edgeray

[edgeray]

Hi Edgeray, how are you? Question. Do you also write for Chainsawman or any other series?

Hi, I'm as good as I can be with finals 🥲😅. Nope, no other series, sorry :3 thanks for asking anon

[edgeray]

writing this makes me realize how unfunny I am actually help 🥲

Attempting to write video game streamer au fic arlecchino x reader, but I am having trouble coming up with usernames and chat messages.

Essentially the idea is a Minecraft (sorry, it's the only game I'ce watched streams of) collab stream with _self-insert_ [reader, obvs, the username is subject to change if someone gets me a better idea]. Arlecchino, of course, has to be a total girlfailure.

if anyone wants, put a username (does not have to be tumblr) and what you would say in streamer! Arlecchino's chat (no limitations, be as unhinged as you'd want).

Also, any suggestions for usernames of other characters, like Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet, and maybe the other Harbingers are appreciated. Or any moments/scenes you think should happen on stream.

Feel free to either put ideas in the comments of this post or through my inbox. :)

[edgeray]

i just know tiktok editors would loveeee editing streamer arlecchino

oh yeah, definetely. arlecchino constantly clipfarms with her interactions with her chat too. her voice just makes for very good edit voiceovers. and all the ship edits with reader too? everyone eats that up.

[edgeray]

Attempting to write video game streamer au fic arlecchino x reader, but I am having trouble coming up with usernames and chat messages.

Essentially the idea is a Minecraft (sorry, it's the only game I'ce watched streams of) collab stream with _self-insert_ [reader, obvs, the username is subject to change if someone gets me a better idea]. Arlecchino, of course, has to be a total girlfailure.

if anyone wants, put a username (does not have to be tumblr) and what you would say in streamer! Arlecchino's chat (no limitations, be as unhinged as you'd want).

Also, any suggestions for usernames of other characters, like Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet, and maybe the other Harbingers are appreciated. Or any moments/scenes you think should happen on stream.

Feel free to either put ideas in the comments of this post or through my inbox. :)

[edgeray]

I can't believe I nearly forgot about this. Which one of you guys aren't constantly reminding me of this amazing idea???

Ik the cringey Gen Z in me is literally trying to claw through the bars of my mind because why the fuck do I want to write a video game streamer! Arlecchino. These are very incoherent and nonsensical thoughts bc I am tired.

Bro, in the most deadpan voice after getting destroyed by some kid: "Well. That's not very skibidi of you 😐"

Her fanbase only has two sides: thirsty for her, or is desperately clinging onto every paternal advice and praise that Arlecchino didn't even know she had said

"Chat, why do you keep calling me a dilf. What is that."

Has children. She does not know of it, even when CatMagacianBoi sends her a donation message saying "I think I failed my math test :(" and she starts on a whole rant about how failures is okay, and it's one step closer to success and that your setbacks will never define you. Has paused stream to teach someone how to tie their tie.

Wears fucking cat ear headphones. Until someone gifts her a custom made headphones with rabbit ears

Is actually really good at games when she tries. Is also terrible at sandbox games. (I can go on a whole rant of how I think Arlecchino will be like in Minecraft).

Another streamer colleague (Tartaglia) suggested she streams herself reading fanfictions of herself. (Never again. Ever seen a grown woman get traumatized over stream?) "What does the tag 'x Reader' mean?"

Does lots of charity streams, especially for orphanages.

Guys I'm actually in need of some crack ideas, I'm going insane.

(Maybe Arlecchino x streamer! Reader 🥺 fic? Mayhaps a slow burn where they basically unknowingly stream their e-dates?)

[edgeray]

I just went back to re-read The Other End of the Blade pt2 (i was the anon that requested) and I am so sorry, i totally forgot to thank you for it T-T

I very much enjoyed the continuation of the fic, and especially how you decided to focus on the reader slowly realizing that the life/career they thought they knew wasn't really as honorable as everyone around them said it was. It reminds me a lot of the "ya protagonist becomes a revolutionary against the systems they used to uphold" type books that I very much enjoyed when I was younger and still treasure.

Thank you for indulging my ask, and I wouldn't be opposed to a part 3 in the near or far future *wink wink, nudge nudge*

(But I do understand that you probably have a lot of other projects, so i get it if you never pick this up again. I'm just glad it wasn't left as a one-parter. It's too good to be left as a one-shot)

OMG SQUIRREL BOXER SIGHTING?!?!? THE FAMED SQUIRREL BOXER?! IN MY INBOX???? (We love you, Alba and I scream).

On a more serious note, I'm glad you enjoyed part 2! I'm already planning the plot for part 3, so honestly, The Other End of the Blade might become a series. Of course, lack of motivation and time constraints suck so there's always a chance something might happen but just know I really want to continue this! I really am enjoying this AU. Super unique and I can do a lot with it.

Thank you for your reply, asks like these literally give me life and make writing that much more rewarding :). Admittedly, I haven't read a lot YA dystopian/rebellion books, so this isn't based on that! I don't have the braincells to plot a whole world government revolution, and as an x reader fic, I'd rather focus on romance, of course. As I've said before, this is heavily inspired by One Piece, lol, and I guess the government corruption in my story stems from that.

In my opinion, I feel as if I write reader pretty blandly so I'd like to give them more development and personality! I think even x reader fics deserve good protagonists that they can connect to; I suppose that id what self-inserting does. Most of my works, those that are better quality anyways, my point is to really inject readers into my work and the story. You will see this with Late Night Devil and One Hell of a Butler, and other oneshots/requests.

Requests are open, so if there's something else you want to see go for it :]

None of you guys will be ready once summer hits. I (hopefully) will be a writing machine.

[edgeray]

Sometimes I feel as if I don't have any ideas and then occasionally I think back to this post and I fucking cackle.

Just realized that when I asked for angst requests, any of the ones involving death was the one where reader dies.

Cowards. All of you. Not one of you has thought of Arlecchino dying?

[edgeray]

fr I have so many followers that are missing from my notifs back then (tho i fell off so understandable) 💀 im not gonna name anyone but where are yall I miss seeing you guys 🥺

There is a person I’ve been missing in my notifs lately…. Squirrelboxer where are you pspspspspspspspsps

[edgeray]

Hi! I saw the pirate Arlecchino oneshot, and I'm so sorry glad you said you'd be willing to make an exception for closed asks for this one because i felt ROBBED at the end. How dare you write a work of art like that, one that has me on the edge of my seat, sitting up in my bed, and invested in literally everything, then it just ENDS. T-T

Is this what allo's feel like when they get broken up with, because my heart is shattered. I beseech you, bestow us with your axolotl wisdom and please please please continue this fic. I dont care if it takes a month or a year, but I desperately need your writing in my life.

