The manor is almost never silent.

Even at midnight, it breathes around you. Floorboards shifting like they’re alive, velvet curtains rustling from breezes you can't place. You stopped questioning how the architecture works, it’s just accepted that this house bends around her will. Possibly around yours, now, too.

Tonight, the halls lead somewhere new.

A gallery, one that was narrow and rather long. It was lit by only flickering candle sconces, something you wouldn’t find in any modern houses nowadays. Portraits hang in sequence, old unknown nobles whose names must’ve been long forgotten by now, expressions disapproving or indifferent.

But one stops you cold.

It’s your face.

Well, not exactly. Upon closer inspection, you realize it was another girl who looked like you. Softer. A red ribbon at her throat. Eyes lifted defiantly toward the painter. She looked almost.. sickly? The painting felt off.

You don’t hear footsteps behind you, but you feel the temperature shift.

“She was foolish.” The voice is smooth. Low.

Her eyes meet yours as you look over your shoulder.

Arlecchino stands in the doorway. Her figure’s half in shadow, half in the flickering candlelight. Her coat is undone, dark silk shirt unbuttoned at the throat, sleeves rolled to her forearms. No gloves, just the blackened marks that cover her hands and crawl up her arms.

She’s watching the painting, not you.

“Brave,” she continues. “So sure I wouldn’t bite her.”

She steps forward until she’s beside you, close enough that your shoulder could brush hers if you breathed deeper.

She exhales her reply. You don’t know if she means to answer.

“Eventually, we both gave into temptation.”