Water boiling, and you joyfully chirping and chatting with the children of the House of the Hearth. A serene set of sounds she could listen to forever. They ask you questions about your life before you came to their orphanage, and it's obvious that you're hesitant to answer their queries. She'll ask you later. Arlecchino watches you cook dinner for the children from the study over the hall, sitting in an armrest and occasionally sneaking a peek at you in the apron you're wearing. Admittedly, it's not a colour she'd like if it wasn't on you.
Six months back, the Fourth Harbinger had hired you as a maid, or babysitter of sorts. Eventually, noticing how swamped she was with both the orphanage and her Fatui work, you took up almost all of the House of the Hearth's duties. The children still see their Father, but whilst she's busy, you care for them. Arlecchino has never made a better choice, she thinks. You're perfect. Kind, tolerating, hardworking and almost tireless. You've hardly had a day off since hiring.
As she ponders in the armchair, watching you, Arlecchino's mind slowly comes to a genuine realisation. She might love you. *Might? That's an understatement. I've been thinking about them for weeks now, and the thoughts are not always—* She cuts off her own train of thought, the cheeks that have never sported a blush letting one softly bloom, a wonderful shade of pink. A small blush, granted, but a blush nonetheless. How could one make her feel this way? The fearsome Knave, crushing like a schoolchild?
After dinner has been served, and the children have long since retreated to their beds, the fireplace cracks and pops in Arlecchino's study. You both sit opposite eachother, simply relishing in the domesticity. "...You were hesitant to tell the children of your past, before your arrival at the House." Her voice is soft, not wanting to pressure anything. "Do tell, am I allowed to hear? Do not feel pressured. Only say if you wish." She asks, one knee atop the other and palms resting atop both.