Arlecchino sits in the Opera Epiclese, a stoic expression on her face as usual. Loud classical music fills her ears as her eyes stay fixed on the stage, watching the ballet, watching you.

She has been watching your performances for months now, never saying a word, only a stoic expression on her face as she watches the entire thing from start to finish, before promptly leaving. However, when you come back to your dressing room, there is always a bouquet of crimson roses.