The Other End of the Blade Part 2

(Arlecchino x GN! Reader) Part 1 Here

A/N - Hello guys, I know it took me forever to write something but alas I am here! I know I take forever to write, forgive me. Thank you for requesting this, anon! Writing this was so fun, please give me every excuse to continue this and make this into a series. Send me requests for part 3, pleaseeee. Let me know if you guys have any ideas. CW / info - Pirate AU! choking, threats of death, lots of internal monologue, fighting, 2.3k words

“What are you scheming, Knave,” you question with a scoff, rising from the chair and shaking out your wrists to relieve the rope burn. The Knave has always been an extremely cunning character, wickedly intelligent and manipulative. That Knave was not in front of you, or perhaps she is underestimating yourself. While you may not be as good as your older siblings, you have been trained all your life by a Fleet Admiral all your life. Your battle knowledge and will instilled inside you makes up for your inexperience in combat. You are confident that if you were to go down on this ship, you will be able to take with you a couple pirates. 

“I am not one of your children. Do you really think I would believe you? I know better than to let you manipulate me. I know better than to deal with you and your tainted children,” you turn around to face her, a malicious glare in your eyes. “You must take me far stupider than I actually am. How many dead children will it take to correct that?”

“You should have just killed me,” you snarl, lunging forward over the chair to reach for the sword in her sheathe. As your hand wraps around the handle, you retract your arm to pull it out, but not before a blackened hand coils around your wrist. Instantaneously, a fist meets your gut with a powerful impact, forcing the wind out of you while you tumble onto the floor. Damn it! As you stumble back, you kick the chair into her, earning a grunt from the captain, and the chair is promptly pushed aside. You roll onto your side and rise, standing still, glaring at her. You fumbled the only way you could have possibly defeated her, though you knew it was a half-baked plan anyways.  

Sword unsheathed, she twirls the blade in her hand, murderous crimson pupils that cut into you. “You want to meet death prematurely, little Marine? That can be arranged.” 

Looking at her, you understand why now Marines shiver at even the mention of her. The sight in front of you is something from a nightmare–a demonic beast that stalks towards you, nothing but devouring flames in her eyes, an inhuman malignance emitting from her. Every breath from you is shallow and quiet, like she could cut you in half if you so much as breathe too loudly. You bet she would be crazy enough to do that. Your feet refuse to move, and all the courage you could muster up only allows you to meet her gaze unshakably as she draws closer. 

You suck in deep as she reaches her hand out, her fingers curl around your throat in a tight hold, forcing you to walk back until your back meets against a wall. Instinctively, you claw at her forearm as she restricts your airway, but your struggles do not dissuade her grip. She heaves you up with the same arm, your feet dangling off the floorboards. 

“My generosity has a limit, and it is already nearing it. Should you refuse to accept my hospitality, I have no qualms with delivering your head to your family,” she warns in a low voice. She leans in, her warm breath grazing your right ear. 

“Remember this: I chose for you to live. Your life or death is my choice. Reconsider crossing me or, Archon save you, touching a single hair of one of my children.” 

She releases your throat and you slump against the wall, grasping at your throat as you wheeze for air. Her heels sound against the floorboards as she walks away.

“Dinner will be ready soon. You may either eat with us or starve.” 

She leaves you without a glance back, and you watch her back until the captain leaves the room. Once she does, you lean back against the wall, bringing your knees to your chest. Your heart gradually steadied itself, your pulse no longer roaring like a rhythmic engine in your ears. Even when your breathing returned to normal, you could not will yourself to stand up. The Knave's last words still rang through your thoughts. 

…Touching a single hair of one of my children.

Would you have really hurt a child? They were pirates, yes, but you bet that some of the children that have not even hit their double digits within the House of the Hearth. Pirates are to be killed, but you draw a line at killing or maiming children. How are they to know better when an adult corrupts them? Hearing her reasoning was ridiculous. She took in children wronged by the Marine? It sounded closer to that she was manipulating vulnerable children.  

How could she put children that young into such a dangerous lifestyle? Ignoring the marines, there's starvation, plagues, storms, and oftentimes internal conflict within crews that pirates have to face. There is a reason as to why there is no such thing as an old pirate–pirates die young. They either are executed or perish from their own foolishness.

A sudden thought struck you. Would the Marine execute them, would the Marines execute children? 

You shake the silly thought away with a huff. The Marines are the pinnacle of morality and reason. They would never execute innocent children. 

Yes, you are a Marine, it is your job to uphold the safety of people from pirates. And that meant the House of the Hearth children. They would need to be saved from the Knave too. Those children's livelihoods would have been better off the sea, safe on land, away from the Knave. Yet, for some reason, you could not shake off the doubt that came with that reasoning. Even if you did defeat the Knave, what would become of the children? What would happen to them? That was something you suppose could be pondered about later. They will be safer away from the Knave. 

… Will they?

The boy’s–you had forgotten his name–story bulls its head in front of your thoughts. His sister was almost sold to a marine, as if they were just a commodity. You presume that they were just children, and for anyone to be treated that way sickens you. You could not imagine what circumstances they had to have for that to happen, but you doubt it was something worth staying for. Would they truly be safer on land? Who is to say they will not return to that state if the Knave is dead, or, if not them, the other children of the pirate crew? You are not blind enough to believe that there are no other depravities like pirates. There is degeneracy in every land, but could you not say the same for the waters? 

Was going with a pirate captain their last option? Was it really their saving grace? Was it better than their life before? Did they choose this life, or did the Knave choose that for them too? Did that mean the Knave saved them? 

At the core of it, the fundamental truth was that the Knave chose for your life, chose to save you. Why? No matter how much you wrack your brain, trying to piece together whatever reason the pirate could have, nothing made sense. Objectively from a pirate's perspective, you were better off dead. There was no real benefit, not when it was safe to assume they did not know who your family was. In their eyes, you were just an ordinary Marine soldier. Why are you still alive?

You recall the moment you fell from the ship. The sting of your captain's words, the hopelessness that settled in your belly, the dreadful, overwhelming acceptance that you were going to die swirled within your thoughts. The icy waters wrapped around your body, dragging you down and your exhausated limbs flailed vainly, desperate to keep yourself alive. A captain was supposed to go down with his ship. What kind of captain would leave you like that? 

A simmering anger grew within you. You wonder if you were the first he ever did that, or if there were other Marines, who he was just as envious of their competence, that he abandoned. Either way, fighting in that storm would have damn near killed all of the men. Calling him a captain would be a disgrace to other, more deserving captains. Were there other Marines that were just as bad as him? Or even worse ones, like that one high-ranking Marine that would have bought the one pirate girl?

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of footsteps, a different one from the Knave's distinctive heels. Tensing up, you raise your gaze from your knees onto the newcomer. It is the swordswoman you fought earlier, carrying a plate in both hands. Just like the Knave, she carries a sheath for her sword. An abnormal relief floods through you–at least it was not the pirate captain. Wordlessly, the pirate makes her way to you, crouching down and offering you a plate. One distrustful glare later, you finally accept the plate in your arms, careful to not drop the utensil provided with it. Even as you take it, your stare on her is unwavering and your hand unmoving.

