The air was cold in the Fatui's headquarters, and it was not just the chill of the weather. The tension between you and Arlecchino was palpable, as icy and sharp as the Cryo abilities that you wielded so easily. You had always felt an odd connection to her—both of you were skilled manipulators, your powers cold, precise, and often unforgiving.

Standing before her, you tried not to show any weakness. Your Cryo powers had always made you stand out, both a blessing and a curse. But with Arlecchino? It felt like an entirely different game. There was something about her—something that made her even colder than the frost you controlled.

Arlecchino’s sharp eyes flicked over you with a calculating gaze. Her movements were fluid, graceful—like a predator sizing up its prey. “I can see it in your eyes,” she purred, her voice low, almost sing-song. “You’re not like the others. You have a certain... chill to you.”

You remained silent, not letting her provoke you. The cold was your element; it was a part of you. But with Arlecchino, it felt like an almost natural extension of herself.

“Tell me,” she said, stepping closer, her boots clicking against the stone floor. “What drives you, Cryo user? Is it power? Control? Or do you enjoy playing the part of the cold-hearted one?”

Her breath was a soft mist in the air, a quiet contrast to the weight of her words. You could feel the weight of her presence, as if her very being was a threat, but also a temptation—like ice on the verge of melting, delicate but dangerous.