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The blizzard that had been terrorizing the frigid land of Snezhnaya seemed to momentarily die down that day, as the annual masquerade ball of the Fatui—the Nocturne Gala, was held at the heart of the city.
Arlecchino was never really fond of this event. She had always regarded such gatherings as futile distractions, an indulgence she could hardly comprehend. The Jester once told the Harbingers in one of their meetings that even though most of them would have a hard time bearing with the unfamiliar festivity, this annual celebration must however still be held following the Fatui's annual evaluations, for it was the wish of the Tsaritsa herself—to see her people revel in joy and thus graced temporary warmth upon the land for the entire night.
So they practically had no choice but to participate.
As the clock struck twelve, the Nocturne Gala began. The echoes of the city's frosty silence were replaced by the muffled sounds of music and laughter. Arlecchino, draped in an elegant yet unfamiliar black suit, stood aloof in the corner of the hall. A diamond-studded black mask graced her features—which seemed rather futile, because even the Fatui agents from hundreds meters away could still recognize her signature monochrome persona, and an aura that seemed to repel rather than invite.
“Alone in the corner again, handsome?”
A voice akin to the chirps of doves slipped uncomfortably into Arlecchino's ears. Turning her gaze from the Fire-Water in hand, there was Columbina, whose white dress and pink-gradient hair was unmistakable, standing next to her for Archon knows how long.
Other people would be too uncomfortable to even stand near Columbina for more than five seconds, but fortunately Arlecchino was already immune to the Third's strange quirks.
Rolling her eyes, Arlecchino replied curtly, “I'd rather freeze myself outside if it weren't for Her Majesty's orders.”
“You were never one to obey the Tsaritsa's orders ever so loyally, Knave,” Columbina said, her voice sounded like a sarcastic chirp. “You're only here to stare at her in secrecy,” she continued, leaving the object of her cryptic statement hanging in the wintry air.
Arlecchino arched a brow beneath the mask, her gaze flickering towards the center of the dance floor where The Fair Lady, La Signora, gracefully twirled in a crimson gown that seemed to rival the starlit sky.
"And who is staring at whom?" Arlecchino retorted, though the irritation in her tone contradicted the way her eyes lingered on Signora.
Columbina chuckled. Who is she trying to fool? She didn't even try to make it subtle. It almost felt like the masquerade had an odd way of unveiling hidden desires, even for those adept at concealing them.
“If there's one thing I know about you, Knave, it is that you're a terrible liar when it comes to La Signora,” Columbina remarked, earning a scoff from the Fourth. “Your heart is in plain sight, even under that dark facade.”
Arlecchino merely shrugged, the corners of her lips twitching. Not even trying to deny it this time. She lifted the Fire-Water to her lips, the burn of the potent drink seemed to momentarily distract her from the peculiar enigma she was staring at, shining brightly beneath the chandelier.
If her heart is indeed in plain sight like what Columbina said, why hadn't the object of her attention noticed the yearning in her eyes?
If only she knows it too, then it would be enough.
The clock ticked away, but the atmosphere in the ballroom became even warmer as the night wore on.
Arlecchino took another sip of her Fire-Water, the liquor started to spread within her, igniting her nerves and casting a subtle warmth over her usually composed demeanor. She could see a reflection of La Signora across the ballroom, seemed to be engrossed in a conversation with The Regrator. Arlecchino had no idea what they were talking about, nor she cared about it. But the sight stirred fire in her throat.
The Knave is not a lightweight—never, she is a great drinker even compared to the other Harbingers, thanks to her renowned diplomatic prowess. The alcohol barely affected her, she just needed a reason, a reason to step out of the shadows and pursue her desires.
“Good luck, Knave.” Columbina nudged Arlecchino's elbow, ever so observant, as if the heart of the Fourth truly did lay bare in front of her.
Arlecchino only responded with a little sigh, before setting her glass aside and made her way through the bustling crowd. Her steps guided her towards the heart of the dance floor, and just a bit further away, to where La Signora stood alongside The Regrator.
Hundred pairs of eyes fixated on her every movement, but the object of her desire herself paid no heed. It was always like that—La Signora never regards her as something important, as if Arlecchino's existence meant nothing more than just a thin air to her.
But perhaps... Perhaps it was the alcohol, the two sips of Fire-Water that could barely touch her throat—Arlecchino didn't bother to care about any of that, a sense of confidence suddenly shrouding her figure and guarding her steps towards the enigma.
As Arlecchino approached the duo, the orchestra's melody shifted into a slower tune, setting the stage for a dance. The gala's enchantment seemed to amplify as The Knave's shadow cast over the two Harbingers.
La Signora finally acknowledged her presence with a graceful incline of her head, something that felt more obligatory rather than genuine. The Regrator, on the other hand, shot Arlecchino a curious glance, recognizing the figure veiled behind the diamond-studded mask.
“Well, well, if it isn't the Knave herself gracing us with her presence,” The Regrator chimed, a smirk playing on his lips as he eyed Arlecchino.
Ignoring the comment, Arlecchino turned her attention to La Signora. The ornate chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over The Fair Lady's masked eyes, who was staring at her with both indifference and curiosity.
As if sensing an impending storm, The Regrator then excused himself, leaving the two Harbingers in a hightened tension.
“Rosalyne,” Arlecchino's voice, like velvet draped over steel, broke the ambient noise. The ballroom hushed into a subdued murmur as the Knave addressed the crimson-clad Harbinger.