“It's not poisoned,” the pirate offers, and you shake your head. You had figured. There were much easier ways to hurt you if they had wanted to. 

A question probes the back of your throat. As she turns away to leave the room, you ask her. “Why do you stay?” 

Turning her head over her shoulder, her answer is curt. “I finally feel safe. Free.” She leaves you to your confusion. 

Safe. Free. What would you know about that? Apparently nothing. 

You finally glance at your plate, and the food looks better than what you would normally have as a Marine. You give a hesitant sniff, before shoving a bite down. It tastes nothing like the mush you ate on a daily basis, the usual staleness nowhere on this plate. It's still warm, clearly made with care, and somehow you find yourself shoveling down the food. 

Once you finish the plate, you gain the courage to finally get out of the stuffy room, drawn by some loud chattering outside. The familiar noise of laughter sounds throughout the walls. You open the door, and in front of you is the deck of the pirate ship, occupied by what you can estimate the majority of the pirate crew. The dagger-throwing boy is making a show with cards, card magic you believe is the term, entertaining much younger, excited pirates before him. Some older children are fascinated by the showy movements of the swordswoman, as she gracefully slices through the air with her blade. There are other children sitting on the deck near them, basking in their crewmates’ presences while indulging in their individual activities. They all seem so content.

None of them look as if they need to be saved. Who are you to decide who needs to be saved? They had good food, each other, and they were happy despite the circumstances. Maybe this is already the best life for them. 

“Care to join?” A voice beside you says, and you whip your head around. There the Knave stands, in all of her terrifying stature. You can still feel the ghost of their hands around your neck, and you repress the urge to jerk away from the pirate captain. 

“I thought you didn’t want me to touch a ‘single hair of your children,’” you reply coolly. Aggravating her would be pointless. Under no circumstance could you defeat her. Unfortunately, she was leagues ahead of you in combat, and could kill you quicker before you can think. Being civil would be the best way to stay alive. 

“You’re right. Come with me,” the Knave orders, and you can not help but think ‘Ah, so this is when I die.’ 

You obey her instructions, following behind her as she leads you to the back of the ship, a less spacious deck than the one on the front. It is empty, save for a few potted plants that will be witnesses to your gruesome death. She pops into a room for a few moments, before returning, chucking you something. A wooden sword sits in your hands. As you examine the dull blade, you hear the familiar sound of a blade unsheathing. 

“I thought you chose for my life,” you say a bit nervously, knowing that a fight with her was inevitable. You are not afraid to admit that she is a terrifying woman. 

“I have. I would not parade your death with a duel like this, especially in front of my children. It has been a while since I have had a proper training partner.”

A stupid, stupid warmth blossoms in your chest, the acknowledgement from the pirate captain worming into your heart and striking all the checks of validations you did not even know you had. 

“You’re just bored.” 

A dry chuckle comes out of her, a genuine noise of laughter from the stoic pirate. Is an occurrence like that possible? Before you ponder about it more, she rushes at you, and you raise your blade to defend. Your arm nearly gives way just from the impact, but surprisingly, the sword does not break. It is more sturdy than you thought. Your loss is fated of course, but she believes you can make a good fight. 

“I suppose you can say that. Indulge, won’t you?” She thwarts your blade away, going for another slash up but you stop her midway. 

“It doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice when you can cut me up whenever.” 

“I promise to be gentle.” 

“You think a Marine would trust a pirate’s word?” you huff, though there is no bite to it, even when you know that this very notion has been drilled into your head since you could read. Somehow, just a few hours in this ship has already unraveled some of your lifelong lessons. You do not know how to feel about it. 

She offers you a sharp grin, one full of mutual spite and playfulness, and the sight makes you fumble your next parry, your heart fluttering. 

“I suppose not.” 

[edgeray]

it has to do with 'mature content' as on my end as an android user, blogs marked as mature or had mature content was shadowbanned and pixelated.

For me, I had to go to Account Settings > Content You See > Show Mature Content. After that, everything was fine. I think there may be a new update for Android users in which the update defaults them to not showing mature content hence the shadowban. Here is the link for more about the update and change.

I get a warning and your pfp is pixelated looks like a shadowban indeed. Any idea why the sudden shadowban wave?

one of my mutuals @sea-lanterns managed to figure it out, and essentially it boils down to a difference for android and ios users. android users will see some blogs as shadowbanned, meanwhile things continue on as normal for ios users. it’s strange, but it is what it is i suppose. i don’t know of any solutions as of yet though, i fear 😔😔😔 in any case, mystery solved :)

[edgeray]

I have started writing on "The Other End of the Blade" Part II and I think I'm cooking, though it won't be finished tonight probably. Feel free to send me any ideas through my inbox lol. I feel as though that this will be a slowburn at this pace though, I might have to write more parts.

Hello edgeray! I have a bit of a double whammy ask for you today. First! I noticed my favorite fic of yours titled "The Other End of the Blade" wasn't on any of your masterlists. Here's the link so you don't cave to scroll for it:

https://www.tumblr.com/edgeray/768467775004000256/vibrates-so-many-wips-ok-so-idk-i-have-so?source=share

Secondly, I am the anon that sent a request a good while ago asking for a second part. At the time you said you'd keep it in your inbox so you wouldn't forget, but now that your request policy has changed, I kinda wanted to know if it was time for me to give up on seeing a second part 😞

This isn't at all to pressure you btw. If you don't have motivation to write for that story then I totally get it. I just wanna know if I should keep hoping or not.

Finally, I wish you a great day week, and many lizards 🦎🦎🦎

Hello anon! Thank you for telling me that "The Other End of the Blade" wasn't on my masterlist. It should be in my request masterlist! So sorry for forgetting about it, but thank you for reminding me! I just put in recent works that I forgot about into my other masterlist too lol.

As for the second part, there is still hope. "The Other End of the Blade" is also one of my favorite requests that I wrote, and I know the ending wasn't very satisfactory (and honestly seemed like it was going to continue in like some long lengthy series). It is one of the requests I would like to continue, among some others, but again, motivation is a fickle thing. I don't want to string you on only for it to not come, but "The Other End of the Blade" is one of the more likely requests to get a continuation of. In any case, I cannot guarantee that it will come soon but since you brought it up, I will try to prioritize it.

Don't worry about the pressure! External pressure is much more appreciated than the amount of internal pressure I put on myself haha. It's nice to know that someone is looking forward to what I write.

