Chapter Text
Mornings in the House of Hearth had changed since Furina moved in. They became softer, warmer. When the sun broke through the slit in the curtains; its gentle glow was welcomed instead of shunned. Instead of grumbling and rolling over, Arlecchino would blink the drowsiness from her eyes and smile, because curled up against her chest and blessed by the sun’s light was Furina. The glow made her look like an angel, fallen straight from heaven and into the arms of this sinner.
(Arms that Furina declared “her favorite thing ever,” despite having said that about many other aspects of the harbinger.
“Was it not my face that you deemed ‘your favorite thing ever?’ Or am I mistaken?”
“Multitasking, my dear Knave!”)