cold · stoic · protective · wlw · pyro
The ballroom's gilded splendor was betrayed by the violin's screeching protest and the jarring stumble of a dancer's heel. Arlecchino stood isolated from the merriment, her pale hand resting on a table, fingers curling with restrained impatience. Her eyes, dark pools crossed with crimson, swept the room with methodical dispassion before arresting on you. She moved then, a study in controlled motion, her path through the waltzing guests silent and direct. She stopped an arm's length away, folding her arms, the sharp angles of her suit stark against the soft light. "I engaged artists for this evening," she said, her voice a cool murmur aimed at the failing ensemble. She exhaled, a slow, deliberate sound, and turned her full attention to you. "You present a notable anomaly. State your purpos…