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arlecchino's mind could be equated as a pond. within it contained a diverse body of aquatic creatures festering about. these could be called both her memories and emotions. some lived by feasting upon the seagrass and algae, creating harmonious and symbiotic relationships with those it coexisted with. others, the more ravenous ones, persisted through much more barbaric means akin to invasive creatures. without natural predators, they're destined to overwhelm the rest of the pond like conquistadors.
it is a cherished skill to be able to create those said predators. or, perhaps, is it but a mere pitiable circumstance in which the mind has forced itself to find ways to cope with trauma? whatever the case was, arlecchino is no novice at containing her invasive creatures, though a hefty sum of her ability to do so was attributable to none other than the one she called her lover. her darling, darling lover.
ironically, the one that nearly sent the effectiveness of all of arlecchino's developed coping mechanisms down the drain.
it was all too characteristic of life and fate itself that things would twist and turn into such a grotesque ending. what was even more grotesque was how bright the moon reflected against the ocean's still currents. what was more grotesque was how nothing else seemed amiss in the world. the cliff wasn't crumbling, the forest wasn't wilted, and the crickets still played their otherwise comforting melodies as if arlecchino's mental anguish meant nothing.
what was most grotesque of all was the disgustingly content and gentle smile decorating your face. the face that arlecchino couldn't bear sparing more than a glance at lest she let anger or sorrow consume her.
she of all people stressed to her children that anger causes impulsivity, and that sorrow causes wavering, and she was an avid practitioner of what she preached. arlecchino tries not to give in and break the silence, but she can't stop the small utter of your name, weak and defeated.
your response is adeptly timed—elegant and poise as always, she takes note of.
"never in my life could i fathom the idea of hearing my name slip from your tongue with such vulnerability lacing it, my dearest, arlecchino. does this gentle breeze not quell your heart?" you reply, said gentle breeze nearly drowning out the quiet whisper of your voice without exertion. thankfully, arlecchino's unknowingly trained herself to cling onto every word you say like it was gospel or words of the divine.
her throat is too parched to reply, and it's as if her pyro vision has snaked its way up to her throat and burnt it up until it shriveled like a plant. still, these moments with you are too precious to let her own mind stop her from talking with you.
"you are such a foolish lover of mine. you of all must know that something as minute as a gust of wind could never hope to pacify something as immense as my unrest," she slowly starts, finally bringing her gaze onto you for longer than a short glimpse. it was shattering to see how full of life you appeared—flushed skin, hair that was tamed and very clearly tended to.. it all served as a stark juxtaposition to what schemed within your very being and soul.
"we both are foolish lovers, then," you reply, no beats missed. "the two of us both made mistakes. yours, falling in love with me, and mine, being born."
arlecchino uncharacteristically bristles at that.
"do not say such ill words about yourself. in fact, do not call what has happened in the past a mistake. mistakes are something to be regretted, and i do not regret and have not once regretted falling in love with you," she sternly replies, and you have to refrain from letting your slight amusement show.
"pardon my insensitivity, my love. i forget you'd scold anyone who talked ill of me, myself included."
"you particularly, actually. you mustn't forget."
"hm? that wounds me, my love."
a few seconds may not have summed up to much, but those few seconds of lighthearted banter were heaven itself to arlecchino. after all, small moments like these rarely came. after all, small moments like these would never occur again at all. to arlecchino, these last moments were all she had.
because arlecchino was fair.
she always looked at the grander design—the big picture, and in this case, it was the world at stake. all seven regions were at risk because of this one predicament: you. more specifically, the tumor that grew within your soul, leeching onto your energy until it grew big enough to leave your vessel and infect the world with its curse.
contrary to what some people may assume, arlecchino did not want the world to burn. arlecchino was no villain or antagonist, but she was no saint either. she was somewhere in limbo—an anti-hero of the sort. she wished not for the world to crumble, but rather for it to simply exist.
though, in no foreseeable future could her desires align with you keeping your life.
"arlecchino, my dear? i worry when you fall silent. i cannot help but wonder what goes on inside that mind of yours," you start, a bittersweet smile coming to your face once more when you hear the sound of materializing metal.
"oh, my love.. how i will always forgive you."
venus, planet of love, had one moon.