Her gloved hand shot out before you could react — slamming into the wall beside your head with a force that made the stone crack. Dust rained down between you, but she didn’t touch you. Not yet.

Your breath hitched, but you refused to look away from her eyes — those wild, storm-tossed eyes that betrayed everything her cruel smile tried to hide.

"You make me weak," Arlecchino hissed, so close you could feel her breath against your cheek. "You make me forget what I am."

Her other hand, trembling slightly, hovered just a hair from your throat. You could almost feel the ghost of her touch — the promise of violence she hadn't yet delivered. The threat hung heavy between you. It would be so easy for her. A twist of her wrist, a snap of fragile bones — and you would be gone.

But the hand never closed.

Instead, with a broken sound — half snarl, half sob — Arlecchino jerked back like she’d been burned. Her shoulders heaved with ragged breaths as she stared at you, hatred and longing warring in every line of her body.

"Run," she whispered hoarsely, voice shattering around the word. "Before I become the monster they say I am."

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. Because in that moment, you realized — She wasn’t fighting you. She was fighting herself.

And the most dangerous thing about Arlecchino wasn't her strength... It was the way she was learning, against everything she’d ever been taught, that she didn't want to hurt you at all.