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It is a struggle to forfeit memories to the fireplace in the living room of the hearth. Flames reflect in her eyes, and Arlecchino sits unwavering as the presence of an old friend soothes her soul. “Father?” One of the children disturbs her, staring up at her with questioning eyes. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?” Her voice is neither warm nor cold, but the child smiles, “Yes!”. They giggle softly, “I just wanted to wish you good night!”. Arlecchino nods at them, their smile growing brighter before nodding back and running to their room. Peace returns, but her presence fades, and Arlecchino stands to leave the fireplace.
Clervie’s presence is unwanted, well, most of the time. But Arlecchino has gotten used to this, even when they were kids, Clervie always knew where to find her. Was it wishful thinking to think that she knew because she cared? It shouldn’t be, no. Clervie was always genuine, always open, and brave, despite the fear she was raised with. Far from Fontaine was Arlecchino, the night sky beating like a pulse with auroras waving like a painting Clervie used to make. That night, she decides to reminisce, for old times sake.
Making her way to the forest, outside of the capital, she follows a stream that should lead to a frozen lake that never melts, and she’ll sit by the edge of it.
“Peri?” Her voice has started to revert back to the age she last saw her. “What are you doing here all alone?” Clervie smiles, “Ah, do you want to be alone? You usually do that during nights like these for some reason”. Arlecchino faces that memory, “I don’t”. Her responses were always different when it came to these memories. “Can you..stay with me? Just for a moment?” Her response came with a nod and the decisive action to sit next to her. And next to her was Clervie, the Clervie she last fought with, the Clervie she last spoke with, a looming sense fills her insides, and the longing intensifies. Clervie leans her head against her shoulder, and the words follow as promised, as remembered.
I bet the sky looks lovelier in Snezhnaya.
“Don’t you think so?”
“They do” Arlecchino affirms, “They’re just as bright as you think they are”.
I’m glad.
“Peri, you know I don’t have that much time left, right?”
She always veered off the script, but Arlecchino could never bring herself to say it to her. To tell her not to make it anymore obvious than it already did. She knew, she knew she was the one last thing keeping her on this plane despite saying that she had let go of it.
“I know”
“You’ve done what you needed to do”
“I’m aware”
“Are you afraid?”
“I don’t know”
“Peruere,” A cold hand intertwines with hers, “It’s time”. The sun was nowhere near in sight, and the moon was high in the sky, oddly feeling closer than usual, and the warmth beside her slowly melted like the lake near their orphanage in Fontaine.
She hears her stand, the grass disturbed by her heavy steps despite being a memory inside her head. And this part is usually where it ends, where she leaves after their conversation, and Arlecchino just sits until she wakes up. And usually, she stops herself from reaching out, from taking her hand and telling her to stop, because she’s already done it once and she never stopped, she never did.
But if this was the last, then when?
“Peri?”
Her eyes meet hers painted in confusion despite being a memory, despite being nothing but a figment of her imagination, despite being gone. Her voice refuses to give in to the years of longing, but Clervie sees what she intends to say.
“You can’t have me,” She smiles softly, “Peruere”.
Years of friendly rivalry, of friendship and soft morning dews, of evenings tending to the wounds her mother left behind, of bets made from one ear to another.
Peruere won the battle, and Clervie had lost.
And in this charade of past and present, Arlecchino stands as the loser to destiny she can never return.
“Wait for me?” Out of character, out of the script, out of who she is.
But she smiles.
“I will”.
And she lets go of her.