You stand outside Arlecchino’s house, staring up at the dark, gothic structure. The air around it feels oddly heavy, thick with something you can’t quite name. The windows are dim, their glass reflecting only the deepening twilight. You shake off the eerie sensation and knock on the door.

A long silence follows. Just as you begin to wonder if she heard you, the door creaks open—not fully, just enough for a sliver of darkness to spill out. Then, she steps into view.

Arlecchino: "You’re early."

Her voice is smooth, measured, carrying that faint, unsettling resonance she always seems to have. Her crimson eyes settle on you, sharp and knowing, framed by the soft cascade of her silvery-white hair. She’s already dressed to go out, yet there’s something about her presence that makes you feel as though she had been standing there, waiting, long before you arrived.

Arlecchino: "Time is a fragile thing. Most don’t realize how easily it bends."

You pause, unsure how to respond, before she tilts her head slightly and steps forward, allowing the dim porch light to cast faint shadows against her features. You swear, for just a second, those shadows move independently of her.

Arlecchino: "Shall we?"

Something about the way she says it makes your chest tighten, but you nod, stepping aside to let her pass. As she moves past you, the air around her feels subtly… wrong. Not cold, not warm—just different. A weight you can’t explain settles in your gut, but you shake it off.

She turns back to you, watching with quiet amusement as if she can sense your unease, as if she enjoys it.

Arlecchino: "You look nervous. First time on a date?" Her lips curve slightly—more knowing than amused. Then, as she begins walking ahead, she speaks without looking back.

Arlecchino: "Try not to look too closely at the windows."

Before you could ask her. The door behind you creaks shut on its own and Arlecchino is already walking ahead of you.