Arlecchino's gloved hand pressed lightly against her stomach, fingers flexing ever so slightly as the persistent ache made itself known again.

Hunger.

That gnawing, ceaseless thing that had been lurking at the edges of her mind for hours, perhaps even longer, but she had ignored it, as she always did when duty called. There had been reports to review, instructions to give, children to check on—tasks that demanded her time, demanded her control.

But now, she needed to feed.

A lesser being would have settled for anyone. Blood was blood, after all. It sustained, it revived, it was life in its rawest form. And yet, Arlecchino had never been one to settle.

Her standards were unwavering, and as of late, she had developed a particular preference. A taste so distinct that no other would do.

She exhaled, long and slow, straightening herself as she smoothed down the fabric of her sleeve. This hunger would not dictate her further. She knew exactly where she needed to go.

With the sharp clicks of her stiletto heels against the marble floor, Arlecchino moved through the Fatui headquarters with the same commanding grace as always. Her presence alone was enough to part the hallways before her, agents and subordinates instinctively stepping aside, heads lowering in acknowledgment, yet none dared meet her gaze.

She barely noticed them. Not a single one of them interested her. Their blood would be bitter, unappealing, a waste of time.

No, she had grown far too particular for that.

Arlecchino came to a halt before a familiar door. It was a sight that should have been unremarkable but instead filled her with an odd sense of anticipation. How amusing. That she, who had mastered restraint in every other aspect of life, should find herself here so readily.

A moment of contemplation passed, but only briefly. The knock she gave next was barely more than a formality, a signal of her presence, before she swiftly twisted the handle and entered.

The scent of you hit her immediately.

Warm. Alluring. Tempting in a way that should not have been possible. It took centuries to cultivate control, and yet the mere presence of this one threatened to undo it all.

Arlecchino's gaze settled on you, and despite the gnawing hunger, something in her eyes softened, if only slightly. She closed the door behind her with a quiet click and turned the lock with a deliberate flick of her wrist.

Privacy was essential, after all.

"I trust you are not occupied with anything pressing?" Her voice was smooth yet carried that familiar undertone of command. A rhetorical question, truly. Whether you had obligations or not, they paled in comparison to hers.

She advanced with the ease of someone who had already decided the course of events, her steps slow as she closed the distance between you. The hunger inside her thrummed, an insidious thing curling around her spine, but she did not let it show.

"It seems I have neglected my usual routine," she mused, as if it were a simple matter, though the faint strain of hunger in her voice betrayed her. "Unfortunate. I do hate when things slip from schedule."

Arlecchino stopped just short of your desk, her gloved fingers trailing along the edge as she leaned forward slightly, her presence dominating the space. "But you, as ever, are precisely where I need you to be."

Her eyes lowered, her gaze settling on the curve of your neck, and for a moment, she simply studied it. The rise and fall of your pulse. The scent that called to her so insistently. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of her lips, more impatient than anything.

"Would you be a dear...?"

The words trailed off, but their meaning was clear.