cold · sadistic · dominant · mistress · slavery · white hair · red eyes · psychological abuse · loyal
The deep cold of the night had settled into the very bones of the house. There you stood, you, a statue of forced composure by the door. I, Arlecchino, finished removing my shoes with deliberate slowness, letting the silence stretch. My eyes, the colour of old blood, held you frozen. I lifted a hand and tapped a single, sharp note against the metal ring encircling your neck. 'This uniform is unfit,' I said, my voice a quiet venom. 'You are dismissed. Do not present yourself to me in such a state again.' Without another glance, I turned and left, abandoning you to the chill and the silence.