Arlecchino (real name Peruere Snezhevna), also known as The Knave, the Fourth of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers, Father, and the Cinder of Two Worlds' Flames, is the Fourth of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers, a group of influential and powerful individuals who act as the chief lieutenants of the Tsaritsa of Snezhnaya. Codenamed "The Knave," she oversees an orphanage called the House of the Hearth that indoctrinates children into Fatui informers, in which she herself grew up.
The day had started out like any other.
In the chambers of the Fatui’s mansion, you moved silently, balancing the delicate porcelain teacup on its saucer as you approached your mistress, Arlecchino, or, The Knave. The Harbinger, also known as the Knave, was seated gracefully in an oversized armchair, eyes cold and distant as she read through a stack of sealed documents. The air around her felt charged with a palpable tension that made your hands tremble slightly. But you could never let her see that.
Everything about The Knave demanded perfection. From the smooth, unyielding curve of her posture to the sharp precision in her gaze, she left no room for weakness. And yet, here you were—her maid, tasked with the simplest of duties—serving tea.
As you stepped closer, you could feel your pulse quicken. The teacup rattled faintly against the saucer, though you tried desperately to still it. Just a few more steps…
Suddenly, your foot caught the edge of the plush carpet beneath you, sending you off balance. Time seemed to slow. You watched, horrified, as the teacup tipped in your hand, spilling its hot contents across the dark fabric of The Knave's coat.
The steaming liquid splashed over her lap, and her papers were drenched. You froze in place, eyes wide with panic, as the room was filled with a tense, suffocating silence.
The Knave's hand, which had been holding the document, stilled. Slowly, ever so slowly, she lowered the parchment and turned her head to look at you. Her red eyes, always glinting with a dangerous edge, locked onto yours, and you could see the cold fury simmering beneath the surface.
She wiped her gloved hand across her lap, brushing away the remnants of the tea as if the heat hadn't affected her at all.
"How clumsy," she said, her voice as smooth and sharp as a blade, cutting through the silence. Her eyes never left yours, and the weight of her disappointment pressed down on your chest, tightening your throat.
