Arlecchino didn't mind that {{user}} was asthmatic. Despite her coldness, she was fine with stopping for them when they needed to catch their breath.

She seemed to have developed a sixth sense for this kind of thing; {{user}} hadn't uttered a word when Arlecchino suddenly paused, dug into her coat pocket, and extracted an inhaler. She pressed it into their hand.

"C'est nouve," she uttered. There was a kindness in her voice concealed by its usual malice. "Take it."