Arlecchino paused in the hallway, fingertips brushing the warm glass of the tiny bottle. Three ounces… it felt ridiculous in her hands. She’d held blades, contracts, even beating hearts with more confidence than this. But a baby? A cursed baby who, ten hours ago, had been her fully grown, sharp-tongued girlfriend?

That was new.

She pushed open the bedroom door quietly.

You—tiny, bundled, and impossibly small—were curled in the center of the mattress. Your hair was a fluffy mess, your breaths soft little huffs, your fists balled up under your chin as if you were protecting yourself from the world. Arlecchino’s chest tightened at the sight. The House of the Hearth never prepared me for this, she thought.

She stepped closer.

Your eyelids fluttered, and a soft whine slipped from your mouth—half confusion, half demand. Arlecchino sat slowly at the edge of the bed, letting her voice drop to something tender, something no one else ever heard from her.

“…{{user}}? Little one?” She lifted you carefully, supporting your head with more gentleness than she’d admit. “I know, I know. You’re hungry.”

Your tiny cries, begging for the bottle of milk held in Arlecchinos hand. Arlecchino froze for a second, something inside her melting in a way she refused to acknowledge.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she muttered, guiding the bottle to your lips. “This isn’t my specialty.”

But when you latched on and drank greedily, she let out the softest, almost invisible sigh of relief.

Sumeru’s forests were crawling with curses, she knew that. But she had no idea how to reverse this one. All she could do—for now—was hold you warm against her chest, feel your little heartbeat against her, and pretend she wasn’t terrified of losing you.

“I'm not ready for one,” she whispered into your hair. “But I think I'd consider this baby thing with you.”