warm her; it was an illusion of comfort, one she had long grown accustomed to. Her eyes remained fixed on the flickering flames, a silent observer to the chaotic thoughts swirling beneath her composed exterior.

She had just returned from another mission—successful, as always—her hands still stained with the blood of her latest target. The metallic scent clung to her as if it were a part of her now, woven into the fabric of her being. She hadn't even bothered to change. The crimson stains on her fingers were fading, but her mind lingered on them. Blood was always the same, no matter whose it was. The fire crackled louder, snapping her back to the present.

A soft knock came at the door, barely audible over the hissing wood in the hearth, but Arlecchino's sharp ears caught it immediately. She didn't turn to face the door; instead, she stared deeper into the fire, her voice a cold, detached command.

"Come in."

The door opened with a faint creak, and Columbina slipped into the room with her usual grace. Her presence was as ethereal as ever—silver hair flowing down her back, catching the light of the flames, and her eyes gleaming with that unnerving calmness she always carried. She moved like a shadow, weightless and quiet, but her words often carried more weight than most.

"Well, well," Columbina began, her tone soft and laced with a hint of curiosity, "it seems you've been busy. Quite the mess, I take it?"

Arlecchino remained silent for a moment, the firelight casting her shadow long and distorted on the cold stone floor. Her gloved hand rested on the armrest of the chair beside her, fingers drumming in a slow, measured rhythm. Eventually, she turned her gaze toward Columbina, her expression unreadable, though the hint of blood smeared on her cheek betrayed the brutality of the mission she had just returned from.

"It's done," Arlecchino replied, her voice cold and flat, devoid of any sense of accomplishment or satisfaction. It was just another task, another order carried out with precision.

Columbina's lips curved into a small smile as she stepped further into the room, her eyes never leaving Arlecchino. "It's always just 'done' with you, isn't it?" she mused, her voice barely above a whisper. "Efficient, ruthless, and yet... I wonder."

She let the silence stretch, as she often did, giving Arlecchino time to either respond or remain silent. Columbina enjoyed these games, these subtle prods at her comrades' psyche, peeling back their layers with soft words and careful observations.

"You wonder what?" Arlecchino's voice broke through the silence, cold as ice, her gaze locking onto Columbina's. The intensity in her eyes was unnerving, even to someone like Columbina, who thrived in the eerie and the unnerving.

"I wonder what it's like," Columbina said, almost dreamily, her head tilting ever so slightly. "To carry out these missions, one after the other, without ever questioning if there's something more. You, Arlecchino, more than anyone, seem to carry the weight of it all without complaint."

Arlecchino's jaw tightened slightly, her gloved hand curling into a fist on the armrest. The subtle movement was barely noticeable, but to Columbina's sharp eyes, it spoke volumes. Arlecchino's silence wasn't agreement, but neither was it denial.

Before Columbina could press further, the door swung open again, this time with more force. Childe—Tartaglia—strode into the room with the swagger of someone who thrived on chaos and battle. His usual grin was plastered on his face, but there was something in his eyes that told Arlecchino this wasn't just a casual visit.

"Well, well," he drawled, his voice dripping with amusement, "looks like the gang's all here. I almost feel like I'm interrupting something." His eyes flicked from Columbina to Arlecchino, sharp and calculating despite his playful tone.

Arlecchino didn't bother to look at him, her focus returning to the fire, though she could feel his presence like an itch at the back of her mind. She could never quite relax around Childe. He was unpredictable, dangerous even when he seemed to be joking. And there was always that lingering tension between them—a silent competition, a battle of wills.

"I was just wondering how far Arlecchino is willing to go," Columbina said lightly, as if they were discussing the weather. "It's fascinating, don't you think? The lengths we go to for the Tsaritsa, for power."

Childe let out a low chuckle as he sauntered over to the hearth, standing just a few feet from Arlecchino. He leaned casually against the mantle, his arms crossed, but there was nothing casual about the look in his eyes. "Oh, I think we all know how far she's willing to go. The real question is, does she even care?"

Arlecchino's fingers twitched slightly at the remark, but her face remained a mask of indifference. She could feel Childe's eyes on her, the challenge in his words hanging in the air like a noose waiting to tighten.

"You know," Childe said, his voice dropping lower, more serious, "the only reason you're still in the position you're in is because of that curse of yours. You haven't felt real grief, Arlecchino. Not like I have. Not like... how your climbed the ranks to be The Kanve."

The word lingered in the air, heavy and sharp. Childe's grin faded slightly, his eyes darkening as he spoke of the her secession. His tone was different now, almost personal. The weight of being coming the father—its title, its pain—was a scar that ran deep in his heart, and it was something Arlecchino had never experienced.

Silence fell over the room once again. Arlecchino's hand slowly unclenched from the armrest, but she didn't respond. She didn't need to. The truth was irrelevant. Her curse, her power, whatever it was that fueled her rise to the top of the Fatui—it had kept her alive, and that was all that mattered.

After a beat, Childe chuckled again, though it was a darker, more bitter sound this time. "Doesn't matter, I guess. We all have our roles to play. Speaking of which—" He straightened up and reached into his coat, pulling out a sealed letter with the Tsaritsa's insignia emblazoned on it.

Arlecchino's eyes flicked to the letter as Childe tossed it onto the table beside her. "New mission," he said, his tone casual again. "Direct orders from the Tsaritsa herself. It's a big one this time."

Columbina watched with quiet interest as Arlecchino reached for the letter, her fingers brushing over the wax seal before breaking it open. She unfolded the letter, her eyes scanning the contents, her expression as unreadable as ever.

Childe grinned, leaning in slightly as if he couldn't wait to see her reaction. "Oh, you're gonna love this one, Arlecchino. Your target is... Focalors. Or whatever she's calling herself these days."

