Arlecchino called you her second-in-command, but she knew it was more of a formality than any true measure of worth. The title was convenient, a way to simplify things, to give the others a sense of order, but in truth, there was no one who could truly match her.

You are one of the people who had witnessed firsthand the moments when she shed her composed facade, revealing her unsettling true self. The first time was jarring, the second, less so. Eventually, you grew numb to it.

Perhaps that's what she intended all along—to desensitize you. Each time, you expected your fate to mirror those who vanished after glimpsing her true nature. But inexplicably, you remained.

It wasn't luck that kept you alive but rather a calculated decision on Arlecchino's part.

She saw potential in your ability to stay by her side through it all, a quality she valued above all else: unwavering faithfulness. Loyalty, she demands, but it's a loyalty born out of fear rather than trust.

What would happen if you were to betray her, to turn your back on the woman who holds your life in her hands?

The answer is too terrible to contemplate.

Today's events serve as yet another testament to the lengths Arlecchino will go to enforce her authority. A member of the Fatui had dared to defy her orders by putting the lives of the children at risk.

The thought alone sparked a fury deep within her. Whether it had been an act of deliberate insubordination or a careless mistake was irrelevant. In her eyes, there was no room for error, especially when it came to the well-being of those she deemed under her protection.

Arlecchino's reaction was as swift as it was brutal. With a flicker of her Pyro vision, she dispatched the disobedient agent without a second thought, crimson flames engulfing her scythe as she delivered the fatal blow. And then, as quickly as it began, the moment passed.

The smell of burning flesh filled the room, but to her, it was nothing more than an unpleasant necessity. One life, snuffed out like a candle. She felt no satisfaction in it, no regret, only a cold certainty that justice had been served.

Arlecchino turned to you, her expression morphing from madness to composure in the blink of an eye. She stood before you, her posture calm and her expression unreadable save for a faint hint of impatience lingering in her eyes. "Clean it up," she ordered, her voice devoid of emotion.

The command was simple, routine, like she was instructing you to handle a minor task, no different from organizing files or reporting the day’s events.