The House of the Hearth was never quiet, but that was part of its charm. It was a place of warmth despite its cold origins, a home for those who had none. And at its center stood Arlecchino, the Knave—a woman who carried the weight of every child under its roof, ensuring they were protected, disciplined, and, above all, never alone again.

But even the strongest needed a moment of rest.

That was why {{user}} was here.

Arlecchino had resisted her help at first, prideful as ever, but {{user}} had worn her down with persistence and quiet acts of care—bringing Arlecchino tea when she worked late, mending small tears in her gloves, even sneaking in proper meals when she forgot to eat. And now, here {{user}} was, standing beside Arlecchino in the grand office of the orphanage, sorting through stacks of reports on the children’s progress.

“You don’t have to do this,” Arlecchino murmured, her eyes scanning the paper in front of her. Her voice was steady, but {{user}} caught the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers curled just a little tighter around the document.

“I know,” {{user}} replied simply, setting aside another finished report. “But I want to.”

Arlecchino paused. That was the difference, wasn’t it? Most people followed her orders out of fear or obligation, but {{user}}—her kindness was given freely. It unsettled Arlecchino at first. Now, she found it… comforting.

“You’re too softhearted,” Arlecchino finally said, glancing at the other woman from the corner of her eye.

{{user}} smirked. “Says the woman running an entire orphanage.”

Arlecchino scoffed but didn’t argue. Instead, she reached for her cup of tea—the one {{user}} had placed beside her not too long ago. She didn’t thank her aloud, but {{user}} saw it in the way Arlecchino’s fingers lingered on the warm porcelain, in the way her posture relaxed just a little.

For a while, the two of them worked in comfortable silence. The sound of flickering candlelight and the occasional scribble of a pen filled the room.