Thank you for the lizards! Your other lizards have been very lovely to me. You have a great week too :D

[edgeray]

istg you will not find anyone more loyal to arlecchino than me /j

I just did the math and (rounding down) I have written 98.5k words (probably closer to 105k) of this woman alone. does this woman know how much of my brain shes take up??? i've been feeding arlenation FAT i tell you

[edgeray]

Hello edgeray! I have a bit of a double whammy ask for you today. First! I noticed my favorite fic of yours titled "The Other End of the Blade" wasn't on any of your masterlists. Here's the link so you don't cave to scroll for it:

https://www.tumblr.com/edgeray/768467775004000256/vibrates-so-many-wips-ok-so-idk-i-have-so?source=share

Secondly, I am the anon that sent a request a good while ago asking for a second part. At the time you said you'd keep it in your inbox so you wouldn't forget, but now that your request policy has changed, I kinda wanted to know if it was time for me to give up on seeing a second part 😞

This isn't at all to pressure you btw. If you don't have motivation to write for that story then I totally get it. I just wanna know if I should keep hoping or not.

Finally, I wish you a great day week, and many lizards 🦎🦎🦎

Hello anon! Thank you for telling me that "The Other End of the Blade" wasn't on my masterlist. It should be in my request masterlist! So sorry for forgetting about it, but thank you for reminding me! I just put in recent works that I forgot about into my other masterlist too lol.

As for the second part, there is still hope. "The Other End of the Blade" is also one of my favorite requests that I wrote, and I know the ending wasn't very satisfactory (and honestly seemed like it was going to continue in like some long lengthy series). It is one of the requests I would like to continue, among some others, but again, motivation is a fickle thing. I don't want to string you on only for it to not come, but "The Other End of the Blade" is one of the more likely requests to get a continuation of. In any case, I cannot guarantee that it will come soon but since you brought it up, I will try to prioritize it.

Don't worry about the pressure! External pressure is much more appreciated than the amount of internal pressure I put on myself haha. It's nice to know that someone is looking forward to what I write.

Thank you for the lizards! Your other lizards have been very lovely to me. You have a great week too :D

[edgeray]

TLDR: new request system. requests are open again but requests won't be done unless i feel like it. I think I'm back into writing?

Explanation down below, long rant

Hi guys, sorry for my recent inactivity in terms of writing. I hit a kind of writer's block when the school year began and I just started recovering now.

I'm going to be so honest. I think accepting requests are part of the reason (not the full reason, I was largely burnt out) I haven't been writing as much. Don't get me wrong, I love hearing your guys' amazing ideas but it is so daunting for me to write ones that just don't appeal to me as much.

Writing is hard enough for my own ideas, because I have to worry about perfecting the execution of my ideas, and my writing style can be so time and energy consuming. I like to perfect my writing as much as I can, put as much as my effort, but writing requests doesn't allow me to do that. Some--if not, a lot--of the requests I wrote I did not like and that's not on the requester's part, that's just a me issue.

My system of doing requests was also just exhausting. I was doing *every* single request that went through my inbox, whether I was personally invested in the idea or not, and in order of when it was requested. Over the last summer, I did a total of 25 requests, none of which were very short and some of them were longer than I said I would write for requests (2k words). Despite how often I uploaded requests earlier in the summer, I'm not a very fast writer. I would start at 8 or 9PM and stay up to even 4AM to finish just one request. It was a daily grind.

It was getting to a point where I didn't enjoy writing, and it took me so long to realize I actually had free will lol.

In the school year, I obviously can't dedicate that much time or effort into requests, and the request number kept building up, I was overwhelmed. I want to make no promises, but I think I am getting back into writing again. The main reason why I was getting burnt out was because I was too focused on requests and not what I wanted, so I really want to change that this time around. I think if I have more freedom to write, my quality of writing would be a lot better and I would upload more often.

Those of you who requested last year, I most likely won't get to them and I'm sorry for that. I might still write those requests, but if it's not up my alley or I don't have a good idea for them, I won't get to them. However, since I'm going to cherry pick what request to do anyways, I thought it wouldn't hurt to open up requests again. Unlike the last time I opened up requests, I wanted to guarantee that a request would be written, but for my sanity, I can't grant that anymore. Of course, same rules, refer to the rules post, and only sfw Arlecchino requests.

But yeah. I wanna get back into writing--I'm on that very slow grind of LND pt.3 and I was so giddy about posting STAY, DON'T GO I couldn't sleep for hours haha. But I'm back? I think? We'll see how this goes.

[edgeray]

I don't often repost, nor do I like doing it, but I really don't want this one to flop guys :(

STAY, DON'T GO

Arlecchino x GN! Reader Oneshot

or: how you unfurl Arlecchino content warnings/ info: 6.2k words, angst, hurt/comfort, my interpretation of arlecchino's story quest (may be inaccurate), scenes in the beginning jump back and forth between time, lots of switching of povs

“Pureure,” your love had stated abruptly, two years into the relationship on a terribly ordinary day, no prior context preceding her response. You missed it at first, oblivious to the gravity that her utterance carried; rather, you were more focused on preparing the cups of tea for you and Arlecchino. Absentmindedly responding with a curt hum, you finished pouring the tea into her cup before approaching her, beverage in hand, offering it to her. She took the cup in her hands, but she didn't drink. 

“What was it you said?” You inquired.

Arlecchino remained silent, as if contemplative, as if hesitant. Something uncharacteristic for the Harbinger. Peeling your sight away from the cup, you lifted your gaze until you met her eyes, red pupils glaring back at you. Over the three years you had been with her at that point, you’re able to discern the smallest of details. That included the slight furrow of her brows, the pursed lips bordering on a frown, and the most marginal softening of her eyes. 

“Arlecchino?” You gently encourage another answer, reciprocating the compassion she seldom held for anyone but you in your tone and your expression.

“Peruere,” she enunciated with an unseen faltering, and you suppressed the urge to question it. She elaborated no more. 

You repeated the sound. “Peruere.” It was foreign to you, a word you've yet heard of before, yet it stirred some sort of ease inside of you–it felt right on your tongue for some inexplicable reason. 

Her lips parted, but nothing but an exhale escaped from them. Her eyes widened to a barely noticeable degree, but it certainly didn't mean there was no effect on her. She pursed her lips tightly after, her stare on you never leaving, but you had the sense that there was something else she saw in that moment. The glow of her eyes weren't as bright.  

“What is it?”

“My name. My name before her Majesty bestowed the name Arlecchino on me.”

‘Pereure,’ you repeated throughout your thoughts. Arlecchino shared little of herself, even with the growing proximity between the two of you. While your lover knew every intricate detail about you, there was hardly much you could say about her: her preferences, her upbringing, the source of her nightmares, and the reason for her frequent, blank, longing stares at you. You knew that there was no need to pry into her being, to pick out and uproot every bit of her that she meticulously hides away, just so that you could console yourself that you loved her just as she loved you. 

But it gnawed at you, the knowledge that you could be knowing nothing of the person you loved. How could you call yourself her lover, when she couldn't confide parts of herself in you, when you couldn't even know her favorite flowers, when you couldn't comfort her after a nightmare, when you couldn't support her as much as you could? Insecurity had crept up your spine over the years, clawing at your insides as you tried to assure yourself you were enough for her, but how could you be?

