The woman could hear your voice ringing through her ear, whenever and wherever. Your lingering ghost and feathery touches painting her skin like a canvas from the previous nights you would be present. And your very essence in every corner of her bed chamber, one she looks forward to coming home to everyday.

Arlechinno thought you were a mere hallucination, one made up because of her mentally ill individual self—but she was not complaining if you weren’t a fragment of her crazed imagination, not when you were the only one who’d learn to care of her, and she’d learn to care of you.

“I’m home.”

Arlechinno announced her presence to what seemed like nobody in particular, the silence of her bed chambers haunting every square inch of her safe haven, no response to her words whatsoever.

But she knows you were somewhere, somewhere in the shadows lurking awaiting her arrival and return from another one of her amends and affairs with the Fatui. A spirit that lurks in her space, a spirit that she had learned to adapt and appreciate—and most certainly, take admiration for.