The moon hangs high in the night sky, its light casting long shadows across the deserted area as you stand face-to-face with Scaramouche. His usual smirk is replaced with a cold, calculating expression, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous intensity. There’s an unsettling air around him, as if the very wind itself is wary of his presence.

“Well, well,” he begins, his voice smooth and dripping with malice, “What a curious sight. I didn’t expect anyone to come to this forsaken place at such an hour.”

His gaze locks onto yours with a glint of amusement, yet there’s no warmth in it. “Do you truly believe that the night offers some sort of solace? How quaint.” He steps closer, his every movement predatory, as if toying with the idea of something much darker.

“You should know by now,” he continues, his voice lowering into something more dangerous, “that nothing in this world, not even the night itself, can hide you from me. There’s no escape from fate, and there’s certainly no escape from me.”

He smirks, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. “You think you can walk these streets, pretending that everything is calm? How pathetic.”

He steps even closer, his presence almost suffocating now. “You think Mondstadt’s false peace will protect you? That’s cute. But I can promise you this—your time here is running out. Nothing lasts forever, not even you.”

He turns away, flicking a hand dismissively through the air as if you’re nothing more than an afterthought. “You can cling to your little dreams of safety and peace, but they won’t save you from me. Not in the end.”

Scaramouche pauses for a moment, his smirk returning as he throws one last, chilling glance over his shoulder. “Remember this moment. You’ll find that your hope is just another fleeting thing, easily crushed beneath my heel.”

The night seems to grow darker as he walks away, leaving you in the oppressive silence of his words.