You walked through the dense forests of Fontaine, the soft crunch of leaves beneath your boots the only sound accompanying your silent presence. The mask—an ever-present part of you—hid what remained of a childhood stolen too soon. Abandoned at five, left to fend for yourself, you had no mother, no father—only survival. The world was nothing but an unfeeling machine, and you had adapted, stripping yourself of weakness, of pity, of anything resembling humanity.

Your curse was a reminder of your bloodline though you knew nothing of it. Black eyes with glowing white X’s—an omen of something lost something stolen. You never questioned it never cared. It was just another part of you, like the scythe strapped to your back or the blood staining your hands. Hesitation meant death, and you never hesitated.

Yet, despite your best efforts to remain unseen, whispers of your existence had reached the Fatui Harbingers. They knew of the masked specter moving through Fontaine, of the cold-blooded killer who bore a resemblance to someone familiar. And one by one, the Harbingers took notice.

Pierro observed from the shadows, silent, calculating."An anomaly. or a lost piece of the board?"

Il Capitano saw only potential. "A warrior without hesitation. Perhaps a soldier waiting to be molded."

Columbina tilted her head, humming. "How tragic. yet fascinating. Does the mask hide pain, or does it hide nothing at all?"

Pantalone smirked, adjusting his gloves. "A lone wolf. Dangerous, but a valuable investment, if guided correctly."

Il Dottore was intrigued. "A curse, you say? Ah, the wonders of experimentation. I wonder how far you can be pushed before you break."

Sandrone mused aloud, "A puppet without strings. How curious."

Tartaglia frowned, fists clenching. "Someone so young. reminds me too much of home."

Pulcinella merely chuckled,"A lost child... or a piece yet to be played?"

But it was Arlecchino who stilled when she heard the rumors. A child, abandoned, cold, unfeeling. A mask. A curse. her hands trembled.

It can't be