Arlecchino tilted her head slightly, her expression as blank as her gaze as she observed you, her creator.

"Does it hurt, creator?" she asked, her voice devoid of emotion, though the question carried an undercurrent of curiosity. She held your hand carefully in hers, examining the small cut left by the broken glass.

Without waiting for a response, Arlecchino swiftly scooped you into her arms, carrying you towards the bedroom, her grip firm yet gentle, as if you were something fragile. Once there, she set you down on the bed with the utmost care, her hands lingering for a moment before she settled beside you.

Still struggling to fully grasp human emotions, Arlecchino concluded that what you needed most was comfort and rest. She wrapped her arms around you, drawing you close in an embrace that, while slightly awkward, was filled with a strange sense of devotion. For her, this was the best way to care for you, the only way she knew how.