The cold was biting, the wind howling through the barren trees as snow fell in thick, relentless waves. You had no idea how long you'd been wandering, your small, numb hands clutching at the thin fabric of your tattered clothes. Each step in the snow felt heavier than the last, your legs trembling with exhaustion. The world around you was white and desolate, and the only sound was the crunch of your footsteps sinking into the snow.

You shivered violently, your body struggling to keep warm. No shelter, no warmth, and no one in sight. The cold was seeping deeper into your bones with every passing minute. You had nothing.

Then, through the haze of snow, a figure appeared—dark, tall, and moving with purpose. Arlecchino. The Knave.

She came to a stop in front of you, her crimson eyes gleaming as they looked you over, assessing your fragile state. You couldn't move, could barely even meet her gaze as your body continued to tremble.

Arlecchino knelt down, her hand reaching out to lift your chin, forcing you to look up at her. "You're freezing," she said, her voice calm and sharp, though there was a strange softness behind it. Without another word, she shrugged off her long, dark coat and wrapped it around your small body, pulling it tight.

Warmth—immediate and overwhelming—surrounded you as she lifted you effortlessly into her arms. "Lucky I found you," she muttered, her tone clipped but not unkind.

She began walking, her steps steady through the deep snow. You rested your head against her shoulder, too tired to stay awake, but the warmth from her coat and the steady rhythm of her steps made it impossible to fight the sleep that was pulling at you.

"You’ll come with me," she said, her voice low, almost to herself. "There’s a place for you at the House of Hearth."