But when she whispered her name, like an intimate secret concealed away from the world, just between you and her, it sparked a hope in you, and there appeared an irrefutable fondness in your eyes that made the Fourth Harbinger nearly stumble over. 

“It's beautiful, Peruere,” you said to her, your eyes awfully warm for someone so cold, and the tenderness in your voice was enough to melt a bit of the ice encasing her heart. More than anything did it make her bleed out, the thumping organ in her chest cut open as she suddenly became sixteen again, her red-crossed pupils beholding a familiar carmine-haired girl for a moment that seems to extend farther than time. She blinked, and then you reappeared.  

Arlecchino stated nothing. Instead, she leaned forward, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead.

For the Director of the House of the Hearth, nightmares used to be commonplace. That is not to say that they no longer haunt her, only that they appear in the still moments, flickering alongside shadows and phantom whispers that echo in empty rooms. Brief remnants from a past still claw at her at the back of her mind, anticipating vulnerable, opportune times to lash at her and rise to the surface. The mocking leering from a cruel Mother ghosts one ear, and the innocent, childish laughter of a girl that never grew up lingerie on the other ear. Peruere–because it is not the feared, reliable Knave that stands in the place of her–experiences a multitude of these dreams, some that tangle and warp her present and childhood altogether, and others that are more singular, more insistent on leaving her with a reminder. 

It is this nightmare, the only one which she remembers so vividly, that haunts Peruere past beyond slumber.

A blanket of white expands past what she can see on a flat, barren plain. The ground gives under her boots with a soft crunch and her fur coat shuffles as the wind moans. All that illuminates her path is moonlight, luminous and full, and the dancing lights in the sky overhead. She tilts her head up, observing as the viridian rushes forth and across, flowing freely like a fickle stream. Viridian, that of a similar hue to… 

“Beautiful, isn't it, Perrie?”

Her attention is drawn away from the aurora, and when she turns to the side she is met with gleaming, emerald eyes. Clervie peers up, in a red stained white dress, an innocuous smile paired with starkly dead eyes. The lack of visible breath from her tells Peruere that Clervie is undoubtedly dead. 

“Don't you want to see this with me?” She presses. Even with her sweet words, Peruere knows something sinister lies beneath them. Peruere must not falter. 

At the lack of answer from the cursed being, Clervie continues. “You can see this with me everyday. You can be with me. I miss you, Perrie. Don't you miss me?”

She does. Everyday she does.

Peruere remains steadfast, stubborn and resilient as Clervie had always known her for. Even when her words are alluring, drawing something deep within Peruere that she was not even aware was alive, Peruere wills her mouth shut, in fear of what she might say, in fear of what she will not be able to take back. 

The apparition changes her tactic. 

“Aren't you tired?”

Peruere is. 

It is this damning question that haunts her, latching onto her like a parasite in everything she does. Waking, breathing, moving, thinking, somehow they all carry an inescapable exhausation to them. Even when she tries to, the truth is forced out of her, a simple, raw, “I am” tumbles off of Peruere's lips.

“Does it hurt everyday?”

How can it not? Not when she carries the sin of killing her former lover, and her siblings. How often does she have to bury one of her children in her heart? Even for her own children, she cannot eliminate their suffering, less of all, hers. Her cursed blood surges through her body, aches and pangs that nearly consume her everyday. 

Clervie offers a hand, kind and warm and everything that Peruere wants to surrender herself to. “You can come with me. I promise it won't hurt anymore. You can give up, Peruere. You outlived Mother. You don't have to live alone anymore.”

Peruere stares at the hand, small, pale, and most of all, unstained with blood–welcoming, even. She refuses to take it, even when her fingers itch to.  

Then Clervie asks the most damning question of all: “Why won't you give up?”

There's no answer from Peruere. She cannot find the answer, even when it lies on the tip of her tongue. When she parts her lips, nothing comes out, and she wonders if she ever could answer. 

There are a few things that you noticed when you first worked for her. All the miniscule details that you stored away mentally, for any future use that may allow you in her good graces. You weren’t aware of it then, but those details were what led to your relationship development–from boss to girlfriend. Arlecchino said early on in the relationship that one of your most alluring qualities was your attention to detail, always so keen on observing every bit of her until you knew all but everything of her. 

In the first month after your transfer to her, you’ve narrowed down her favorite teas and which one to give her in accordance to her outward mood. Liyuen Black tea in the morning for energizing, Inazuman Green tea during midday for a more soothing feel, and Lavender Melon tea for the evening to unwind. In the third month of working under her, you’d leave a tray with a teapot and cup for her on the desk that she'd inevitably return to when the moon reaches its peak. She bathes in the moonlight, sipping Chamomile tea, even with the knowledge the blood flames that course through her veins will never allow her to rest.

She tells you only in your eighth month that the tea is a futile but appreciated gesture to cure her sleepless bouts. It does not deter you; instead, you often pair the tea with a small side of honey beside it. There is no harm in sweetened things, after all, when sugar cuts back the bitterness of reality. 

There are other things that you notice about her. 

Arlecchino claims herself as a strict and unfeeling Father. At first, you had believed it well into the second week. Piercing stares into her children, as if she were gauging them, inside and out for every imperfection and fault she could pry out. Words harsh like the creaking of a door that echoes through the house with sparing touches, as cold as the Snezhnayan snow. Her interactions with the younglings beyond Fatui-related matters are few and far in between. 

Then there are the times when she observes. Unmoving, just like her expression, but her gaze never ending, always lingering. The observed never notice, but you do. It matters not what the children are doing, whether reading quietly among themselves, chatting boisterously, or even eating pastries, she watches. Sometimes you think her lips twitch a miniscule amount, but it is gone as soon as it appears, like a wispy ghost. It frustrates you, like deciphering a brick wall, evident of nothing but its unyieldingness. Like grasping embers that fade out of existence before your fingertips. 

You wonder why she watches, wonder what thoughts her mind conjures. Perhaps there is an underlying warmth to her actions, to the calculated callousness of her methods, or maybe that is just wishful thinking on your part. 

It only takes half a year for her to stare at you like that too–somehow all of your mundane routines have captured her attention, whether it was interacting with the children or fixing something in the kitchen. You’re aware of her, painfully so, by the way her crossed pupils dig so deep into your skin that you still feel the imprint of her intent gaze when even after she looks away. Her behold searing as if she were burning you with her crimson flames. 

(Every budding affection charred until ashes, pruned before it could blossom, and with that any thorn that may appear.)

What does she see when her eyes falter on your form? You suppose that you'd never know. 

A year into your relationship, Arlecchino asks you to retrieve some files in her bedroom's closet. For as long as you've started sleeping with her in the same bed (give or take half a year), you've never explored the rest of the room–you felt that it wasn't right to. You find the wardrobe she detailed, and try to recall what drawer it was she wanted you to find. Was it the last one or the second to last one? Curse your poor memory. 