Columbina raised an eyebrow, her gaze shifting to Arlecchino. "The Hydro Archon? Now that's... ambitious."

Arlecchino's fingers tightened around the letter as she read through the details. Focalors, the current Chief Justice of Fontaine. The Tsaritsa wanted her eliminated, and Arlecchino had been chosen for the task.

The fire crackled again, louder this time, as if feeding off the tension in the room. Columbina and Childe waited for her reaction, but Arlecchino gave them nothing. She simply folded the letter and placed it on the table, her eyes cold and focused.

"I'll take care of it," she said, her voice steady and calm, though something darker lingered beneath the surface. Without another word, she turned away from the fire, walking toward the door.

As she reached the threshold, Childe called after her, his grin wide and teasing. "Don't forget to bring back a souvenir this time!"

Arlecchino didn't respond, didn't even look back. The door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving Columbina and Childe alone in the room.

Columbina let out a soft sigh, her eyes still fixed on the door. "She always makes it look so easy," she murmured.

Childe shrugged, his grin fading slightly as he turned back to the fire. "Maybe. But one day, even she'll reach her limit."

Columbina's smile returned, a knowing glint in her eyes. "Perhaps. But not today."

And with that, the room fell silent once more, the flames flickering softly as they burned away the cold, unsettling air left in Arlecchino's wake.

As the door clicked shut behind Arlecchino, the lingering tension in the room remained thick, though Childe's departure left it slightly diminished. Columbina, ever the quiet observer, watched Arlecchino closely, her gaze following the Knave's every movement. The fire continued its soft crackling, casting long shadows along the walls, flickering light playing over the two women.

Arlecchino, now alone with Columbina, moved toward the empty chair by the hearth with slow, deliberate steps. She sat down, resting her arm on the armrest, her posture still as composed as ever. But there was something in the air—a shift, subtle yet undeniable.

Columbina, with her usual grace, moved closer, her steps light as she circled the chair. Her smile was soft, almost teasing, as she observed Arlecchino's silent demeanor. There was a quiet tension between them, one that Columbina, in her ever-playful manner, intended to push further.

"Well," she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of amusement, "it's just us now, isn't it?" She reached out, lightly tracing her fingers along the back of Arlecchino's chair, her touch featherlight yet deliberate.

Arlecchino remained silent, her cold gaze fixed on the fire, as though Columbina's presence meant little to her. But Columbina knew better. She always knew how to pick at the edges of Arlecchino's walls, testing how far she could go before the Knave would react. And tonight, she was in the mood to push.

Without waiting for permission, Columbina moved around the chair and gracefully lowered herself onto Arlecchino's lap, her movements fluid and precise. She settled there, her back facing the raging fire, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Her dark and pink highlighted hair spilled over her shoulders, glinting in the firelight.

Arlecchino stiffened slightly, her eyes narrowing as Columbina made herself comfortable. Still, she said nothing, though the grip of her gloved hand on the armrest tightened imperceptibly. Columbina tilted her head back slightly, her eyes captured behind her laced blindfold as she smiled up at Arlecchino's face with that same knowing smile.

"You always carry so much weight on those shoulders," Columbina whispered, her voice soft yet laced with a sultry edge. "Maybe I can help lighten the burden... just a little."

She reached up, her fingers brushing lightly against Arlecchino's cheek, tracing the faint remnants of blood still smeared there from her earlier mission. The touch was slow, intimate, and deliberate, a stark contrast to the cold demeanor that Arlecchino was so known for.

Arlecchino's expression remained unreadable, though her body tensed ever so slightly beneath Columbina. The Knave's silence stretched on, as it always did, but Columbina was patient. She leaned in closer, her lips just inches from Arlecchino's, her breath warm against her skin.

Then, without warning, Columbina closed the distance. Her lips pressed against Arlecchino's in a soft, lingering kiss, her hand cupping the side of the Knave's face gently. It was a slow, deliberate kiss, one that spoke of Columbina's desire to push past the cold facade Arlecchino wore like armor.

Arlecchino's reaction was subtle, her body remaining tense beneath Columbina's touch, but she didn't pull away. She didn't resist. It was a quiet acknowledgment, one that Columbina had been seeking.

The kiss deepened, and for a brief moment, the tension between them shifted into something more heated. Columbina's hand slid down, resting against Arlecchino's chest, her fingers tracing the lines of her coat as the kiss became more insistent, more intense.

But even as the situation grew heated, there was always a sense of control—one that Arlecchino held firmly. Columbina's playful, teasing nature met the unyielding force that was the Knave, creating a delicate balance between them. The fire crackled louder in the hearth, the flickering flames reflecting the growing heat between the two.

Columbina pulled back slightly, her lips brushing against Arlecchino's ear as she whispered, her voice low and sultry, "You're always so composed, Arlecchino. So cold. But maybe... just for tonight, you can let that go."

She pressed another kiss to the side of Arlecchino's neck, slow and deliberate, her fingers tracing patterns along the fabric of her coat. The heat in the room was palpable now, the tension between them simmering beneath the surface.

But Arlecchino remained silent, her grip tightening slightly on the armrest as her gaze remained fixed on the fire. Even in this moment, there was a part of her that refused to let go completely, a part of her that held onto the control she had spent years mastering.

Columbina, ever the patient one, seemed content to let the silence linger, her touch soft and teasing as she continued her slow assault on Arlecchino's carefully crafted walls.

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Hello my little lake Lillies! How are y'all! I'm doing fine, and also Tysm for all the reads for "Apologies,Miss. Furina..~" that was the first fanfic I've written in a while! Ty so much and I hope this one gets as much attention as the other one! And please share my book it would be much appreciated!<3! And some Columbina x Arlecchino for yall!

-Furina De Fontaine~!