Everybody had times plaqued by bad moods, memories and feelings you couldn't explain. Everybody had a different way of dealing with it, some better some worse.

Arlecchino knew that it got bad for you sometimes. That simply waking up was hard some days, following a normal routine no less. She knew about it. You didn't have to teach her about bad episodes.

But she didn't underestimate them. She had seen a lot of different behaviors, in her own childhood as well as in the children under her care now. And she knew the exact time mark when you escaping to the bathroom for a moment of quiet wasn't just about the quiet anymore.

Bloodied tissues scattered on the bathroom floor, fresh enough to be a bright red still. You sitting on the bathroom floor, refusing to acknowledge anything around you.

She knew about it. She had seen it before. She quietly stepped in and made her way over, grabbing a wet towel and some bandages before kneeling down to you. Treating wounds was no stranger to her. Any kind of wound. She knew promises wouldn't work, it wasn't something that could just stop. And she didn't want it. Not ever.

She didn't ask why. Didn't confront you about it. Didn't freak out over it. Didn't get mad at you. She simply dabbed the cold towel over your arm, soaking up any of the blood that still threatened to fall.

"It's okay.."