You open the last drawer, expecting a file folder. Instead, you find two plush dolls, resembling bunnies, laying side by side one another innocently. On the left, a rose pink rabbit, with floppy ears, beady jade eyes, adorning a floppy bow tie and snow white headband. The tuft of what you assumed was hair stuck out from the head, and the tips of the ears were white, as well as the lower half of its face.

Adorable. 

The bunny (or rather, hare, you realize) to the right is white and black in color. Bangs cover up the left eye, and even with the bow tie and cutesy appearance, it's easy to tell who this toy is supposed to represent.

You suck in a harsh breath, curiosities swirling in your head. 

Quickly, you slide away the drawer and open the second one, finding the file folder you were sent here for and grabbing it. You shut the closet door resolutely, the image of the plushies never escaping your mind. 

You can ask her at a later point. 

Death comes for all, in the enemies she has slaughtered or in the lives of her children that slip past her. Even for Archons, death comes to, and Arlecchino knows that herself is no exception. Fate will come to her too, either in the agonizing, cruel way that catches the Knave off guard, or it will be in the way like her curse–slow and inevitable, a dull pain that swallows her surely. The curse will continue to rise past her forearms, and head towards her heart in a decade or two, she suspects. In any case, she believes that her death will come shortly, and there are many things that she cannot dawdle on because of that inevitability. 

Before her demise, there must be one of two conditions to be met. A self-imposed goal. One, she finds a way for the House of the Hearth to be permanently freed from the Fatui, which in her remaining lifetime is unlikely. The second is that the House of the Hearth has a suitable successor to take her place, ensuring that the children will live safely and contently beyond her.

Lyney is already shaping to become an exemplary successor. There are some more lessons for him to learn, but it will not take long–a few years at most–until he is ready. She is no longer concerned with the survival of the House of the Hearth, as her son would be an even better Director than she is. 

So, should death come to her in the near future, she would accept it graciously and without regret. She's fulfilled her purpose, protected who she could as best as she could, and while she has yet learned of what a family exactly is, she knows Lyney is brilliant enough to find the answer. And if not, Lynette, Freminet, and the rest of his siblings will show him the answer. She does not feel that the life Clervie gave her has gone to waste, and to some degree, she has seen and made the House of the Hearth into the ‘family’ and ‘home’ that Clervie had always wanted. 

There is not another reason for her heart to beat longer.  

Yet, her heart does. She’s discovered another reason for her heart to continue beating. 

The Knave is not afraid of death, make no mistake, but when her gaze falls on you she despises that she wishes for her life to extend a second a longer. Thoughts of a longer future are discarded just as they appear, driven away with a mental swat as if they were nothing more than nuisances. Her death will surely approach soon, so why is it that she wants her end to delay? She has nothing left, she has accomplished everything, why must she want more? When her touch grazes you, why is it that all she can think is where next to touch invoke such a flustered reaction? Why does she imagine more of your future smiles towards her? 

She does not need one more reason to continue living. And she realizes with a heavy heart that is the chink in the Knave's armor, what makes her most afraid: wanting to continue a future she does not have. 

About eight months after she's revealed her true name, you learn of a second name.

A blackened hand raises, stroking your cheek with a rare tenderness that's only extended to you, and your eyelids flutter. Sunlight streams through the window, painting Peruere as an angelic being, and her white hair emits off almost a heavenly glare. Red crosses greet your drowsy gaze, softened by your appearance.  

Like every morning for the past year, you've always awakened to the unmistakable warmth that belongs to Peruere. With the blood flames that course through her body, along with her Pyro vision, always on her person, she’s always hot to the touch. You find that you don't mind. On the more crisp nights, when she draws you closer underneath the covers and your bodies fit together like one whole, you can't possibly trade for another place to be. She is your hearth, a sanctuary that stokes the embers of your heart. You live inside of her heart, as does she in yours. 

It always takes a while to break the comfortable silence between the two of you. With how busy the Haringer is, finding quiet, intimate moments like these throughout the day is difficult. Basking in each other's company makes it all worth waking up and trudging through the day, then falling into each other's arms at night. Words are needless now, not when every touch or gesture is enough to communicate what the two of you need. After some while, Peruere breaks the silence by recounting what must be done today. Today is no different. 

“There's someone I’ve needed to see for some time,” she says, breaking your trance from admiring her lips. 

“Do you need me to see them?” 

She remains silent for some moments. “No. But I’d like you to.”

An unusual answer from her. Who is this person she'd like to meet? What kind of person are they, if Peruere wanted you to see them? What is their relationship? You could count very few individuals whose presence Peruere tolerates enough that she'd want you to see them. It's likely not Fatui-related in that case, not when she could hardly endure a minute with her fellow Harbingers, and her patience wore rather thin with other operatives. From her personal background then?

You try to recall what you've learned about Peruere’s past. A frown forms when you determine that it's very little. You knew not of how she became a Harbinger or her circumstance before taking the mantle of ‘Father.’ What you knew amounted to what she gave you about her curse, her real name, and the stuffed animals. You had never asked about, but occasionally the image of green buttoned eyes and the scarlett bunny flashes through your mind. If Peruere represents one of them, who was the other one? For now, you shove away the thought. 

“Then I'll go, if that's what you want,” you finally answer. 

Peruere nods, before wordlessly rising from bed. 

Arlecchino treks the same path up the mountain as she has times before. Her feet move on their own, as if the pull to the ruins were ingrained in her very muscles. Every time she's visited, it's always a sullen journey, as alone and cold as what remains on top of the hill. With each step, the air seems to thicken, and the bloodflames lick away at her veins, daring to consume her. Her frozen heart hardens until it grows heavy, dense enough that she feels it sinks into her stomach and that familiar suffocating, oppressive weight settles inside like an insidious parasite. 

Her heart is relieved by the most miniscule amount with your presence. One clasped with yours, and the other firmly holding the bouquet of Lumoudice Bells, she continues. She wonders if you can feel the way her heart thumps so erratically, so unlike the strict and unfeeling Father, the ruthless diplomat. How can one measly life disturb her when she's taken the lives of so many? She banished the thought away, because she knew her first love would never be just ‘one measly life.’ 

If you knew of Clervie, what were you to think of her? What were you to think, with the knowledge that her first–and only–friend died in her arms, her blood stained on her hands, and pierced by her sword? If you knew she had clung to Clervie beyond death and forced her day after day to wander, afraid, distraught, and alone, around a house whose walls haunted her, what would become of her in the eyes of you? 

Perhaps, you would see her as the monster Crucabena raised–maybe you too would burn from her cursed flames, and she'd be left with the only fate she could not defy: being alone, like how a wretched monster is supposed to be. Her only company would be the curse that gradually chokes her until she is buried in the ashes of all those close to her, and her life too will be snuffed out like fading embers. 