La Signora frowned, her gaze meeting the masked eyes of The Knave. A flicker of annoyance danced in her eyes, clearly not appreciating the use of her real name.
“Knave, we are at an official event. Show some decorum,” Signora replied, with a frosty formality that barely concealed her irritation.
Ignoring her protest, Arlecchino leaned forward and extended her gloved hand, “Care for a dance?”
Signora hesitated, as one might expect. Why would The Knave ask her to a dance? Unless there was something Signora missed, she couldn't recall their relationship being good enough for such an occasion.
“There is no ulterior motive behind this. I swear upon my name,” Arlecchino assured, her extended hand still hung in the air. “Just one dance, Rosalyne. It won't hurt.”
One dance, Rosalyne, and perhaps you'll see beyond the shadows that I wear.
Signora knew better than to dismiss it outright, especially in the elaborate theatrics of a masquerade ball. But something in Arlecchino's eyes seemed to intrigue her.
What is it? Is it yearning? Or is it deceit? There was no way to know the answer.
After a while, Signora placed her hand in Arlecchino's gloved palm, accepting the offer with a subtle nod. Her crimson gown, adorned with intricate patterns resembling frozen flames, billowed as she subtly shifted her weight.
Sensing an agreement to her plea, The Knave's fingers instantly closed around Signora's with a tight grip, as if she didn't ever want to let it go.
The orchestra's melody embraced them as they glided into the dance, like a duet beneath the chandeliers amidst the sea of masks.
Something to be expected was Arlecchino's terrible movements. It was stiff and dull, mirroring her jobs and personality that often lie behind the desk—a stark contrast to Signora's fluid and controlled moves.
It was something that Signora didn't initially expect. She was used to see The Knave excelling in everything she does, hence seeing her in such awkward state was... strangely entertaining.
“I never thought the ‘Great Knave’ would struggle on a dance floor. Perhaps I've overestimated your skills outside the realm of bureaucracy?” Signora said, barely concealing her mocking smile.
Arlecchino chuckled, a low, throaty sound that resonated beneath her mask. She was aware of it, of her lack of talent in dancing, and yet she still moved towards Signora bravely. Even Columbina in the corner of the hall could see the confidence radiating from her.
“Perhaps you have. But still, it would be a waste to let the night pass without being able to ask our Fair Lady to one dance.”
Signora raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by the unexpected response. “What are you scheming, Knave? Is this some form of political maneuver?”
Arlecchino's lips curled into a faint grin, her gaze softening as she answered, “If there's anything I want from you, it is your attention, Rosalyne. Even if just for a brief while.”
Huh?
Signora could not comprehend what laid beneath Arlecchino's words, nor what she should say in response. The orchestral notes swirled around them, and for a moment, it felt like the world outside the ballroom ceased to exist.
“...and what do you need my attention for?”
“So you can focus on me.”
Signora's eyes narrowed, skepticism laced within her gaze as she peered into the masked eyes of Arlecchino's, trying to find even just a glint of deceit in it. But Arlecchino shrugged it off with a laugh, something that only few could witness.
“Is it that hard to believe?”
Signora muttered a cold, “Ha,” before she answered, “I know better than anybody else how unreliable your words can be, Knave,” she remarked, her voice laced with unfriendly coldness, “You're known for your ability to hide your true feelings. That's what led most of our diplomatic foes into their impending doom; those theatrics of yours.”
With that final sentence, Signora shot a glare at Arlecchino. A reaction that Arlecchino had already expected, despite her desire for it to be proven wrong.
“True feelings, is it?” The Knave smiled, moving an inch closer to Signora as they continued dancing. “Then, do you really think I am incapable of being honest even in the slightest?”
“I do.” A clear and certain answer, not a single doubt in Signora's eyes when she said it. “Even if your words might be sincere, I know better than to fall for it if I don't want to regret it later.”
Ah.
So that is how you see me.
Arlecchino's facade cracked ever so slightly, but she replied with a faint smile, “A wise decision. As expected from our Fair Lady.”
Signora was right, however, concealing emotions is the only thing Arlecchino knew best.
It is not because you can't see it. Even if my heart were to be split raw in front of your eyes, you would still chose not to see it.
But that is okay, Rosalyne. Arlecchino tightened her grip on Signora's fingers, much to the other's surprise, and planted a gentle kiss on the back of her hand—eliciting thunderous applause from the audience. For my love for you is not one that is meant to be seen; but one that will live with me, as long as this heart is beating.
As the final notes of the orchestra's melody echoed through the grand ballroom, Arlecchino's gaze held steady on La Signora. Her voice, now barely above a whisper, reached The Fair Lady's ears. “Thank you for entertaining my selfish wish, Rosalyne.”
“I wish it was longer, but then my heart would only yearn for more.”
Signora stood frozen, probably too stunned to say anything. There were a mixture of shock, annoyance and a lot other emotions surfacing on her face, but none of them screamed anything like acceptance or acknowledgment.
Arlecchino knew. It was merely a wishful thinking to begin with.
“Until our paths cross again.”
With a bow, Arlecchino released Signora's hand and thus disappeared into the swirling sea of masks. The ballroom returned to its lively chatter as if nothing happened—but the crimson witch remained still on the stage, unsure of what to feel about everything that just happened to her.