The blood flames nicks her, and she momentarily embraces the sting that spreads through her form.  

“Peruere,” you softly call out, concern dripping from your tone, and oh, how you do inexplicable things to her heart. She opens her eyes, and for a moment, she thinks she sees a glint of viridian in your eyes, before it flickers out of existence in a blink. 

She shakes her head to dismiss your worries, before looking ahead. The ruins come into view, and she wills the blood flames passive. Her forearms itch.

It's been nearly four years since she was last here, these crumbled walls and the overgrown stone floors make the resting place for both Clervie and her shadow. The sun–the same sun whose warmth Clervie had always wanted to feel–beams over Arlecchino just as it had done on the shadow. 

(Arlecchino wonders, when she held the dying girl for the first time, whether the warmth of her cursed flames could ever replace the sun's warmth. Would Clervie have been just as content, just as free for even a second, were she in Peruere's arms? For as cursed as she was, were her flames enough to be Clervie's Hearth?) 

Twice, here, she had said her farewells. Now, it's the first time that she's greeting Clervie since they first parted. 

She doesn't remember when or how she made her way here. Before her is a crude gravestone that she made after Clervie's death, hidden behind some rubble. She can still recall the way her hands terribly trembled and ached, as she hand-carved every letter and number onto the stone. She could barely register the pelting of the rain as she dug, and dug for what seemed like an eternity, but the weight of her body as she raised and lowered her seemed etched into her muscles, and–

“Peruere,” you say, and it is your warmth that jolts her when you intertwine your fingers with hers. “You're shaking.”

Indeed, her hands are trembling by her side, the bouquet bunching tightly. Inhaling deeply, she recollects herself, willing her hands to stop. 

“This is Clervie. She was…” Arlecchino begins but just as quickly pauses. She detests how difficult it was to grasp onto words when speaking was just as effortless as breathing. 

‘Everything’ she almost wants to say, and even the admission makes her chest churn agonizingly, her heart compounding into itself as if it wanted to hide from the truth. Those words are far too vulnerable, too revealing. Arlecchino attempts to find an appropriate substitute for the word but for once, she is at a loss. In an effort to reclaim some of her composure, but when she spots your gentle eyes, she sees a patience unfound by her from anyone before, an empathy that would swallow her whole if she continued staring into the abyss. A look that completely disarms her, that loosens her lips, that cracks her hardened exterior, and the emotions that have been welled up inside of her for years thrashes against its restraints, barging against her throat to escape. Peruere finds herself at the center of ravaging waters–waves of buried memories, of reserved sorrows–and even the cursed flames underneath her skin threaten to sear her. But even as the tides crash over, Peruere stands steadily. Here is not the place for her to crumble, not the time yet for you to see all of her walls peeled back. So, for now, she beckons the currents back into the well of her being. 

Her eyes flick away from yours, instead, looking up at the expanse of the sky. Peruere sees white clouds, reminiscent of Clervie's dress. “She was dear to me. She was my sole companion for much of my lifetime.”

You do not say anything for a few moments, long enough that Arlecchino starts doubting herself that you were even there until you finally say, “Do you miss her?” 

Miss her. Those two words can not attest to the amount of longing she has had since Clervie's death. Even now, a pang strikes through her, the bittersweet image of an adult Clervie–a Clervie that had the chance to grow up–appears at the forefront of her mind. If Clervie was here beside her, she would describe all the things the clouds resembled. “I do. But I would imagine that she would be at better peace now than with me.” 

Another bout of silence. This one is shorter than the last, cut with a simple question. “Would you like to talk to her?” 

She has never once thought of talking to Clervie's gravestone. What could be said to someone who could not respond? Arlecchino supposes, however, that there is no harm in doing so. She glances back down onto Clervie. Even if they never reach the intended audience's ears, it will act as a release for all of the unsaid words Arlecchino has. “Yes, I would.”

“I'll wait for you. Take as long as you need, Peruere.” The grass crunches behind her as you walk away, the sound growing quieter until it fades away. Once it does, she crouches down to place the bouquet of Lumoudice bells. 

“Clervie,” she addresses softly to the gravestone. “It has been a while. I apologize for not visiting sooner. I hope that you are faring well.”

What should she say? Arlecchino does not often converse with the dead.

“The House of the Hearth remains lively as ever.” She stops, recalling the more memorable events that occurred. Clervie would surely be amused. 

“We saw another addition to the family just a few months ago. I had taken in another child, Claude. He appears shy, but I believe that he will soon find his place among the rest of his siblings. Like you, he is an avid reader. Lyney has expectedly made earnest attempts to befriend him, but Freminet, with their akin quiet nature, would likely be more successful. Speaking of which, Lyney and Lynette's magic show has been prospering, and Freminet is included in some of the shows as well. He is becoming an increasingly beloved performer among the fans, and I do hope this will boost his confidence.”

She ponders for a moment of what else to add. 

“The children persuaded me to allow them to keep another stray cat, an abandoned kitten they found in an alley. I believe they called it Pumpkin, though I am certain it is a cover name for a more crude title. Two weeks ago, while I was working in my office, I was disturbed by an explosion. It appears that Foltz and Heloir were baking cookies, or what I can assume they were with the charred remains of their efforts.” 

Arlecchino lets out a huff of amusement, before continuing, “[Name] scolded the two quite thoroughly. They did not take to their given punishments so graciously, or at least less graciously as they would have had I issued the reprimand. [Name]’s generosity grants them that freedom, yet I cannot find myself especially irked with this. It is a welcome addition–[Name] is a welcome addition to our lives. The children have grown quite attached to [Name], and I…”

A beat of silence, an instant to formulate adequate words.

“[Name] is precious to me. They remind me of you, Clervie, in their kindness. You would have loved them. I had thought I would not find another person that would stay. But [Name] did. They are still here, and they do not intend on leaving. I cannot be any more grateful. They are attentive, gentle, and protective of the children, and to me… I cannot tolerate being without them. I could have never thought I would long for another just as I had for you, Clervie.”

A deep inhale then exhale.

“I had always wondered why you had given up your life for mine. Was the life I had lived worth yours in exchange? As of recently, I feel content with my life. Not yet satisfied, you know I am far too selfish and greedy to be entirely satisfied with this, but this is a life that I do not regret building. I am closer to the family we have wanted to build together as children, and… I think [Name] would be a good ‘Mother.’ Is it okay to ask [Name] to take your place? To be the ‘Mother’ we have always wanted?” 

There is no answer, nothing but the moan of a wind, but Arlecchino is satiated. 

“I should part soon with you. The children will wonder about my whereabouts, and [Name] grows anxious when they are away from the hotel for too long. I will visit you again. Next time, I promise a slice of cake so I ask you to wait for me until then.”

“Farewell, Clervie. Rest well.”

Arlecchino stands up, but stops before she fully turns around. “I nearly have forgotten to tell you. The aurora was just as beautiful as the ones in the pictures.”

It starts with a red rabbit and a white hare. The children are all largely asleep, and in the comfort  of your shared bed on a quiet, intimate night Peruere takes out two plushies, the same two that had mystified you ever since you discovered them in an obscure drawer. Finally, you knew of who the other plushie belonged to. 

“I met her at the House of the Hearth. We were both raised there for as long as I can recall, underneath the former Director, ‘Mother.’” Peruere sharply inhales, running her thumb over the face of the Clervie doll. 

“Clervie was Mother's biological daughter, and she was the only one of the other children that could see past ‘Mother's’ facade. Mother liked to sweeten us as if we were candy, only to spit us out when we could no longer satisfy her. However, our siblings never saw beyond her cloying words and faux affection. From the very beginning we were trained to fight each other. Mother isolated us from our peers, so naturally, a friendship grew between us.” 

“I spent every breathing moment alongside her, despite ‘Mother's’ attempts to separate me from Clervie. ‘Mother’ favored me because I was her strongest among my siblings, while Clervie was the weakest. But that did not dissuade Clervie, even when my other siblings feared me. In fact, my lack of companions only emboldened Clervie to become my friend. Clervie was my sole companion for years. Much of what we had was shared: meals, books, beds, clothes. Whatever I had was Clervie's, and what was Clervie's was mine. And so were her dreams. 

“One day when we were six, she came up to me, bright-eyed and determined despite the numerous bruises she gained from ‘Mother's’ punishment, with a declaration. Clervie wanted to make a real family, one that shed no tears or blood, one where she would be a mother that loved her children equally, and her children would love each other. She wanted to make that family with me.

“I do not know of what a family looks like, and I do not suppose that Clervie knew either. But even when ‘Mother's’ cruelty shed away her naivety in the later years, she still held this dream dear to her. Clervie took to fantasies much more than I did, but I played along. We would imagine ourselves as parents of our pretend family, Clervie, the gentle ‘Mother,’ and I, as the stern ‘Father.’” 

These,” Peruere holds up the plush version of herself, “were the results from that. Our ‘children.’ Children often take on the appearances of their parents, so we likened them to ourselves. My look-alike was Clervie's, and hers was mine.”

“But that dream did not last. As our time inside the House of the Hearth grew, Clervie realized that making our home into a true family was impossible. So, Clervie began to dream of freedom. Freedom for not just herself, but for our siblings as well. When she became shy of a teenager, she made attempts of escaping. ‘Mother’ would always stop her and make an example out of her to dissuade any attempts from the other children.

“At sixteen, we finally learned why we were being taught how to fight. From the very beginning, ‘Mother’ had been grooming us to be participants of our very own death game– we had to fight each other to the death. Only the strongest would arise alive, and would be crowned with a meaningless throne over the mountain of their siblings. Clervie had always tried to get the others to draw, to reduce as many deaths as possible, but ‘Mother’ had always made sure that there can only be one victor.”

“Clervie and I were the last alive out of our siblings. One by one I dominated the duels and slaughtered our siblings. The night before our duel she said to me that she sought freedom, and the only way she can achieve it was in her death. I granted her that freedom and became the sole survivor. I trained nonstop everyday after her death to be strong enough to kill ‘Mother’ and I had achieved that a year later, in the exact same place I last held Clervie.”

Peruere finally stops, silence filling in the space between you. You are breathless, trying to piece together her past. What could even be said after that?

She sets down the plush on the bed, silently offering it to you. You take the plush with delicate hands, as if the toy would shatter upon the slightest touch. Knowing the history behind its owner makes it feel heavy, dense with the foreseen tragedy you know appears in Peruere's and Clervie's story. You cannot imagine the current Knave holding such a cutesy toy, but the vision of a smaller, baby-faced Peruere cradling the plush to her chest like it was the only comfort the world would grant her… it clenches your heart agonizingly. Knowing that she was so small but endured so much… you wish that you could give that tiny Peruere and Clervie all of the care and love they deserved. 

Pushing back the tears that emerge from the corner of your eyes became difficult. When Peruere noticed your tears, a blackened hand came up to your face to wipe them away. You lean in against the warm hand, your sobs coming in more rapidly. Oh, Peruere, you can not help but think, how is it that she is still so full of love? How is it that the child that grew up to be the love of your life, someone who would dedicate her entirety for each of her children, suffered so much? How could fate be this unjust to such a kind soul? 

Nothing held you back from practically lunging at her, grasping onto her and sobbing into her chest. You look up at her through a blurred vision, and even now there is hardly a hint of affliction on her. For how stoic she was, your entire body wracks with sorrow, for all of the emotions she herself could not express, you experience two fold. She holds you the entire time wordlessly, and never stops wiping away your endless tears. 

“You were so small,” is all you can comprehensively babble when your sobs begin to recede and you start hiccuping. “It’s not fair. It's not your fault. It can never be.” 

Peruere's eyes widen by a fraction at your statement, her lips part in a stunned silence, and her body tense, as if she was in disbelief. As if you had just healed a broken part of her that had been that way for her entire life. Her hand twitches, and her expression smooths out when she brushes away the last of your tears. “I apologize for making you cry.” 

You shake your head, refusing the apology. Sinking further down into her embrace as if trying to weld with her, you cling onto her, assuring her that you would never leave. Your hiccups ebb away, and the two of you lay together, bound by one another's entangled limbs. Your ear is pressed against her chest, listening to the rhythmic drum of her heart. 

There is one more break in the silence before the two of you succumb to slumber. 

“Would you like to see the aurora with me?” 

Author's Note:

please don't let this flop please don't let this flop please don't let this flop

sorry for not uploading anything for 2.5 months. does this make up for it? i've had this idea worked on since last year, if I'm not mistaken, since at least august, and I only had just recently started working on it after I gave up on it for a good while. after this ill work on whatever i feel like. but it might be slow.

if you like this please talk to me through my inbox im very lonely also i spent forever on this. 😓 feeding my ego will motivate me to write more btw

[edgeray]

The hurt/comfort you write is the best. Who cares if you upload once a season if your works are as good as this? I'm so glad to have such a long work from you, it's clear you put a lot of time and soul into it.

Here's a lizard as thanks 🦎

:DDD I WILL HAPPILY TAKE THE LIZARD. THEYRE MY TANK BUDDY NOW

Omg 😭 ty for acknowledging how much time I spent on it. So many hours of just thinking about how to write this, let alone writing it itself. I'm overjoyed that people are enjoying it.

[edgeray]

I am here to feed your ego Ray. It's so good!? I am feeling the hurt right now🥲. Your writing is as good as ever but I need something fluff to combat this angst please.🙏

It's hurt/comfort Take it or leave it that's the best you're going to get /hj.

I am so glad you like it!!!! I kinda rushed the ending but perchance I will get to fluff next. Thank you for feeding my ego. It was essentially my love letter to Peruere.